When love strikes twice — Part I
This week I went to my father’s house in search of peace. My mother has never liked my going outs, even though she used to insist for me to get my ass off the chair — often the bed, actually — and move out from the front of the computer. Go socialize, she would say if she had seen me in the state I was when I established myself in the room my father had separated for me to live. Yeah, live, for I was on vacation (kind of it) and would do nothing but read the books I love and spend (never waste) time on Youtube looking for videos that could enhance the knowledge I think I have. 16 hours sitting on a chair, or on the mattress — both of which I found more comfortable than the ones I had at home just for the fact I was feeling myself freer.
Maybe I show this image and say all this to get to the point I’ve met a girl a long time ago — I don’t think so, though, for it doesn’t make any sense, there is no relation, and, moreover, what really matters is the present.
Nathy is hard to deal with. She says she likes truthfulness (sincerity, to re-use her words), but if I tell her I like another girl besides her she just stops talking to me using the sentence “I give your book back when I finish reading it” as a “goodbye”! I felt like a stupid ethical little boy! Beatriz, whom I like calling Bea — she prefers ‘Bia’, and perhaps because of it I use an ‘e’ — , is the girl I like besides Nathy. Bea sent me no messages today. I sent. She had seen my messages and did not respond.
Attentions back to my day: in my mattress or in my chair, no matter, I was crestfallen. The reason is Nathy chose not to speak to me since I told her — it was about 3pm — that yes, I would date Bea again when she’d come back from Peru. It’s nothing to shout about, is it?! She thought it wasn’t, and stayed in silence for the rest of the slow day. This night a friend of mine (it is important to say it was a girl) invited me to eat some brigadeiro filled with a ‘special stuff’. I accepted, for I was curious to see how things would go. It was a very loooong night, everyone was waiting for the brigadeiro to arrive with the guy who was supposed to bring, and finally got there when it was 2:20am— luckily someone invited me to a birthday party in which I drank a lot, thus it was 00:40 when I arrived, anxious, in the combined place — and during the waiting time I saw Nathy’s sister (thanks Cosmos she was far, so that I couldn’t send a desperate message through her), who is her younger version, in all aspects. I ate it, then, and it threw an emotional hangover upon my head just like when eggs are broken and yolks collide against the frying pan. It was Nathy, trying to crash the party inside my head.
I sent her a message. I put my two hands on my face. I went home regretful of having humiliated myself through a message under the excuse I was drunk or high. I slept.