36. #4
Did not ask for help.
Protected the name.
I had replaced the name with Aurora and the children, but perhaps I still used the same mechanism.
“I also concealed a letter for several hours,” I said.
“Why?”
“I wanted confirmation.”
“And beneath that?”
I thought.
“Fear that she would look at me the way she did at the altar.”
“So you attempted to control her reaction.”
“Yes.”
“Transparency does not eliminate consequences.”
“I know.”
“Do not use ‘I know’ to end the conversation.”
Aurora said the same.
“I’m learning.”
“Better.”
After the session, I sent a message.
I spoke about the shooting and the pattern of sacrifice.
Aurora replied:
And?
My death would not prove love. It would be abandonment with a heroic justification.
There was a pause.
Exactly.
Another message:
And the letter?
I tried to control your reaction by delaying. I will not do it again.
You cannot guarantee never.
I can guarantee that if I notice I am doing it, I will tell you.
Better.
I stared at the screen.
I wrote:
May I say I missed you after you left?
The dots appeared.
You may.
I missed you.
A pause.
It has been three hours.
Even so.
That isn’t healthy.
Probably not.
I missed you too.
My heart beat.
I typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Good night, Aurora.
Good night, Dante.
I did not turn it into an invitation.
Did not pressure her.
Even so, I slept with the telephone near me.
At six in the morning, I woke to knocking.
Aurora stood at the door.
Alone.
My entire body went on alert.
“Did something happen?”
“No.”
“The children?”
“With Mrs. Lurdes.”
“Then why?”
She entered.
Closed the door.
“I missed you.”
The words emerged before I understood.
Aurora approached.
“I know.”
“It is six in the morning.”
“You said seven thirty was reasonable.”
“For messages.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
She stopped in front of me.
Jeans.
A light sweater.
Hair tied back.
No makeup.
Beautiful.
“I came to talk,” she said.
“All right.”
“And perhaps kiss you.”
My body hardened.
“My shoulder.”
“I do not intend to touch it.”
“Aurora.”
“You always ask. Now I am telling you.”
I brought my healthy hand near her waist.
Stopped.
“May I?”
“You may.”
The kiss began slowly.
It did not remain that way.
Aurora opened her mouth.
Held the back of my neck.
I brought her close.
The pain in my shoulder existed.
Distant.
She shifted her body away from the dressing, careful.
“Does this hurt?” she asked against my mouth.
“No.”
“Lying?”
“A little.”
“Then we stop.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“I can sit.”
She laughed.
I sat on the sofa.
Aurora remained before me.
The kiss began again.
My hands moved along her waist.
Back.
Hips.
Without going farther.
Yet.
She sat across my thighs, avoiding the wound.
Air left me.
“Is this slow?” I asked.
“Don’t talk.”
I obeyed.
Aurora kissed my neck.
My body reacted violently.
I held her.
“Are you certain?”
She stopped.
“Don’t finish.”
“I need to.”
“I am certain I want to be here now.”
“And afterward?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right.”
Was that enough?
It had to be.
Aurora lifted her face.
“I do not want sex today.”
The clarity calmed me.
“All right.”
“I want to touch.”
“All right.”
“And be touched.”
“Tell me where.”
She took my hand.
Placed it beneath her sweater on her bare waist.
I closed my eyes.
Skin.
Heat.
Four years.
“Here,” she said.
I moved my fingers.
Slowly.
Aurora shivered.
I kissed her.
My hand traveled up her back.
Stopped before her bra.
“You can,” she whispered.
I touched her.
Her body moved against mine.
Pain struck my shoulder.
She noticed.
“Enough.”
“Not yet.”
“You are injured.”
“I can use the other hand.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
She moved away.
My body protested.
“Cruel.”
“Alive.”
“That too.”
Aurora adjusted her sweater.
She sat beside me.
We were breathing hard.
“That was a terrible idea,” she said.
“No.”
“You have stitches.”
“You did not touch them.”
“Your blood pressure must be high.”
“Definitely.”
She laughed.
Rested her head against the sofa.
“I wanted to know whether it still…”
“Still?”
“Whether the desire existed outside fear.”
“And?”
She looked at me.
“It does.”
“A lot?”
“Don’t make that face.”
I smiled.
“I’m sorry.”
“You aren’t.”
“No.”
We sat together.
“Do not tell the psychologist,” she said.
“It will probably be relevant.”
“Dante.”
“I won’t describe details.”
“Good.”
“She will know you came.”
“How?”
“I’ll smile.”
Aurora rolled her eyes.
“Arrogant.”
“You came at six.”
“I can leave.”
I took her hand.
“No.”
“Do not order me.”
“I’m asking.”
She stayed.
At seven, she left before the children fully awakened.
At the door, she kissed me once.
Briefly.
“Rest.”
“I have a vote.”
“While lying down.”
“Yes.”
“And eat.”
“Yes.”
“Send a message afterward.”
“Yes.”
She pointed at me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
Aurora left.
I entered the living room.
The house still carried her scent.
The vote would happen in three hours.
I might lose control of the group.
But for the first time, I did not feel the need to prove I could endure everything alone.
Pérola would be there.
Auditors.
Lawyers.
Authorities.
I would remain in Santa Brígida.
Alive.
As Aurora had asked.