Of Libertines And Clichés

Isabella was the gentlemen’s favourite at Lavanda. Undoubtedly so. She performed three times a week, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, packing out the place every night without fail. The rumour of her alleged wonderful show got spread mouth-to-mouth initially like a confidential message that ended up gaining such notoriety it became common knowledge that the alleged was, in fact, a statement. It was a small venue, a hybrid between a pub and a theatre, far from elegant; the smell of cheap beer filled the air, the flowers in the vases on each table were plastic, some of the chairs croaked when you sat down and a couple of dried out chewing gums remained stuck on the back of said chairs. Though not the epitome of sophistication, it was not the worst of its kind. And there were a few others nearby, so the street held certain reputation. It was a well-known secret that the performers offered extended services too. Thirty pair of eyes, shamelessly lustful, took in Isabella’s grace. If those eyes happened to recognize a fellow pair in the daylight, through telepathy they’d commit not to say a word. In the dim light, crotches were rubbed as the men stared, and listened. Isabella sang, dramatic and enticing. Her dress, of a rich red colour, clang to her body; her generous buttocks and breasts screaming for attention under the fabric. The dark brown of her nails matched those fabulous heels that made her grow even taller than she already was. Her pouty lips, like the flirty flower on her hair, were as furiously red as her dress. All the powder on her face, which she’d spent a good portion of her income on, made her skin look silky and oh so tempting to the touch. She gestured, soft and delicate, with her hands as she recited the verses as the shiny make-up brought out the pretty honey colour of her eyes and caused her audience to touch themselves harder when she made eye-contact with them. Some of the men had the audacity to sneak a hand under their trousers. It was a cheesy song, and an even cheesier performance. But then again, the audience’s standards weren’t that high. This was an overall poor town full of people with either broken dreams or broken bank accounts, and this area in particular was pedestrian and frowned upon. When the sun set, the wolves came out. Only low-class workers with double lives circulated, though once in a while some curious well-endowed personality made an appearance. At Lavanda, they would show up and sit discreetly in the back. To watch Isabella, of course. The most gorgeous on the menu. Tonight however, as she scanned the view before her along with her singing, Isabella was quick to set her gaze on someone. His name was Milo, was wearing jeans, a white shirt and a denim jacket, his dark-blond hair was fixed in a cheesy James Dean style, and kept staring at her with stars in his eyes and the smile of a mesmerized fool. The boy was young, and very beautiful. Isabella reserved a promising smile just for him, followed by a wink.

-My throat’s been achy all day, gonna catch a cold, thank God I’m not working extra tonight –said Carla as they exited Lavanda around two in the morning, frantically rubbing her arms. It was freezing outside; the air hit you in the face like a slap. Isabella, now Tomasa, zipped up her worn out leather jacket. Her legs shook beneath her jeans; feet still wearing those heels just like Carla wore hers. Her pitch black hair, a little curly at the edges, was messy, and her body long and slender; the polar opposite of her luscious alter-ego. It didn’t take Tomasa long to spot Milo, the cute guy, an oasis personified. She smiled.

-You’re taking care of me, right doll? I’m too young and pretty to die –Carla was her co-worker, roommate and best friend. An obnoxiously loud and melodramatic woman with a heart of gold. Pretty much Tomasa’s only family, coming from an orphanage.

-Doll? –Carla followed Tomasa’s line of sight, landing on the tall figure that stood by a bicycle just crossing the street. Her eyebrows rose up to her forehead –Oh my God.

Tomasa nodded, unable to look away from Milo. –I know.

-You’re neglecting me like this, when I need you the most?

-Can you blame me? –Tomasa frowned at Carla, playful, her gaze back on Milo in seconds. Milo seemed to wait patiently, though his eyes were eager, pulling her in.

Carla bit her lip, making appreciative noises –Hell no. Even I would bang that. You’re still leaving me to die alone, though –she huffed, pouted dramatically.

Tomasa giggled, cupped her face and kissed her cheek –A throat ache won’t kill you, don’t you worry. Drink lots of water –Tomasa reassured her as she made to cross the street, already an expert on those shoes –I’m making you soup tomorrow!

In response, Carla put her tongue on her cheek and moved her fist, mimicking a blow job; a refined lady. Tomasa winked in triumph, already in motion. Milo was her same height up close, which told Tomasa that he was in fact the tallest given that Tomasa was cheating with those extra inches. He looked softer too. Prettier, younger, his snowy white cheeks flushed in the cold, like the tip of his button nose was; a baby face, like the uptown people with bombastic last names that would never wander these areas out in the open. Not whilst sober. Did he fit in the stereotype or was he the exception that confirmed the rule. Milo tried to come off as confident, but his smile was slightly nervous too. Tomasa knew then, that this was his first time with a prostitute. It was thrilling; to steal a cute guy’s first.

-You have a lighter, perhaps? –asked Tomasa, seductive, as she took a cigarette out of her pocket. Eyes taking in the very pleasing sight.

Milo’s smile widened. A bright, boyish smile –Yeah –he nodded, voice deep like the bass of a song. Tomasa approved.

When Milo started palming his jacket with no success, Tomasa stopped him –Need a hand?

Milo gulped hard –Sure.

With a cheeky smile on her face, Tomasa proceeded to search for the lighter in Milo’s clothes. Palming his denim jacket first, then going lower.

-Mmm –Tomasa made a show of wondering, eyes fixed on Milo’s, that grew darker by the second. Tomasa palmed his front pockets, hands restless and teasing, and finally his arse. Tomasa was bold, grabbing his backside, which brought their bodies flush together. Tomasa arched one eyebrow, licking her cherry red lips. Milo was transfixed.

-Found it –she whispered, taking the lighter out Milo’s back pocket. Then she grinned, and slowly dragged her hands off his arse in order to light the cigarette. Tomasa giggled, happy to take the first drag. She blew the smoke in Milo’s face, who took the lighter from her hand, their fingers deliberately brushing in the process.

-A singer like you shouldn’t ruin her voice like this –said Milo, words polite but attitude not so much. Half-lidded eyes glued to Tomasa’s mouth, his desire to kiss her was transparent.

Tomasa snorted –Did you say singer? –she chuckled. She kept smoking in a graceful, sensual way like the divas in the movies; a habit that she non-accidentally picked up on.

-I said what you heard –Milo blinked, speaking soft and reflexive, but mostly aroused.

-You’re cute –Tomasa caressed his face, casual. Studied Milo for a bit, and then kissed him. Simple. Milo wasted no time kissing back.

They rode the bike back to Milo’s place, somehow awkwardly; Tomasa perched on the seat whilst Milo cycled just holding onto the handrails. It was fun, though. They laughed at nothing, just because, clouds of smoke escaping their mouths evaporating into the expanse of the night. Milo didn’t live far.

Milo had a great dick to suck. Pretty shaped, just like his entire body; the boy came into this world in a quite angelic package. Tomasa had fun doing it, which was a first. Tasted nice, Tomasa smiled as she teasingly lapped at the tip like a cat drinking milk before swallowing most of it, sucking with intent. Milo caressed her hair in reward, sighing and hissing in pleasure every couple of seconds, throwing his head back in bliss. Tomasa was good at her job. The mattress was not the most tender, but Tomasa was used to much worse. It creaked a bit with every bounce Tomasa did on Milo’s lap. Nothing looked too proper in this room, it was clearly an apartment for one and judging by the minimalistic decoration, Milo seemed like a boy that preferred to spend his money in a bookcase rather than a curtain to dress his newspaper-covered window. He was a little bigger than average, and it certainly felt that way. The burn of the stretch was strong, Tomasa bit her lip, whimpering. But she kept going, she could take it. Milo was loving it.

-Fuck –he sighed, mesmerized, looking up at Tomasa like she was some ethereal creature –You okay?

-Yeah, baby –to prove it, Tomasa only rode him faster. Harder. Milo kept cursing under his breath, hips pushing upwards along with her bouncing. Tomasa moaned, and smiled down at him. Milo smiled back, a special glint in his darkened blue eyes. He reached out for Tomasa’s hands that were flat on his ribs for leverage, interlacing their fingers.

-Romantic –Tomasa grinned mid-gasp, mocking the gesture, as she continued to bounce, body already covered in sweat, hips moving restlessly. She would moan louder whenever Milo hit particularly deep, she would squeeze their fingers each time. Milo’s fingers were more refined than this, thinner. Tomasa’s were rather pudgy, though the nail-polish enhanced them.

Milo gave her this intense look, face flushed, before sitting up and wrapping his arms around her. Tomasa was fast to cling to his neck and they made out, sloppy and hungry, as they fucked. Hands gripping her arse, Milo seemed determined to consume her alive, and Tomasa would gasp against his mouth, her long thin legs circling Milo’s waist, hips rocking in desperate circular motions. There was fire in their eyes when they broke their kisses and stared at each other.

-You have kids? –Tomasa asked, casual, as she put her clothes back on. Milo sat naked under the covers, back supported on the headboard, hair a mess. It was hard to believe how attractive he was. His eyes on Tomasa showed something more than appreciation; didn’t seem like that kind of person who pulled off a poker face. And no, Tomasa was not going to ask about the bandage around his left wrist.

Milo frowned –No- he said, amused.

-A wife?

Milo shook his head –We just fucked, who do you think I am?

-Someone who lives a double life perhaps, like pretty much every man I know, and girl too –Tomasa shrugged. She fixed her hair. Milo blinked, pensive. Tomasa stood there, and smiled.

-Do I get your wallet for you or.

-Oh –Milo reached out for his jeans, stretching to reach the floor, Tomasa taking on the display of skin. Milo was a skinny guy, with a small waist, but his back was broad. Tomasa enjoyed fucking him, she had to admit. She licked her lips, her flirty smile widening when Milo caught her staring.

They slept in separate rooms, but also were foreign to the concept of personal space, so Tomasa crawled in Carla’s bed later that night. Tomasa spooned her, causing her friend to jump at the feeling of her cold hands. Turning around immediately, Carla was met with a sleepy, but glowing Tomasa.

-Well, well, well, someone’s freshly fucked –they tended to do this. Sharing intimate conversations at night, about the good and the bad. They had no-one else to rely on. The scale was permanently inclined towards the bad, but not tonight.

Tomasa giggled –How is your throat?

-As sore as yours, but for an entire different reason you little minx –Carla said enthusiastically. She knew Tomasa like the palm of her hand, she could recognize when her good mood was genuine.

-I’m keeping my promise, you’re staying in bed tomorrow, I’ll take care of you.

-Good! But don’t deflect, spill the details.

It was good that in the shadows her blush wasn’t visible –His name is Milo and he’s twenty-three –Tomasa whispered, softly.

Carla pursed her lips –Mmm okay, but I meant the juicy details.

-We had sex, you know how it works –said Tomasa, playing with the hem of Carla’s pyjama shirt.

Carla stroked her hair –Aww. Look at you, a shy kitten after eating dick and sitting on dick.

-I’m not a kitten, I’m a lion –Tomasa defended herself, roaring, though her enamoured face said otherwise.

-A lion with a crush, and dick breath.

Tomasa gave her a gentle slap on the face. Carla snickered –You don’t have dick breath, but you do have a crush.

-No –she objected, but weakly. She looked up at Carla, their knowing smiles speaking volumes.

There was silence. Then Carla spoke –Does he like you?

Tomasa shrugged. All the signs led her to believe Milo did, but then again, maybe Milo had been just horny.

Carla hugged her tight –You’d have to be blind not to like my baby doll –she said in Tomasa’s ear, Tomasa smiling against the pillow. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Tomasa spent most of the day at home with Carla. They shared a cheap flat only a few blocks away from Lavanda. The heating would break down sometimes, so they had a collection of blankets piled up in the closet, and Carla swore there was a ghost in the building. It was an old building, mostly inhabited by lonely people with politically incorrect occupations like theirs or crime related, and it was certainly scary to walk up the stairs when it got dark. There was an overall sombre atmosphere that would surround you once you stepped in, and Tomasa truly wished to move out sooner rather than later, but their financial situation got in the way of the plan. Of all her plans, as a matter of fact. However Tomasa would put a happy front. It had been years since she last shed a tear on the subject. At least she and Carla didn’t work in the streets anymore unlike several others, which reduced the risks considerably. Tomasa made them soup, tidied up a little, took a nap and cuddled with Carla on the couch as they watched television with a thick blanket on their laps.

-Families are a pain in the arse, it’s a good thing they kicked me out –remarked Carla, some heated family drama showing on the screen.

-The closest thing to family I’ve ever had is you, and you’re the biggest pain the arse, so –joked Tomasa.

Tomasa laughed whilst Carla tried to push her off the couch. She relished these moments of joy and calm because, afterwards, she wouldn’t feel like laughing that much. At least not genuinely. Later that day, just when it started raining which increased her wish to stay indoors, Tomasa was supposed to meet up with a client that frequented Lavanda and required her personal services once a month give or take. A thirty-nine year old trucker with a cap he never took off his bald head, a wife and three kids. Before leaving, Carla promised to wait for her with dinner ready, which was the mandatory distracting, spirit-lifting comment. This was Tomasa’s fourth encounter with the man, at the same trashy motel. Tomasa was sure they didn’t change the beddings daily, the walls were paper thin, and she’d found pubic hair stuck in a soap bar when she showered once. On her way to meet the trucker, Tomasa didn’t give it a second thought, entered some public restroom, took a tiny package off her pocket and sniffed a white line. Then she was ready to bear with it. Tomasa was eager to start, for the sooner they did, the sooner it ended. Fortunately for her, this type of desperate unhappy men never lasted long; they got worked up with a brief blow job, and they were done after a couple of rough, graceless thrusts. Later, she would lock herself in the bathroom to wash her mouth and vagina with frantic movements, carrying her own hygiene products in a small bag. She wanted nothing, and felt nothing, when she came back home from these dates. The nights she performed were different because, though she would also lend her body afterwards, at least she was still running high from the thrill of performing. Which she adored. The music, the stage, the applause. On the other hand, this felt empty and inherently disgusting. Tomasa lay curled up on her bed every time, eyes lost in the shadows, waiting for the low to fade. Because it would fade, slowly but surely, and then she’d fall asleep and wake up with renewed strength like she’d done for nearly eight years. Carla’s arms would envelope her waist from behind, Tomasa barely registering her presence.

-Your portion is in the fridge, baby doll. I made some chicken stew and I don’t mean to brag, but it’s to die for.

-Mm –was Tomasa’s vague response.

Carla and Tomasa walked pressed tight together to fit beneath the violet umbrella Tomasa was holding as they made their way to the theatre later in the afternoon, the rain pouring down even harder than yesterday. It’s show night today, and it took them hours to get in character.

-What if I have to sneeze mid-song, Jesus, how humiliating that would be!

-You’ve sneezed like, three times tops in a whole week Carla. Stop over-reacting –Tomasa rolled her eyes.

-The Magnificent Elsa has a reputation to maintain, I’ll have you know –shot back Carla.

-Your reputation is not that magnificent, who are you trying to fool –Tomasa laughed. They watched the road before crossing the street where Lavanda was located. Carla did a little jump to swerve a puddle of water, whilst Tomasa just stepped on it. Some man wrapped in a huge parka passed by on a bike and shouted obscenities, which was the usual. Tomasa turned to give him the finger, as usual too. The boy who sold the tickets in a tiny spot behind a glass called for them before they crossed the main door.

-Some guy was asking for you. Asked me to give you this –he said with the average flat, uninterested tone of an adolescent that was counting the minutes to run off to the comic store, gaze permanently drowsy. Cheerfulness was not cool. He was the nephew of Leo, the owner, and the future man in charge if Leo didn’t have offspring. Tomasa was handed a paper.

-Did he look like an Elvis but blonder? –Carla had to blurt out.

-More like a James Dean, I’d say –he shrugged. Nothing mattered. Carla squealed beneath her scarf. Tomasa’s heart sped up, an excited grin on her mouth when she found Carla wiggling her eyebrows at her.

-Thank you, dear –Tomasa smiled at him, which prompted him to smile back crooked and awkward, an alien foreign to any social code.

The two friends stood longer outside, under the umbrella, Tomasa reading the paper and Carla having a peek. Milo had drawn Isabella. Tomasa was amazed.

-I’m better drawing than speaking, I think. Though this doesn’t make you justice. I was wondering if you’d like to hang out some time? Here’s my number. Milo –Carla was not the most fluid reader, her speech coming out clumsy, but she had to read the message out loud given her noisy personality. Tomasa didn’t learn much growing up in the orphanage, but at least she got taught to write and read, and she read this carefully, silent in her mind, savouring each word. In her head, she listened to it in Milo’s voice.

-But he made me too beautiful –Tomasa observed, in awe. Isabella did look stunning as a drawing.

-You know what they say; artists draw what their eyes see –Carla put her arm around her shoulders, squeezing. Encouraging. Tomasa was combusting internally.

It’d been three years since Tomasa last had a date. A proper date, like normal people. It didn’t end well, for the man didn’t really grasp the concept of Tomasa doing real things outside of her role as a prostitute. He’d seen their date like an extension of Tomasa’s services, behaving subtly demanding and overpowering. Tomasa was familiar with toxic people, so pretty early into their date she decided that it would be a one-off. Carla was out with a client that only had free time in the mornings, but she’d helped Tomasa pick an outfit. More like choosing it for her. A large black jumper with colourful stripes printed on it in all directions and turquoise trousers that matched one of said stripes. On top, Carla’s maroon suede jacket with white fur collar. A faux-golden earring hung from her left ear. Her amber eyes looked wide and vivid framed by the brown eyeshadow. She’d spent extra time in the shower, applying perfume on key spots. Tomasa stared at her reflection for solid twenty minutes, checking her angles, rehearsing smiles like an unexperienced adolescent. Milo was waiting for her outside the restaurant, looking sharp in tight blue jeans, a black and blue bomber jacket and white sneakers. His hair, again, impeccable. Both their mouths and eyes smiled when they spotted each other, Tomasa hoping not to blush. Milo smelled like gel and cologne, and it was nice, to stand close and see their real height difference; it wasn’t that much, but Tomasa still liked it. It was hard to meet men as tall as her, a giraffe with inhumanly long bones. They hesitated briefly, but then Milo leant in and dropped a peck on her cheek, pulling back with a gentle expression that Tomasa reciprocated. They ordered the soup of the day, both because the menu wasn’t that varied and because you just don’t eat a full meal on your first date. They sat by the wall, on a small table for two, the tablecloth crochet made. It was a decent-looking place, probably the best around town.

-I won’t lie, I regretted going on a lunch date the second you hung up the phone, but it was too late –said Milo with a big smile. He always seemed to be smiling, but was bashful at times as well.

-Oh? –Tomasa sounded confused.

Milo rushed to rectify –No, I mean. I wanted to go out with you so bad, and going on a lunch date straight up seems too formal, you see. And you get self-conscious when you eat, and all –Milo looked in pain, in a sweet way –I can be quite messy when I eat at times, I would get crumbs all over my mouth like when you watch little kids having ice-cream –he continued.

Tomasa was relieved, and endeared, by his explanation. Her features magically softened whilst paying attention to him –I’m nervous too –she admitted.

-Which it’s silly, because –Milo drifted off, their sexual encounter omnipresent in the air.

-I know –Tomasa nodded. Closing the short gap between their hands was tempting. Milo took careful spoonful’s of the soup, Tomasa did the same, and they would share knowing smiles in the process.

-I work in the post office –Milo told her, once their plates were empty. The more minutes passed, the most comfortable he got and Tomasa was glad, because she felt the same way –It’s a tricky job, because it’s boring and mechanic on the surface, but you’re also contributing for all kinds of people to communicate.

-I would open all the letters if I were you –Tomasa giggled, body unconsciously leaning forward just like Milo was, eyes unable to look away from one another.

Milo shook his head, smiling big –No way! I’d get myself fired and I can’t afford that, I have trouble reaching the end of the month as it is.

-Don’t tell me you’ve never been tempted!

-You’re intruding in other people’s business!

-You’re a big liar who lies –Tomasa playfully stated. It was refreshing, really, how relaxed Milo made her feel. They fit as effortlessly as they had in bed.

-I didn’t deny the temptation, Tomasa –clarified Milo. It came out more serious than intended. Milo’s eyes looked lovely in the day light, a serene baby-blue that the people in this town, the majority olive-skinned like Tomasa, were used to find only up in the summer skies. They stared at each other in a silence that was filled with thrill. Under the table Tomasa put one foot close to Milo’s, rubbing softly, just making a statement. And Milo let her as he admired Tomasa open and wantonly.

-I like your earring –commented Milo, almost whispering.

-Me too –Tomasa smiled.

It was getting windy. They took a stroll towards the promenade, which stayed deserted more often than not, especially on a bad weather. It was not a romantic spot, a volatile smell of fish came and went with the breeze and the surroundings seemed dull and grey. You could tell it was a mostly abandoned place that once upon a time flourished with life, and they couldn’t pretend they were bothered by it; the more alone they were the better, trapped in a narrow-minded town. They stopped by the railings, leaning on them as they watched the sea, a few old boats floating nearby. The waves were strong, the wind hitting them in the face. A cigarette hung from each mouth.

-My Dad disowned me the day he caught me red-handed with a boy –Milo reminisced, casual. He didn’t seem to dwell on the pain anymore –All the money he made came from monkey businesses anyway –he shrugged.

Tomasa blew out the smoke –But you like girls too?

Milo simply nodded. Tomasa watched him in curiosity. This was a first for her, in a good way. She learnt that she didn’t care what Milo identified as, as long as Milo liked her.

-I’m sorry about your Dad.

-Don’t be, he’s a jerk. And a drunk. Pretty sure he hit my Mum once too but she denied it.

So Tomasa revealed her story, though not getting into much detail because why bother to dig up in the mud with someone that could flee from her life the next week. Milo paid attention, watching her intently.

-Did anyone die?

-One of the workers suffered a heart-attack, we the girls escaped on time. Though many of us got injured –Tomasa said. It was only the second time she’d told the story of how the orphanage got burnt down. It’d started when the oven suffered a technical failure in the kitchen and the fire expanded from there, lethal like a revengeful snake, Tomasa and other girls were busy painting one of the rooms, oblivious. Tomasa had been eleven; her memory retained it all in a box that had resisted the course of time. The panic and the screams. The heat of the flames, the odour of the smoke. She nearly pissed herself out of terror, whilst others did wet their trousers, the sudden shock too overwhelming to bear, everyone running for their lives as their survival instinct kicked in. The moment she realized she was literally homeless was fresh in her brain, suddenly the weight of the whole world dropping flat on her shoulders. To this day she could find the smell of the ashes under her nostrils.

-You’re strong –said Milo, sympathetic and sincere.

-So are you –replied Tomasa, offering Milo an uncertain smile and a small frown –You wouldn’t know about hard times unless you’ve experienced them yourself, I’m not some martyr.

-I won’t victimize myself in front of you.

-You saying I am?

-No, quite the opposite. You’re radiant…despite everything –Milo seemed scared to ruin it. Because he kind of was, implying what he was scared to vocalize. Tomasa arched an eyebrow, facing the horizon again. The wind was messing up her hair, she tried to fix it. She kept smoking in silence whilst Milo sent her sideways looks. The silence was rather thick.

Then Milo found his voice again –I apologize if that came out wrong.

-Not exactly wrong, but…dramatic? –Tomasa answered with honesty –Listen, Milo –Tomasa turned to him, their arms brushing. Milo looked guilty –You fuck for free, I fuck for money. Technically, I win –she shrugged, nonchalant, though her eyes gave her away if you paid attention. Fortunately, men were not the perceptive type. She finished the cigarette and dropped it.

Milo blinked –But I do it for fun. With people I actually like.

-My point is: I get money in return, it pays my bills. Hardly…but it does –Milo listened carefully, letting every word sink in –You said that your job is tricky, well, so is mine. So is everyone’s, there is good and there is bad. I put up with crap, but also…I get to sleep in, for an instance. I get up at two in the afternoon if I want to. I doubt you can do that.

Tomasa studied him. Milo shook his head with a faint smile.

-See? Whilst you’re up early and it’s cold and you’re sleepy and you want to die, I’m dreaming with angels –she remarked in a sassy tone. Milo smiled wider. He dropped the cigarette butt too, mouth twisting to the side to exhale the smoke. His hand, gently, landed on Tomasa’s face whilst his gaze absorbed her like she was made of stardust. Tomasa leant into his palm, looking up at him not just seductive, but pondering as well. Understanding that Milo just heard all that and was willing to try anyway. Milo walked her home, their arms brushing intentionally.

-You going in? –Tomasa offered as they stood outside her building, openly eager. They knew what that meant, their eyes glittered with mirth, and longing. Tomasa made sure to tidy up her room before going out, hoping to come back with her special guest.

Milo’s face fell a little –I’m busy right now.

-On a Sunday? –Tomasa didn’t want to push, keeping the smile and her voice light.

-It’s…in the hospital –Milo cleared his throat, uncomfortable. Tomasa noticed.

-You don’t want to talk about it –she observed. Milo just made a sound, vaguely shaking his head. Tomasa reached out of his hand, squeezing.

Milo gave her a knowing look, raising her eyebrows –Romantic.

Tomasa got the reference. Milo interlaced their fingers and they both watched, their hands united. Slowly they got closer, brushing their foreheads together first, then their noses. Tomasa could feel her heart pumping in her ears, Milo staring at her lips so intensely it was hard to breathe. As soon as they kissed, sweet and tentative, they were smiling into each other’s mouths. Someone passed by and gave them a rude glare. Tomasa broke the kiss to open the door and guide Milo inside the building hall to have more privacy. It was empty, just the letter lockers on one side and the staircase, a catacombs entry according to Carla. They stood in one corner. There, Tomasa wrapped her arms around Milo’s neck, pushing their mouths together again. Milo’s arms were fast on her waist, kissing back with hunger, pressing her against the wall. Milo stayed there with her for good twenty minutes. Kissing, and hugging, and smiling. Smiling so much.

Carla found her dancing and singing to Madonna with the energy of two suns. Her friend burst out laughing, but quickly dropped the keys and joined her. They sang in choir, grinning wide, though Tomasa was pretty much shouting, her voice was so loud.

-Pretend I’m him! –Carla encouraged her, sitting down on the couch. Because she didn’t have to ask, she knew Tomasa too well. Tomasa truly appreciated that, despite being drained after an encounter, her friend faked a good mood not to ruin her happy moment. Tomasa stuck her tongue out, making a show of wiggling her hips and exaggerating her cheeky performance. Tomasa pointed at her and then touched her chest, dramatically mimicking the lyrics. Carla made some vulgar faces, reaching out for her, which prompted Tomasa to laugh out loud and land on her lap. She serenaded Carla pretending to be Milo, running a hand down her face, at which Carla made a show of biting and licking her hand. That killed the magic.

-Eww! –exclaimed Tomasa, playing the offended, wiping her hand on Carla’s clothes.

-Don’t eww me, you fake prude! You’ve had Milo’s tongue in much private places! –Carla shoved her off her lap. The song was ending. Tomasa chuckled, curling up on the couch and looking up at Carla with kitten eyes.

-That’s different. Besides –Tomasa drifted off, biting her lip. She grabbed a cushion and hugged it to her chest. Tomasa could really resemble a sweet little animal when she got like this, no matter how hard she denied it. The silence completed the phrase.

-Not yet? –Carla wondered.

Tomasa shook her head –We had regular sex that night –she shrugged. This led her to explain that nothing sexual happened today. Carla smiled, reaching out to stroke her hair.

-How did it go? –Tomasa asked after a moment of soft silence.

Carla pulled a small, bored grimace –It was a woman, at least.

-Oh!

-I know –they understood. Regardless of their personal preference, getting a female client, which was infrequent in comparison, was always objectively positive. Not having to deal with an unwanted penis was relieving enough; that, and taking a rest from the omnipresent fear of being overpowered and forced that came along with taking care of a man with unknown principles and built up frustration. With a woman, the physical force was equal in case of an eventual attack, which reduced the stress. Carla took a nap whilst Tomasa lounged on the couch with the radio on, thinking of Milo with a dreamy smile.

They went shopping with Carla the next morning, as they needed to expand their wardrobe for their future performances; not because they were told to do so, but because they took their art seriously. It took them hours between trying on dresses and skirts, and choosing certain make-up and glitter and random flamboyant accessories. Tomasa was stricter and technical, paying attention to the perfect fit and comparing prices, putting their tight budget above anything else, whilst Carla behaved like a kid that got distracted by the colours and the patterns. Though they always visited the same boutiques given that the options weren’t that vast, the looks and comments they got from other costumers didn’t decrease. It was a small town, they were two women with a reputation, Carla was unable to keep her voice down and the gossiping about other people’s business was part of the town’s uneventful lifestyle. A woman in her forties fixed them a glare as they tried on earrings in front of a mirror. Tomasa let her at first, pretending not to notice, but decided to speak up when she wouldn’t take her eyes off of them.

-Excuse me, you need anything? –she addressed her, full on sassy mode. Carla elbowed her, but Tomasa ignored it so Carla just rolled her eyes. She eyed them from head to toe with sheer disdain, eyebrows furrowed in a disgusted frown, the picture of a Catholic mother that kissed her rosary more than she kissed her husband. Then she rolled her eyes and made to move away.

Tomasa managed to spit before she left -Advising on getting dick, perhaps? You look like you’d use some!

The woman walked away muttering something under her breath, face a furious red from an embarrassment that gave her away. Carla snorted, Tomasa supressing a laugh. Either way, Tomasa half-heartedly apologized when the cashier gave them a disapproving look. Her good mood dropped when, back home, Milo gave her a call wondering if they could meet up for dinner and she couldn’t give a yes since she already had plans of certain kind.

-I’m sorry –she said, keeping a steady voice despite the sudden anger she felt for herself.

It took Milo a few seconds to reply, Tomasa holding her breath –It’s all right –said Milo, voice tight.

Hunched by her bedside table, Tomasa inhaled the powder with more resolve than previous times. She was working at home tonight. Throwing her head back, adjusting to the feeling, she let the strong effect run through her. She kept wrinkling and touching her nose, sniffing, hopeless gaze faraway in the dim light, pupils dilating. The man came back from the bathroom and proceeded to undo his belt, whilst Tomasa sat there on the bed, anxiously biting on her nails, a minor tremor on her hand. There was an armpit smell emanating from the man; surely someone that just got out of a hard day at work, quickly engaging on his secret activities before heading back home; he was paying money for this, his presentation wasn’t an issue, not for him. Tomasa offered the man a fake smile, eyes empty, heart resigned.

Tomasa was shaking, and not only from the cold, as she stood outside Milo’s door. It was past eleven in the night. Milo opened the door, looking soft and fluffy in his pyjamas; much different to the cool image he sported in public. Tomasa decided she liked both versions of him, and probably any other version Milo kept hidden under his sleeve.

-Hi –whispered Tomasa. Barely.

-Hey there –Milo smiled, surprised, though his eyes didn’t light up that much noticing Tomasa’s gloomy mood.

Milo invited her inside, closing the door softly behind. It was dark, only a tiny light coming from Milo’s bedroom. They moved in silence, Milo gently cupping her face, stroking with his thumb, searching for her eyes that Tomasa would fight to conceal. They nuzzled foreheads and noses, and also lips, sharing feathery kisses, the tip of their tongues meeting briefly. Tomasa made a shy noise, like a hum or a whimper, before enveloping Milo’s waist, face buried in the crook of Milo’s neck, breathing him in. Milo’s arms settled firm and warm around her shoulders, sheltering Tomasa. Milo smelled of cigarettes and his cologne that Tomasa was already becoming at ease with.

Tomasa wasn’t familiar with the concept of life before midday. Much less being awake at six in the morning, the mere thought an outrageous one. However, waking up next to a cute boy certainly improved the experience. She hummed, sleepy and cuddly, as she pressed her body closer to Milo’s, hands on Milo’s neck. Milo held her tight, his body felt warm and welcoming. They lay close together, nuzzling noses, eyes dropping shut and opening again as the sleep was still heavy upon them. Milo rested his lips on her forehead, just feeling her. Effortlessly, their mouths met in a series of lazy kisses.

-Good morning –whispered Milo, voice raspier than usual.

They kept kissing, tongues exploring –It’s good with you –replied Tomasa.

She would open her eyes a bit, letting herself be kissed, watching the fond in Milo’s face. It was a sight, and a first, not bothering to blur out the face of a person for self-preservation measures. Then she would shut them again, responding properly. Kissing Milo was becoming her favourite thing to do. Tomasa loved it rough; she was unapologetic about it, but getting a soft treatment proved to be nice too. Not boring soft, but careful soft. Dedicated. Milo’s hands admired her hair and neck and breasts, before travelling down to find her waist, seizing her with a passion that was not dominating. Tomasa’s own hands were already buried in his scalp, grabbing tufts of dirty blond hair, greedy fingers unable to stay still. They were soon making out frantic and wet, breathing only getting harder and louder. Milo held onto her thigh when Tomasa draped it over his hip, crotches meeting and pressing, causing nice friction. Something like a purr came out of Tomasa’s mouth at the feeling of Milo’s hand wandering up her thigh towards her buttocks.

-Is this okay? –mumbled Milo whilst Tomasa continued to attack his mouth, voice charged with want.

-You and I shagged already –Tomasa breathed, as if that answered the question. It didn’t.

-You’re not working this time –Milo forced their mouths apart, holding her gaze that was half-fogged up by lust –Are you?

-Excuse me? –Tomasa blinked, steaming hot blood abruptly turning cold.

Milo gulped, a subtle hesitation on his face –I just want to make sure.

Tomasa quirked an eyebrow, expression hardening –Are you postmarking letters right now? –she dared.

Milo frowned –What…no-

-I’d just like to make sure –Tomasa spat matter-of-factly, though her tone wasn’t as steady if you listened closely –Since you believe that people can’t have a life outside of work and all.

Slowly they separated, Tomasa disentangling herself from Milo’s arms with certain doubt, eyes looking away from Milo’s. Tomasa sat up, the energy she’d gathered up fading away, gaze down on the bed. Her eyes held a tiredness that went beyond the physical. The silence went on for too long. When Milo sat up and put a hand on her shoulder blades, Tomasa didn’t push him away. She didn’t want to, which could have meant that Tomasa was just desperate for affection, but she preferred to see it as intuition. After all, Milo was literally the first man to ask for her consent. And it was tragic, that her standards were set so low. A display of basic human decency shouldn’t have been a feature to appreciate, but to expect from the get go.

-I’m sorry –he said, palm warm on Tomasa’s back.

-It’s fine; it’s a fair doubt to have.

-It’s not. I fucked up –Milo searched for eye-contact, Tomasa complied –Don’t normalize it.

Tomasa pondered, quickly getting lost in Milo’s stare again; a transparent blue –That’s a big word.

Milo smiled, amused, and relieved –Not really?

-It’s when you make something normal?

-You make it sound normal, yeah. To reduce its harm.

Tomasa’s expression softened. She lifted a hand to Milo’s cheek –You’re smart but you keep fucking up –she observed, light and playful. If she was not mistaken, Milo blushed a little –I don’t have a way with words, told you. Would rather write than speak.

Tomasa hummed, fingers caressing Milo’s cheek. He had a few spots scattered on his forehead, but then again, Tomasa had her own fair amount too –Then don’t talk –she whispered, secretive and inviting, before granting him a kiss that turned heated fast.

It was like the bubble of intimacy was never burst in the first place. Milo was pushed onto his back, hands gripping each other’s hair. They smirked between kisses, in awe at how easy they moved against each other. When Tomasa made to go south with one single goal, she was stopped and flipped onto her back.

-You deserve to feel good –Milo declared, kissing her lips hard before going down, patient and loving. Tomasa panted and gasped, in delight and disbelief, as she was kissed and licked all over her neck and torso and belly, Milo keeping her shirt rode up as she went. Getting her nipples sucked teasing and proper was a gift, back arching up. This hardly ever happened; in some functioning recess of Tomasa’s melting brain she wondered how Milo guessed this, for she refused to be the predictable case of the prostitute that carried her misery visible in her frown. Those isolated cases when someone bothered to see her as anything more than a wet mouth and a tight hole, they went straight to leave her boobs smudged in saliva. Milo, however, kissed all the way down to her feet, toes included, stopping by her hips, thighs, knees and calves. She sighed, gone and abandoned underneath Milo, to Milo. She reached out for him, arms spread out, missing him closer despite having her lips on him. Tomasa made to sit up, clinging to Milo’s waist, and she was met with another feverish kiss, Milo’s tongue seeking for her throat, hands secure on her jaw. Milo was a shameless kisser, and Tomasa hoped she reserved that hunger for her only. Flat on her back again, Tomasa was freed of her knickers. With only the shirt rode up on her chest, Tomasa was sprawled before Milo naked in plain daylight, legs open for him.

-I like you so much –said Milo, casual and heartfelt, kneeling between her legs before approaching her mouth again. Tomasa kept him there to make out some more, legs closing around him to trap him, inspiring Milo to grin and land a hand on her thigh, caressing and squeezing. With a knowing look, Milo went back to her crotch, to lick her this time. Tomasa’s moan was immediate, hand flying to Milo’s scalp. She was seeing stars beneath her shut eyes, chest rising and falling, mouth agape. Fucking Milo the first time had been great, but doing it again without money involved multiplied the pleasure.

-Let me –she babbled, weak but begging, mind set on the bulge before her salivating eyes and mouth once Milo let go of her. He took off his slips and shirts in haste, as Milo’s urgency became apparent. Tongue already out, thirsty for a taste, she prompted Milo to straddle her chest. After Milo’s tongue, this was already her second favourite taste. Milo could only curse and pant out loud, eyes fixed on Tomasa sucking him. Somehow reluctantly Tomasa let Milo slip out of her mouth, greedy tongue sticking out for more, a filthy smile on her face which had Milo crazy. She sat up for the hundredth kiss, arms hooking around Milo’s neck as Milo took hold of her hips to settle her on his lap, Tomasa’s legs enveloping him easily just like the first time. They sniggered as they played, swerving kisses, biting, licking and pulling on hair, before Tomasa fell back on her back whilst Milo searched for the lube and condom. Tomasa watched him with a dopey grin, happy to be having fun whilst being immensely aroused. She grew more serious when Milo repositioned himself between her widely-spread legs, swift flashbacks of the night before coming back and threatening with upsetting her, but she regained focus. Tomasa looked up at Milo with longing, hand working on Milo’s hardness whilst she was fingered. Milo was so worked up he looked in pain; she grinned at him, indulgent, as she guided him into her. Tomasa discovered then, that she missed him inside.

They embraced afterwards, bodies spent and sweaty, as they caught their breathing. Tomasa cradled Milo’s head below her chin, arms and legs still intimately intertwined. Milo was smiling like an idiot, he looked up at Tomasa, and Tomasa could only beam in return.

-Join me in the shower? –Milo asked her as he readjusted, lying beside her.

Tomasa shook her head with a triumphal smirk –No, some of us don’t work early in the morning –she stuck her tongue out –Sucks to be you.

-Ouch –Milo pouted, which proved to be a tempting view, so Tomasa had to kiss him. As they made out, Milo grabbed her tight by the waist and made to stand up with her.

-No –Tomasa whimpered, though broke into giggles the next second.

-Please! –Milo convinced her. Because Tomasa was hypnotized. Wrapped in their embrace and kissing non-stop between tireless smiles, they awkwardly made towards the bathroom. They spent a ridiculous amount of time fooling around in the reduced space of the shower, Milo promising to hurry up for good only to get distracted by her.

Milo ended up being late for work. Before that, he let Tomasa sleep on his bed for as long as she needed, told her to grab anything from the fridge, and Tomasa watched him leave with butterflies batting their wings in her belly.

A routine was established. Unintentional, natural. Tomasa would go to Milo’s after having a client over the flat, and Milo would stay at Tomasa’s when Tomasa didn’t have guests. Pretty much every night, they’d spend it together. Their personal belongings started to mingle, as they’d keep things in the other’s house. There was an oversized grey hoodie that belonged to Tomasa but Milo loved to wear, sentimentally claiming that it carried her scent, whereas Tomasa picked up any Milo’s shirt at hand to wear at home or to sleep with. It dangerously started to look like a relationship without the official title stamped on it. One Sunday morning Tomasa was up making breakfast with a tired but radiant smile on her face, as she had Milo on her bed. She was wearing Milo’s purple shirt and nothing more. Carla, wrapped on her Chinese rob, picked up on this domesticity. She hummed suggestively from the threshold, watching Tomasa making coffee and toast.

-Someone’s whipped –Carla teased.

-Someone’s jealous –Tomasa shot back with a smirk, looking up at Carla to blow her a kiss.

Carla huffed dramatically –My world doesn’t revolve around your naughty arse.

Tomasa pulled a face, breaking into another grin when Carla approached her, casually invading her personal space whilst Tomasa spread marmalade on the toasts –By the way, how is your arse doing.

-It’s sore.

Carla celebrated –Good! A sore arse is a happy arse –her words of wisdom caused Tomasa to chuckle as they high-fived like two kids teaming up for a game. They both knew that, beneath that shallow dialogue, Carla was expressing her approval as long as Milo didn’t hurt her. Tomasa was not one to fake these things.

-Take care of those eye bags, though. They’re ugly in any shape; they won’t make an exception on a mermaid face like yours.

-You hurt my feelings –Tomasa pouted.

-I’m glad, that means you still love me –Carla stole a toast and ran away before Tomasa could catch her. She could have, was the thing, had it not been for how drained she felt. Emotionally she was glowing, but she was running out of energy. Milo had been restless these past few days, and it seemed like it got worse every passing day. Before Tomasa got up this morning, she’d been relieved to find Milo snoozing beside her. Finally, as the sight of a sleeping Milo had become foreign lately. It was true that they were both high on lust, but everybody had its limits. When she entered her room, however, Tomasa was startled to find Milo very much awake and putting on clothes on a rush. She stood there, with the tray on her hands.

-Good morning? –she said, concealing her disappointment. Milo was supposed to be sleeping and Tomasa had intended to wake him up for breakfast and cuddles before sleeping again.

-Baby! I had the most amazing dream, you won’t believe it! –Milo spoke like he was in the middle of a carnival; not precisely the conventional image of someone who’d just woken up. He jumped on one foot as he tied the shoelaces of the other one on the air –I fucking dreamt with Godzilla! But the female version! She was like, Godzilla’s wife. And everyone around me was fucking shitting themselves on their pants –Milo laughed like it was the funniest thing.

He approached Tomasa to plant a quick kiss on her lips –For some odd reason I could speak her language? So I had the power to save the town, and then shit happened and somehow I ended driving a truck but the truck didn’t have breaks so it fell in the ocean-

-That’s funny, are you having breakfast? –Tomasa had to interrupt him because the words were coming out of Milo’s mouth like bullets from a machine gun and her bulletproof vest was out of reach.

-I’m going out for a run –Milo announced, grabbing a toast and passing by Tomasa in a blur.

Tomasa stood there bewildered, jumping at the noise of the door being slammed shut. She turned around to find Carla as perplexed as her.

-He’s like the Kraftwerk song. The man machine! –exclaimed Carla in amusement, continuing to sing machine, machine, machine. Sensing that Tomasa didn’t get the joke, she approached her and guided her towards the unmade bed, setting the tray on the mattress.

-Well, if he won’t appreciate your breakfast, then I will –said Carla as she proceeded to take a sip of the coffee that Tomasa made for Milo. Only to pull a dramatic grimace –Yikes, bloody hell! It has no sugar!

-He likes it black –said Tomasa, finally uttering a word. It came out defeated, pout and all.

-What kind of grey soul would enjoy black coffee? A masochist only! It’s like putting it in straight up, no lube, no prep! –Carla spoke as if deeply offended –Bitterness attracts bitterness like sugar attracts the ants. You better dump this boy –Carla was not being serious. Tomasa just wished Milo would get back soon.

Milo came back two hours later, sweating like a pig and horny again. He went straight for Tomasa, who was resting on the couch with Carla, watching television. Milo took her hand to pull her up, grabbing her waist tight and possessive, Tomasa letting out a gasp in surprise.

-Hey –Tomasa managed to mumble as Milo attacked her mouth, paying no mind to Carla, who happened to be there witnessing it all.

-Oh my God, that’s wild –Carla sniggered devishly as Milo guided Tomasa towards the bedroom, hands sneaking beneath Tomasa’s shirt to grope her backside –Don’t mind me guys! I’ll be here if you need me! You know, watching the telly and praying for Tomasa’s pussy!

Milo’s scent was an intoxicating mixture of perspiration and arousal, Tomasa could touch the liquid of the sweat on his neck and behind his ear. Taste the salt on his lips. Milo was eating her like he hadn’t seen a plate of food in three weeks. Tomasa was responding, but was also confused.

-Milo –she tried when Milo released her mouth to drop her on the bed. Milo was already undressing.

-Hey baby, slow down –Tomasa sat up, put her hands on Milo’s waist, looking up at him.

-You don’t want to? –Milo took off his underwear, voice heavy with want. He was hard, ready to go. He covered Tomasa’s body, pushing her onto her back again. Milo took Tomasa’s hands, raising their arms above their heads, as he kissed her deep and wet.

-I do, but I’m tired –Tomasa whispered whilst Milo dropped kisses all over her neck. She enveloped Milo’s form with her legs either way, panting beneath him, soft little moans escaping her lips. Milo’s caresses always felt electric, Tomasa surrendered to them every time. Milo let go of her hands to take off Tomasa’s shirt, and Tomasa watched, aroused but still curious, how Milo lowered her knickers and buried his face in the gap between her thighs. Tomasa gasped, stomach rising and falling, eyes squeezing shut. They’d had so much sex lately, that it was really reaching a point where working an orgasm sounded stressful. The fact that her work literally involved having sex too didn’t help, though the experiences had no comparison because Tomasa hardly ever came with clients. Still, her body was suffering from serious exhaustion.

After a while Milo took off his mouth, freed her of the underwear completely and pushed her onto her belly –You just take it, okay? –he said, hot breath near Tomasa’s backside.

-Okay –nodded Tomasa, fingers holding onto the sheets. She let out a long, trembling sigh at the feeling of Milo’s tongue between her arse-cheeks. She kept licking her lips and humming, hiding her face on the mattress, because Milo went hard for it once again. Savouring her arse like a juicy peach. His sexual appetite seemed to know no limits.

-Baby, go gentle please –Tomasa told him once Milo was done, applied some lube and positioned himself behind her to enter her arse, covering her body completely. Tomasa was sore, Milo had to know. Milo panted hard against his ear like a raging bull as he pushed in and out slow but so deep Tomasa was whimpering low in her throat. Milo searched for her mouth, Tomasa craning her neck to meet his kisses that involved more tongue than lips. Then Milo lifted her hips a bit, squeezed her hipbones hard and drove into her like a man possessed, Tomasa grabbing and biting the sheets.

She was lovingly cradled afterwards, Milo spooning her tight and warm and affectionate, their legs intertwined. Tomasa was shaking a little and she could hardly move a muscle, she felt like falling asleep any second. Though she’d still turn her head a little to meet Milo’s kisses and nuzzle noses. Tomasa liked Milo so much she didn’t have the strength to bring up the fact that Milo had come inside her several times now, something that Milo had refrained from doing during their first encounters. Tomasa tried to be strict in that specific matter, but it was hard to succeed. She’d lost count the amount of times a client had either refused to wear protection or pull out before ejaculating. She’d had her fair amount of infections over the years, and an underground healer to resort to in case of pregnancy; a desperate measure she wished to be proud to state she was unfamiliar with. Milo dropped pecks all over her face, Tomasa relishing his affection like a puppy-dog. With Milo’s help, Tomasa turned to face him as they kept sharing little kisses.

-I think I love you –declared Milo, eyes beaming with adoration. Tomasa was sleepy and soft, thumb stroked Milo’s lower lip.

-How can you tell? –she whispered.

-Before I met you, I was living in a black and white, silent movie. Now it has colour and sound –Milo said, looking like he truly meant it. His honesty was raw, Tomasa stared reflexively.

-You make me wanna live –confessed Milo, offering her a fond smile.

-You didn’t want to before? –Tomasa frowned, sensing that Milo was talking in code.

-It varies, like the wind –said Milo, chuckling, like it was funny. For some reason, Tomasa didn’t agree but kept the thought to herself –Do you love me too? –Milo asked with childish excitement.

-I think I do, baby –said Tomasa, smiling tenderly. She meant it, the suspicion. Milo grinned joyful and boyish in response. Her arms enveloped Milo’s waist as she cuddled up to him, resting her face against his neck. Milo kept a hand on her hair, as he ran the other one down her back. They were still naked.

Tomasa looked up –Let’s cuddle and sleep –she suggested in a murmur, Milo instantly capturing her mouth for more lazy post-sex kisses. They managed ten minutes of rest, lying peacefully in each other’s arms, Tomasa snoozing off with her head under Milo’s chin. After that, Milo abruptly got up, the mattress sinking with the action. In her sleepy state, Tomasa got the word drawing.

-Baby, let’s get some rest –she mumbled, slightly moody, as Milo kept making noise with his movements around the room. With hardly any energy, she lifted her head from the pillow to find a naked Milo sitting on the tiny space of the windowsill, with a pen and sketchbook on his lap.

-You are so fucking beautiful Tomasa, you have no idea! –Milo exclaimed, sounding far too awake for someone who hardly carried seven hours of sleep total these past two weeks.

-You’re drawing me? –Tomasa asked the obvious, fatigued eyes squinted. Milo was already sketching passionately, throwing lines on the paper so eagerly that interrupting him was definitely a wrong suggestion. Tomasa did interrupt him, though. Unintentionally, when she grabbed the covers to drape them over her.

-Don’t! –shouted Milo, sharp like a horn, causing Tomasa to jolt on the spot.

-Milo, what the hell –Tomasa frowned. She let go of the covers, resigned to keep sleeping exposed.

-The dip of your spine and your arse are fucking key, okay?

-You don’t have to shout –Tomasa sulked, hugging the pillow. She wouldn’t dare break the pose now, which she assumed consisted of her resting face down. In short minutes she was asleep again.

Disorientated, Tomasa woke up from her nap around four in the afternoon. It was getting dark already and it rained with fury; it gave her summertime nostalgia. She sat up and looked around, discovering that Milo was, once again, gone. A seed of worry, or hesitation, settled in her lower-belly. Milo was behaving differently. But if Milo was growing tired of her and stayed only for the sex, then why did he say those things. Tomasa didn’t even push him, he didn’t need to pretend. As she put her clothes back on, she noticed that there were still Milo’s things scattered around, which meant that he didn’t actually leave her. In the living room, there was a note in Carla’s messy writing letting her know she was out and that she didn’t have to wait for her for dinner, plus the expected out of place comment about Milo’s sexual drive. As sad as it sounded, being sore had been a permanent thing in Tomasa’s life for years, so she didn’t actually limp as she walked. Though it still stung. She made herself a sandwich and grabbed their last beer in the fridge. She put the TV on as she ate on the couch without paying attention to the screen. Back in her room, she sat on the bed and lit up a cigarette. Tomasa hated being alone, because alone, her mind wouldn’t have distractions and therefore, would start wandering unwanted places that existed beyond a thick fog of denial. Her memories, all the way back when she was eleven, and the cold and the hunger and the hopelessness led her to follow unknown men in the dark. There was a lump in her throat that she made sure to swallow before it got dangerous. Her attention came back to reality when she registered the sound of a familiar laughter coming from the street, followed by the same voice calling her name over the rain.

-Tomasa! Come outside! –it was Milo, shouting out. Tomasa got up with a jump and stood by the window, looking down to find Milo waving his arms at her, laughing hysterically at something that Tomasa was unaware of.

-Baby, let’s enjoy the rain! –Milo shouted animatedly, like a kid that was meeting the rain for the first time. Milo panted a little, which probably meant that he’d came back running from wherever he’d been just to call for Tomasa. As if the rain falling was the most extraordinary news to announce. It was odd.

-Milo –Tomasa muttered, not really knowing what to say. Milo was dressed poorly and the rain was incessant; he was drenched to the bone and Milo didn’t seem to mind one bit –Milo, come back inside! You’re soaking wet, you’ll catch pneumonia! –responded Tomasa after opening the window, in a friendly tone. Not demanding but suggesting, for her instinct was sketching out a drawing she had yet to make out.

-I’ll be waiting!

-Milo! –the words died in her mouth, because Milo disappeared from her line of vision. Running way like a mischievous toddler. Tomasa opened the window wider and leant forward, trying to catch sight of Milo. But the boy was fast. Tomasa reacted swiftly: she dropped the half-smoked cigarette on the ashtray, put her shoes back on, put on a jacket and grabbed another one. Then she looked for her umbrella, discovering with a grunt that Carla took it. Tomasa took the keys and fled the apartment in a rush. She zipped up the jacket and put on the hood on her way out of the building. The rain was pouring down and the streets were deserted. Tomasa immediately followed the direction she saw Milo running to, her form quickly turning dripping wet. She called Milo’s name as she went, steps speeding up, a worried frown between her eyebrows. Tomasa had no idea where Milo could be, and furthermore, had no idea why Milo was doing this. It was difficult to see under the rain, things adopted a blurry quality beyond the heavy drops falling down, Tomasa cursed under her breath. Eventually her legs transported her to the nearest park, eyes scanning it left and right. It was not a pretty place, more of a den than a conventional park, and Tomasa recognized it as such; she used to work there, like many others, the trees providing a hiding spot for certain activities. Prostitutes that Tomasa knew still provided services behind those trees, and people traded money for drugs. Someone grabbed her tight and fast from behind, Tomasa’s life flashed before her eyes as she let out a terrified gasp. It was just Milo though.

-You fucking asshole! –Tomasa turned around in his arms and tried to shove him away, Milo was in hysterics –You scared the shit outta me!

To Milo though, was the most hilarious thing –You really fucking believed! –he laughed so hard he had to let go of Tomasa, hands on his chest to catch his breath –You fucking believed I was kidnapping you!

-This park is nasty, Milo –Tomasa calmed down, but kept talking to Milo in an accusatory way –I’ve seen the ugliest shit go down before my eyes, it’s not funny.

Milo continued to laugh for another whole minute, completely ignoring Tomasa’s words. Tomasa watched in silence. It really wasn’t that funny. Then, when Milo finally recomposed, he took Tomasa’s face between his hands and kissed her.

-I’ve always wanted to make out in the rain! –he grinned, elated like a little kid. Tomasa responded, but then pulled away, taking Milo’s hands in hers.

-Babe –Tomasa tried, stopping Milo’s advances –What were you doing outside? Let’s go back, okay? It’s raining like it’s the end of the fucking world –she proceeded to help Milo into the jacket, though Milo didn’t exactly cooperate because he was busy trying to hug and kiss her.

-C’mon love-

-No, let’s sing in the rain! –Milo pressed her closer by the waist, offering Tomasa the most endearing, fascinated gaze. Tomasa paused, contemplative. She suspected then, that she was seriously falling for Milo when she welcomed his embrace, arms around his neck. They were soaked to the bone, yet for some reason Tomasa decided to play along. Milo just looked so happy, reprimanding him wasn’t fair.

-Which song? –she asked. And Tomasa was not being blindly compliant. Just patient. The sparkle in Milo’s eyes was as bizarre as it was harmless.

-I don’t know, you’re the singer –giggled Milo –Aren’t you tired of these singing in the rain references? I am!

Tomasa listened, blinking, trying to follow. Noticing that in two seconds Milo changed his mind about singing.

-When Suzy Banyon arrived at the ballet school, it wasn’t fucking nice –Milo continued –People won’t shut up about that stupid scene of the guy in the rain, who the fuck sings in the rain? The rain represents nostalgia and defeat; it represents freedom and catharsis too, but also danger and doom. Nothing happened yet, but you’re already scared shitless. Susy should have known what she was herself getting into; the rain fucking announced it, and she suspected! You could see it in her eyes, but she didn’t follow her instinct.

-Susy? –Tomasa wondered.

-But then you have Paul and Holly making out –Milo kissed her –I can be Holly if you want –Milo offered with a cheeky smile and went for her lips again.

-Let’s just be Tomasa and Milo –Tomasa suggested against his mouth. Milo tightened his grip on her, Tomasa rising up on her tip-toes to kiss him easier, the taste of Milo’s mouth mixing up with the water.

They dried off and Tomasa heated up leftover soup whilst Milo went back to drawing, perched on the windowsill like it was becoming usual. As the food got ready, Tomasa struggled to light up a fire in the small brazier they had in the living room, hanging the wet clothes around it. Then she retreated to her room with two warm plates. She left her plate on the bedside table and approached Milo with his, handing it to him.

-Can I see? –Tomasa asked him, voice gentle, running her hand through Milo’s hair that gained a brownish quality when wet.

-Yes –Milo was happy to pass her the sketchbook. As he swallowed spoonful’s of the soup, he studied Tomasa’s reaction with avid eyes. Tomasa’s heart grew three sizes, finding all these beautiful portrays of her, and only her. Page after page, varying from full-body portrays to close-shots of her face. Tomasa and Isabella in all their glory; Isabella the flamboyant, fabulous performer, and Tomasa the common domestic girl. Her cheeks turned a subtle red, observing the details and the dedication Milo had poured into the drawings. He’d paid attention to her lips, cheekbones, nipples, vagina triangle, backside. The shape of her eyebrows. The tiny mole below her lip. The spots on her upper-back. The row of subtle stretch marks on her buttocks.

-Is this how you see me? –inquired Tomasa, bashful. Taken aback.

-Never –Milo corrected her –As much as I try, I could never translate your beauty onto the paper.

-Milo –Tomasa sighed. She humbly accepted that she didn’t have a particularly ugly face, but Milo had literally drawn her like an angel every single time. There was a wide spectrum between both statements. His drawing style made her imperfections looked acceptable, and desirable. Milo put a hand on her lower-back, bringing her closer. Tomasa kissed his forehead and stayed there, just feeling him. Thanking him in silence. Her plate of soup was already lukewarm when Tomasa got to it, but she didn’t mind. She sat down cross-legged on the bed and ate slowly, staring at Milo with a fond smile and thoughtful eyes.

-How you’re not tired? –she dared to vocalize. Milo continued to sketch with ever-lasting inspiration.

-How could I sleep with you by my side? Every minute that I spend with my eyes closed is a waste –Milo elaborated with a smile that was sincere and unabashed. Just stating his truth. He was not ashamed of his devotion. Never in her life had someone rendered Tomasa speechless so frequently, men were not this vocal. Feeling loved was overwhelming, for it demanded things that Tomasa was most likely not capable to give in return, and the day would come when Milo would see it.

Tomasa stood by the bus stop, covered in boots and a thick jacket and gloves and a scarf, yawning dramatically like a cat. It was freezing and too early in the morning, she belonged in her bed right now, but extra officially dating Milo came along with a price apparently. Milo ran up to her with an excitement that Tomasa wanted to hate but couldn’t, cupped her face and smooched her.

-Where are we going? –whined Tomasa, pouting like a spoiled child. She’d only received a phone call from Milo, telling her to be ready to go on a little trip, no further explanation. She hugged Milo and supported her face on his shoulder, determined to fall back asleep whilst standing.

Milo stroked her hair –To the capital.

Tomasa pulled back, surprised, groggy face gaining a bit of life –Really?

-You ever been there?

Tomasa shook her head. She’s been stuck in this town her whole life.

Milo smiled –I thought so –he pinched Tomasa’s red nose. Tomasa gasped, biting her lower lip. She suddenly felt a little more awake now. She took a nap either way, once sitting on the back of the bus, using Milo’s shoulder as a pillow. The movement of the bus, plus Milo’s incessant voice lulled her back to sleep with ease. Milo was telling her about his childhood trips to the city, imitating the voices of his parents, very histrionic. At certain point it became obvious that Tomasa wasn’t listening, but Milo continued as a distant corner in Tomasa’s brain registered.

Milo was a tornado but Tomasa, excited to finally meet the capital, was happy to keep up with him. Literally trotting behind him at times, since Milo moved from one place to another without prior announcement. What Tomasa was the most impressed about in comparison to her town was the large streets that appeared thrice the extension of the ones she was used to walk around, and the people’s carefree attitude as they passed by. At home, the opinions of others mattered, which consequently stirred a collective need of validation and thus prompted you to follow the conventional protocols of behaviour regardless of your own take on them yet here, it felt like it was safe to go to the store in pyjamas. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy; why did she have to born in a hole that was trapped in the Middle Ages, why couldn’t the stars align and put her baby form somewhere else, why were other people luckier. Not even two hours of touring had passed and Milo, between taking pictures of Tomasa and telling Tomasa to take pictures of him, had already finished the camera roll. When they stood outside the Government Palace and Tomasa was immersed taking in the imposing building, she lost track of Milo. She looked around her, assuming Milo had to be somewhere near, but she didn’t succeed. Tomasa called out his name as she started to walk, searching for him, a feeling of déjà-vu taking over. Was it always going to be like this, Tomasa wondered as she began to worry for real, recognizing nothing but unknown faces. Milo had seemed cool and mature at first, and then it felt like he drastically changed out of nowhere. Perhaps his chill, low-profile attitude was just a seduction technique, given that his over the top ways were something else; and it was fine, she thought not without bitterness, as long as he was frank about it, keeping it strictly sexual was not an option she was doing to dismiss. Tomasa registered a slight commotion out of the corner of her eye, her instinct causing her chest to tighten and stomach to drop when she span around to find a giant, muscled security man dragging a restless Milo away from the Palace whilst a number of tourists stared. One of her ears caught someone commenting that Milo had apparently tried to sneak his way inside. The guard, who was certainly a giant because a lamppost like Milo looked short by his side, roughly let Milo go with a warning and the most menacing glare. Tomasa was quick to get to him.

-Milo, what the hell?

-Nothing baby! –shouted Milo, with a calm that looked forced to cover up his nerves, Tomasa was startled. A few people kept staring, so Milo addressed them with a cynical grin on his face –What the fuck are you all looking at? You wanna watch a show? I’ll give you a show!

Tomasa didn’t have time to react when Milo was already grabbing her and dipping her to give her a theatrical kiss, hand groping her buttocks for good measure. The judgmental responses didn’t take long to come, people walked away immediately, one or two looking back in disgust. Tomasa broke free as soon as Milo straightened her up, dodging Milo’s hands that insisted with touching her.

-Why are you doing this? –spat Tomasa, bewildered –Why do you keep doing all these random shit?

-Random? –Milo’s eyes were wide and held a wilderness that was uncomfortable to witness from up close. He laughed at Tomasa’s suggestion loud and obnoxious –It’s not random! I’m happy and young and free and in love! I love you, Tomasa!

Tomasa gulped, processing –I love you too, Milo –she offered Milo a shaky smile, accepting Milo’s effort to hold her face, her hands settling on Milo’s waist –But please calm down babe, okay? You nearly get yourself arrested there, we got lucky this time.

-Okay –Milo smiled way too blissfully; Tomasa suspected that he didn’t catch a word –Let’s go to the beach!

On their way to the beach, Milo stopped by a refined patisserie and ordered several expensive little cakes and chocolates for them to take and eat by the sea; the store was so classy Tomasa felt out of place, and also guilty when Milo refused to split the pay between the two. It got awkward, again, when Milo engaged in a conversation with the lady in charge that Milo refused to finish no matter how many hints the lady politely sent, considering there were more clients waiting for their turn. Their stay on the beach was bittersweet. Just like the entire trip, Tomasa concluded. Looking back to when Milo started to act strangely, about four weeks ago, Tomasa was sure that his behaviour only got worse. They ate and made out and laughed, they played by the shore running away from the waves, but Milo was drifting. Spiralling in an orbit different to hers, she couldn’t reach out. Tomasa knew nothing about psychology or psychiatry or any of those subjects, but her heart continued working in that warning drawing that, though still vague, seemed mournful regardless. This was not normal. Asking for a day off at work to take your lover on a trip to the capital was a romantic gesture, but irresponsible either way; Milo’s past words about how much he needed to keep his job came back to her in an ominous echo. There was an invisible wall in Milo’s eyes, made of an euphoria that was boundless and hollow. Tomasa sat on the sand, ending her third cigarette, apprehensive gaze watching Milo swimming. With clothes and all in the winter water, his head showing up on the surface to get lost in the ocean again. He didn’t pay attention to Tomasa’s calls; Tomasa shouted at him so many times, she gave up. She tried to escape from Milo’s grabby hands in a playful way when they made their way out of the beach, but caved in. Milo’s arms, and entire figure, were dripping as she embraced Tomasa and lifted her off the ground a little, then dropped her, spread her arms backwards and told her to hop into his back. Resigned to get wet too, Tomasa clang to his neck and waist as Milo carried her weight all the way to the bus stop. Though out of breath from all the swimming, Milo still managed to ramble about that one time he nearly drowned when he was fourteen, dived into a turbulent river because he was sure he could handle it, and an older cousin had to jump in and save him, swimming against the current. He shared the memory like a hilarious anecdote instead of the family tragedy it could have become, and it’s not like Tomasa expected him to tear up, but laughing out loud was an exaggeration. Before he finished the story, he was moving onto yet another monologue about the film Jaws, but Tomasa’s focus stayed in the family tale. Tomasa closed her eyes and held him tighter, suspecting that whatever was going on in his mind right now, probably happened that one time too.

It was dark when they got back, Milo was nearly dry-humping her in the street, Tomasa had to stop his advances at least three times. She was running late for work but seeing Milo so needy, Tomasa made a quick stop by Milo’s flat to suck him off; Milo tried to fuck her mouth, Tomasa had to keep a firm grip on his hips to prevent him from thrusting too harsh. Like a lapdog, Milo followed her to the bathroom where Tomasa was washing the semen out of her face, and Tomasa kissed him and hugged him back, because she loved him. There was no other way to put it.

-Please get rid of these clothes and take a hot shower, all right? –Tomasa caressed his face and Milo did, undressing in five seconds.

-Then drink some hot tea and take a paracetamol or aspirin if you happen to have –she continued, an old-fashioned mother, as Milo stepped into the shower, Tomasa wasn’t sure he was listening. Milo started singing Hopelessly devoted to you at the top of his lungs under the stream of water, which she understood that Milo dedicated to her.

A moderate buzz came from outside, the usual drunken noise before the show. Tomasa got her make-up done in a hurry whilst Carla, already in the fabulous skin of Elsa that wore a blinding yellow outfit, smoked by the door and updated her on her misadventures. The dressing-room was a tiny red square, a tacky mess of outfits, glitter, wigs, feather boas and plastic roses stuck on the walls; it intensely smelled of cigarettes and hairspray. There were too medium-sized mirrors and only half of the bulbs that framed them actually worked. Isabella wore an electric shiny blue dress tonight, Tomasa applied a deep shade of fuchsia on her lips that matched the colour of her short bob-cut wig, nails and heels.

-So she called me this morning, again. Because apparently she doesn’t understand this language and doesn’t know what a No, I don’t date means. She is kind of darker than the average, now that I think about it. Maybe she comes from some exotic land very far away and she actually struggles with the language? Oh my God, that would be tragic! Rejecting someone is exhausting for your health, I don’t want to repeat the whole scene again!

-So you’ve slept with her at least five times and you still don’t know what language she’s fluent in –Tomasa remarked in a lazy, amused tone, retouching the glitter on her eyelids.

-Excuse me: as long as she’s fluent in the sack, the rest are details. I know it’s a hard concept for you to grasp, but some of us don’t romanticize sex.

-I don’t do that.

-Oh please! The other day you told me, and I quote, Milo made love to me-

-I don’t sound like that!

Carla continued -That is the grossest thing to ever come out of your slutty mouth, and you spit come on the daily.

-I meant in general you clown, and I don’t sound like a damsel in distress, I’d rather die before that –Tomasa threw a blush box at Carla. It hit her on the forehead, Carla yelled scandalized and threw it back at her. At the other side of the door, the owner of Lavanda pronounced the usual introduction speech; a brief, basic, predictable one. One or two impatient whistles followed.

-How do I look? –Tomasa was done; she stood up, did a spin for Carla and then stroke a flirty pose. Though she got ready in a hurry, Isabella looked radiant as always.

-Hideous –Carla lied, a fake grimace on her face.

-I know my worth, you won’t put me down –Tomasa huffed. She stood by the mirror and checked herself, adjusting her cleavage.

Carla approached Tomasa and left the cigarette on the ashtray –You could be lots of things, but hideous is not one of them my love –she said in Tomasa’s ear, now with honesty. Tomasa grinned at her friend through the mirror, hands joining Carla’s on her middle.

-Elsa looks fantastic, by the way –remarked Tomasa, earning a careful kiss on the ear. She meant it; Carla’s pitch black wig made a great contrast with the yellow clothes. Tomasa, or Isabella at this point, shook her arse and Elsa followed, laughing like two little kids playing at princesses. They looked to the side when their boss popped up in the dressing room.

-Ugh! The incestuous sisters again! –his eyes rolled to the back of his skull, Tomasa and Carla were used to it. To this day, Leo believed that they were hooking up since he often walked into them wrapped up in each other –You lesbians can suck faces later, out, out out!

He clapped his hands, his trademark sign. The music was already on. Carla obeyed.

-Break a leg! –Tomasa encouraged her and Carla blew her a kiss on her way out, as they did all the time.

Tomasa was rehearsing her hand gestures and her English pronunciation when the Magnificent Elsa finished her performance and applause followed. She hardly knew the basics of the English language, but made sure to memorize the right pronunciation of the lyrics she picked. It was such an insignificant venue, crowded with men that didn’t appreciate their effort beyond their sexual appeal, yet Tomasa got nervous either way. Her stomach was in knots every time, and she’d get stars in her eyes picturing herself performing in a proper stage, with a proper production supporting her and a payment that was decent. Dreaming was for free and sometimes she wished it wasn’t for the cost of the disappointment that followed made up for that.

-How did it go? –Tomasa asked excitedly, as Carla closed the door behind her and dropped down on the chair with a big sigh.

-Amazing! –she exclaimed, panting a bit –As usual –she added, very modest. From the stage, they could hear their boss introducing Isabella with hyperboles like Magical, Incomparable and Mystical.

-I’m so glad, darling –Tomasa stroked Carla’s head, now that she took off the wig.

Carla took a hip flask from her bag, taking a long thirsty sip. She burped –I deserved that –she nodded at herself. It was part of the routine –Your non-husband is in the audience, by the way!

Tomasa’s eyebrows rose up to her forehead –What?

Just right then, she got called on stage –Break a leg, baby doll!

-I will! –she promised. The lights went down and the introduction of the song was on; a dramatic piano. The men cheered and whistled until Isabella stood by the microphone stand and started singing. Suddenly all the previous anxiety faded away. In Isabella’s shoes, she gave herself completely, no trace of fear or insecurity. Quite the contrary; she made her feel empowered. Invincible. Whilst immersed in the music and the thrill of performing, Isabella succeeded in not paying attention to the obscene gestures some men sent her way, or the sight of others palming themselves.

-I love you so fucking much, you drive me crazy! –that was Milo. Yelling mid-song like he found himself in some football game, earning some glares. Isabella smiled politely as she continued singing, too focused in delivering a perfect show to think too much of Milo’s outburst. The fact that he went to see Isabella when they were not supposed to spend the night together this time around was puzzling enough. Isabella passionately recited the lyrics, grabbing the microphone to move in the small space of the stage with a grace that she’d mastered with practice and watching divas like the girls from ABBA, Cher, Diana Ross and Olivia Newton John in the television. One of the guys in the front blew her a kiss, and another threw the plastic flower from the vase on his table in her direction. Isabella dedicated a seductive smile to both men, opting not to check on Milo not get distracted as that type of smirk held a specific meaning. It was the reason she’d kept Milo from attending the show these past nights, coming up with different excuses. Isabella was a performer, true, but she lived trapped inside an ordinary woman who offered sex for a living. She was a fantasy that ceased to exist when the woman she lived inside of was forced to take care of her income. Tomasa didn’t wish to be seen like this, so openly accessible, by the man that meant so much. Not anymore.

The cheering came instantly just like the lights went on, thirty men eager to kiss her feet. She opened her eyes and took a bow, grinning ecstatic and touched. These moments, though fleeting, were priceless.

-That is my baby girl! –Milo had stood up, clapping and whistling. Isabella, more like Tomasa, met Milo’s eyes and mouthed I love you.

Tomasa only managed to hug Carla and get those oppressing extra boobs and arse out before Milo broke into the dressing room with a mischievous grin. It’s not like the access to the back of the stage was tricky anyway; Leo didn’t bother with the security. He went straight for Tomasa, sweeping her off her feet. Hands firm on her buttocks, Milo gave them a few spins. Tomasa giggled against his mouth before kissing him properly, feet dangling, grip tight on Milo’s hair; a melodramatic movie poster. Carla immediately groaned.

-Did you like it? –Tomasa asked him, though the huge beam Milo was flashing anticipated the answer.

-Did I like it? Like it is the biggest fucking understatement, I’m fucking awe-struck, Tomasa! You belong in Broadway or some shit like that!

Milo put her down, taking her face in his hands, Tomasa enveloped his waist. She was reminded that, in heels, she could reach Milo’s height.

-Never been out of this shithole, let alone going to America –she let Milo kiss her forehead, that it was still covered by the colourful wig.

Milo snorted –We are going to America! You and I! –he stated, convinced. Tomasa just grinned, taking it as a joke. Silently she asked for more kisses that Milo was eager to give.

Carla had to intervene, playing the offended as she not so cautiously broke their kiss –Excuse me? Tomasa is my partner on my trip to America, we’re gonna share the experience together.

Tomasa pulled a face –You’re not going to America, you filthy liar!

-Didn’t you know that the more you wish for something, the more chance it has to come true? Not because it won’t happen this year, or the next one, or in five more years, it means that I’m never going! It is scheduled in my brain for an indefinite date, okay? And when that day comes, you are going with me! –she addressed Milo –You sweetcheeks might be so painfully handsome my lesbian ass would give you babies, and you’d have me on my knees w-

-Carla –Tomasa warned, stone-dry.

Carla cleared her throat –My point is: you’re not taking Tomasa’s travelling virginity.

Milo was profoundly amused –Then it’s fucking settled! –he exclaimed, reaching out to pull Carla into a one-arm hug –The three of us are going to America in an indefinite date!

-Oh my god? –Carla hugged him back, jumping like an hyperactive kid –A glamourous threesome in the Big Apple! Sign me in!

Squished between them, Tomasa preferred to step back because Milo, of course, played along and was embracing Carla like they were long-time comrades. When Carla refused to let go, breathing into Milo’s neck with too much gusto, the jealousy flared up and Tomasa separated them to claim territory with little subtlety. The feeling was innocuous, unprecedented and mostly unjustified because if Carla seriously were to ever get closer with a man, Tomasa’s man would be the last one on the list; Carla picked up on it, resorting to make a light joke out of it. As Milo kissed her cheek repeatedly, Tomasa felt like the biggest hypocrite.

-Milo –she carefully took Milo’s hands off her waist, turning her back on him as she proceeded to change clothes, eyes tense. She didn’t know how to phrase this –You’re going home now, right babe?

Tomasa couldn’t meet Milo’s gaze, busying herself on her task. There was shame, and guilt, gathered in her insides; feelings that hadn’t faded but she expertly ignored two months ago. Somehow, the mere act of vocalizing the actual words tasted wrong on her tongue, especially tonight that Milo brimmed with excitement. Carla shared a quick, sympathetic look with her, exchanging their thoughts without opening their mouths.

-Yeah, with you! –stated Milo, cheerful and determined.

Carla jumped to the rescue, or tried to –You two lovebirds are gross –she huffed –I would recommend you guys some space, for a few hours at least? Give your dirty parts a rest, you horny beasts! That way, you two are gonna miss each other so when you meet up again, the bed is gonna shake so much and Tomasa will scream so loud the neighbours are going to believe that she’s being exorcized like the girl from the movie... minus the, you know… vomit and the neck twisting –she drifted off, cringing at her own words.

However Milo engaged in the conversation, going on his ramble about the film in question and all the suspicious events that went down behind the scenes, whilst an impressed Carla listened and nodded along, both genuinely mesmerized by him and helping Tomasa to distract him. Tomasa finished getting dressed, putting away her things in her bag, wiping off her make-up and Milo was not done talking. Keeping her eyes on them, Tomasa gingerly approached the door and, noticing that Milo was not looking away from Carla, got out of there. A long, resigned sigh escaped her mouth as she stood with her back to the door. This was getting tougher every day. She went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, thanking the barman when she congratulated her on her performance. As she scanned the place with eyes tired but stoic, Tomasa drank the full bottle in one go. Rapidly, like clockwork, a man went up to her. Short, curly-haired, nose covered in freckles, smile anxious and eyes needy. It was the one that threw her the flower.

-Hey, handsome –Tomasa recited, a mechanic smile. A broken record, all the time; though it served the illusion that the man was getting a special treatment.

-How much? –he went straight the point. The way his gaze lingered in Tomasa’s mouth anticipated his wish.

-For what –Tomasa toyed with the now empty bottle.

-A suck –he said. Tomasa hummed, though her skin was crawling. She told the guy to wait outside, whilst she ordered a second beer, rushing to drink as soon as it was handed to her.

-That cheerleader with the pretty face earlier –the barman addressed her casually –Your boyfriend?

Tomasa shrugged as the effect of the alcohol finally started to warm up her blood –We fuck and I love him –she said, with more sentiment than intended. It was probably the beer talking, but her eyes got a little moist regardless.

-Don’t be sad girl, she seemed okay with all this –the barman remarked with frankness.

Tomasa just nodded short, unconvinced, eyes faraway. She swallowed the rest of the beer. On her way back to get her bag, Carla bumped into her carrying said bag looking stressed.

-I swear to God I tried my best, but he’s fucking thick as a brick! He’s waiting for you outside the back door, let him freeze to death out there and go go go –Carla threw the bag into her hands and made to usher her out.

Tomasa resisted, taking Carla’s hands off her –I can’t just abandon him, Carla!

-He’s not a fucking kid, he’s not getting abandoned! He knows his way back home, and for the record: the freezing to death part was a joke –Carla rolled her eyes with her trademark dramatism.

Tomasa considered; chest constricted and eyes troubled. Her friend took notice, adjusting her tone and posture into a serious one.

-He showed up by surprise, right?

Tomasa nodded –We had agreed on this, it’s like he forgot –she explained.

-He can’t forget doll, he started off as your client –reasoned Carla.

-I have a guy waiting –Tomasa mumbled, sounding almost defeated.

-You have extra cash waiting –Carla corrected, just to light up her mood. Tomasa offered her a weak, lopsided smile. It’s not like she charged a lot anyway; that was a luxury reserved for the prostitutes that lived in the city and took care of the businessmen and politicians that invited them to the most exclusive parties and paid for suits in five-star hotels. Her clients were as poor as her.

-I’ll go deal with him…again –said Carla with a sigh.

-Please tell him to go home and that I’ll call him later –Tomasa urged.

Carla shot her a glare –You think I didn’t come up with that on my own?

-I’m sorry love, thank you –she took Carla’s hand, gave it a squeeze.

-You owe me –Carla warned her. Tomasa knew.

A thick layer of fog floated in the air in the cold night, Tomasa pulled up the collar of her jacket. The music from other clubs echoed its way into her ears. She was following the man, who had his car parked rounding the corner where it was mostly deserted. Regardless of the area’s dubious reputation, it was no longer common to find people engaging in sexual activities out in the open; that’s why other workers with fewer qualms on the matter resorted to hang around the park Tomasa and Carla lived close to and decent people avoided.

-Get in –she got told.

Tomasa did; she opened the door and got in the passenger seat, whilst the man sat down behind the wheel and proceeded to undo his belt. This was routine, a single blow job was manageable, yet she still regretted not having her fix since she’d recently ran out of stash. Tomasa bit on her nails; saying that she needed the coke was a vile understatement. The man opened his fly and grabbed himself. He was already erect, of course. Tomasa had to hear his desperate breathing. What Tomasa had to hear too, was Milo calling out for her in the distance, once she had already completed her duty, taken a sip of the water she carried on her personal bottle to rinse her mouth and spit out on the pavement from the open window and put a gum in to chew. Tomasa’s heart jumped on her chest, the worst of ways. The man handed her the cash and Tomasa nervously put it in her bag before rushing out of the vehicle. Before her disconcerted eyes, a very agitated Milo was taking long strides towards her. Trailing behind her, there was Carla with the face of a friend that felt responsible.

-Milo, baby –she started when Milo reached her. Gentle, because Milo looked alarmingly distressed.

-I was looking for you. What are you doing here? –Milo’s voice was low and trembling like Tomasa never heard before. She scowled.

-I was working, Milo-

-And you couldn’t tell me? So I wouldn’t make a fool of myself? –He immediately took in the scene, wide eyes moving from the car to Tomasa and back to the car. The vehicle was making a U-turn –Tomasa, did you just fuck in there?

-No, I did not –Milo rushed towards the moving car –Milo, no! –Tomasa jumped in to stop him, since Milo went to straight up challenge the man, ignoring Tomasa –Did you just fuck my girl, bitch?!

-Milo, stop! –Tomasa yelled. From behind Milo, Carla tried to pull him back. And Milo was a scrawny guy, but his obstinacy was so strong not even two people could hold him down.

-Get out of the way, you crazy arsehole! –the client shouted from inside the car, because Milo continued to stand in the middle of the road, struggling to break free from Tomasa and Carla in order to pounce on the guy. Because for some reason, jumping on a moving car made sense to him.

-Come fight me, you fucking coward! –Milo dared.

-Milo, shut up! What the fuck! –Tomasa kept pushing him back, towards the pavement, whilst Carla pulled –He’s just a random client, let him go! –she pleaded.

-He fucking touched you on our date night –Milo continued to wriggle, rage-tinted eyes fixed on the guy –Does your wife know that you think about my girlfriend when you’re giving it to her?!

-For fuck’s sake Milo, shut it –lamented Carla, exhausted. Tomasa was at the verge of tears.

-If you can get it up at all, that is, you ugly old cunt!

That did it for the man. In what seemed like a blur taking out of a nightmare, in seconds beyond her control, Tomasa watched how Milo abruptly, forcefully slipped from her reach the same time the man flew out of the car to collide like a pair of furious bulldogs, Milo grabbed the guy by the collar and pushed him against the vehicle, the man struggled and punched him straight on the jaw, Milo punched him back on the cheek. The most vulgar expletives came and went, the toxic side of virility rising above when threatened. An influx of adrenaline had Tomasa hooking her arms painfully tight around Milo’s waist to lift his weight and drag him away. Simultaneously, Carla pushed the man back and urged him to get back in the car and leave.

-Don’t fucking touch me! –the guy spat, sending one last piercing glare at Milo before getting back in the car and driving off at last, the engine roaring as he sped up with all his might.

Then, the silence. Creepy, thick and strained like a faceless evil spectre hungry for vulnerable souls to abduct, in the middle of a street that was grey and empty. Both Milo and Tomasa were panting heavily, more from the emotional stress rather than the physical effort. The looks they shared were desolated and private, Carla stayed but at certain distance, granting them their space. Milo was holding his jaw, but the pain in his eyes seemed to come from inside. He stood still, shivering in the cold. He was shocked at his own reaction.

Tomasa’s chin trembled –Does it hurt too bad? –it came out curtly, since she couldn’t conceal her anger.

Milo said nothing. He looked deflated, uncomfortable in his own skin. It was like the energy haemorrhage was finally done pouring out of him, displaying a shrunk version of himself that was alien to Tomasa.

-You scared me, Milo –Tomasa confessed, voice rough and broken –I’m still scared –she admitted.

-I’m sorry –blurted out Milo, a breathless babble.

-What the fuck was all that about? –Tomasa continued –It’s not like I know you for long, but it’s been enough for me to tell that you’re not like this –she gulped the lump in her throat –Or did you just fake it all and you’re showing your true colours now?

Milo hardly reacted. He was shaking his head, downcast eyes unsure to look up –I love you –he mumbled, meeting Tomasa’s gaze for one second and looking away the next one like a regretful criminal.

-Do you? –Tomasa sneered, too shocked and let down to feel any sympathy –You’re not controlling me, Milo-

-I’m not-

-I won’t have you following me around, inspecting what I’m up to at fucking work, you don’t fucking own me. You know what I do! –she raised her voice that held more hurt than animosity –If we don’t agree to meet beforehand, then you fucking know what I’m up to for the night, I don’t have to spell it for you goddammit!

Milo was a plant that needed sunrays but was neglected in the shadows –I fucked up –he said, worn out.

-Yes, you did –Tomasa gasped, swallowing the tears, it was hard to breathe. Her leg started to shake out of despair, seeing that Milo was not fighting back at all. He took the stabs one by one, no shield.

-Forgive me –whispered Milo, way too final.

-It’s just –Tomasa gave in, letting out one tear that soon became one long stream of water. She didn’t even know what else to say, understanding that Milo was giving up; he was literally right there but he felt further and further away –Milo, it’s just. I don’t want this to happen again-

-It won’t-

-Touching other men since I met you is fucking hard as it is, please don’t make it harder!

-I’m a burden –Milo didn’t listen. The determination inflected on the statement shook Tomasa to the core. He seemed to be confirming a notion that had been suggested in his brain sometime in the past.

-Milo, that’s not what I said –Tomasa reached out for his hand, gaining no positive nor negative response.

Milo’s numb gaze got glassy –I won’t bother you anymore, Tomasa –he announced, and that was it.

Just like the hand slipped from her hand, her love’s name slipped from her mouth one, two, and three times, a trail of cold air following suit after each word. Questioning, desperate, shattered. Milo? Milo? Milo! But Milo was already walking away from her, without looking back. Her lover’s shadow blended with the darkness, an enigmatic eighteenth century vampire that haunted the population with both his voraciousness and beauty, and it’s not like Tomasa could see much through the tears anyway yet she had to fight the urge to get pulled in, towards him, by invisible strings. Carla approached her gingerly from behind, ready to provide shelter.

-Fuck you, Milo! –she sobbed from the bottom of her lungs, though her heart disagreed.

The tears rolled down Isabella’s cheeks as he performed a heart-breaking Abba anthem. Not that anyone noticed, and not that anyone cared. With the make-up on her face and spotlights above her head, it added to the dramatism of the show. Her chin trembled, and a sob tempted her, but she managed to go on without interruption. She offered such a heartfelt, convincing performance that Leo approached Tomasa afterwards to congratulate her.

-That was a fucking Greek tragedy you displayed out there! –he patted Tomasa on the back, once Tomasa returned to the dressing room and dropped down on the chair. Carla, standing in the corner with a cigarette, fixed the man a glare that burnt.

-Raise our fucking salary and I’ll give you a different one every other week –shot Tomasa as she snatched the wig off her head.

-Oh, you’re onto something! I’m giving it a thought –chuckled Leo, unconcerned, as he made his way out.

-He’s giving it a thought –repeated Carla, unimpressed. He said the same thing every single time they brought up the subject, the two friends knew very well that it was dust in the air.

-Watch out –Tomasa remarked sarcastically. She wiped her nose and the rest of her face with tissues, since the tears have smudged her cheeks with dark eyeliner. She sighed, meeting her reflection in the mirror. It was not a nice view, what with the eye bags, the palid complexion and the hollowed cheeks; the predictable case of a lost cause, a parody of the melancholic courtesan that graced the pages of a tortured writer. Tomasa rubbed at her nose and dismissively looked away. She reached out for Carla’s bag, carelessly rummaging inside to find the hip flask on the bottom.

-Can I have some Carla, please? Of course Tomasa, go ahead, I will gladly share my vodka with you. Thank you Carla, that’s very kind –Carla mocked Tomasa’s lack of manners, though Tomasa paid no mind, finishing the first sip, pulling a grimace at the taste and taking a second sip anyway.

Tomasa was going to work all night, like she’d been doing for days now. It’s not like she had a pair of spaghetti arms distracting her. Sometimes the guys happened to have cocaine and they paid her with that instead of money, which kept Tomasa interested. It was the main reason she went from one man to another in one night; the hope to find drugs by any chance. Tonight, she blew off a guy outside the club, and then got in the car of another one that was waiting for her to go somewhere else. It was a raunchy party in what seemed like a large secretive basement of a random house, filled with intoxicated people and cheesy rock ballads blasting in the background. She got offered a mysterious drink that she swallowed on the spot. From the previous beer and vodka, more alcohol on her system took its toll; Tomasa got dizzy and stumbled, though the client in question caught her fall, Tomasa letting out a drunken laugh. The man was rather decent; it least was fitter than the average and didn’t seem that old. He cornered Tomasa, hand travelling to her arse.

-Is that a lantern in your pocket? Or a banana perhaps, are you hungry? –Tomasa giggled foolishly, feeling the man hard against her –Am I that pretty to you that I make you hard so fast? I’m flattered!

She didn’t get an answer, not in words: the man was already unzipping his fly. Tomasa got roughly turned around and her mini-skirt pulled up. Facing the wall, she closed her eyes in resignation, letting out tiny gasps of pain. No-one around them was bothered, since the point of the gathering was to engage in clandestine sex; a couple was fucking on the couch and another one against the opposite corner. It was far from being the first time someone took advantage of her inebriated or drugged state and forced themselves in her without Tomasa giving a thumbs-up first, though her twisted notion of dignity figured it was no big deal as long as they took enough pleasure to pay afterwards.

But this time, the man didn’t. Tomasa was adjusting her underwear when the man scurried away.

-I don’t do it for free, bitch! –Tomasa trailed behind him, but it was hard to keep up given her dizziness, the amount of bodies getting on her way, the sharp pain throbbing down her spine and the tight mini-skirt obstructing her flexibility. Someone collided with her, nearly sending her to the floor. When she regained her balance, the man was already running up the stairs holding hands with a boy that looked worriedly young.

Tomasa gasped in despair –Give me my money, you fucking asshole! –her shouts got lost beneath the music. She reached the stairs and tried to catch him, to no avail –You son of a bitch, you took my money!

She stumbled, again. On the stairs. Tomasa cursed, having hit her knees. She awkwardly rubbed at them as she continued her way upstairs, finding herself in a house that she didn’t distinguish, looking around her as she attempted to keep her balance. Tomasa persevered and followed the guy outside, only to find his car driving off.

-You gotta pay me, you mother fucker! –she shouted furiously as she ran behind the car. She continued until the only sober part of her brain left told her that chasing a car was irrational and useless. Indeed, the car gained speed quickly and rounded a corner that Tomasa was far from reaching yet. Tomasa stopped, holding onto her knees, panting heavy and painful in the middle of the road.

-You fucking stole my money –she cried, with the hurt and the anger of someone who counted on every penny she earned to survive. It’d been a while since she’d felt so humiliated.

Tomasa dragged her feet back to the party, where she sucked off two more men and jerked off a third to make up for the loss. She got back home around five in the morning and went straight for the phone, dialling Milo’s number. Like the previous days, Milo didn’t pick up. On her bed, Tomasa grabbed a pillow and curled up against it. Tomasa inhaled deep, like she’d been doing for a week; Milo’s scent didn’t fade yet.

When Tomasa was twelve she lost her virginity to a guy twenty years older. She used to live in the streets, at the back of an abandoned building occupied by junkies, anarchists, punks and all kind of misfits within the spectrum; it wasn’t that far from where she lived today. There, a group of children and adolescents like her, improvised a refuge that served as a home. The mattresses they slept in and the blankets they covered themselves with came from charity, as their clothes were. But the food was occasional, and it was not enough. It never was, not even close. Everyone was starving, and wished to make money to save and get out of there. Everyone, too, had started resorting to desperate measures before meeting and building their little shelter. There had been isolated cases in which Tomasa had already provided sexual favours to strangers in exchange of a meal, one clumsy blow job that had her throwing up afterwards and three masturbations. This time the man went all the way in, he was a green-haired punk and Tomasa had not been sober. Once the pain and the shock subsided, Tomasa bought all the pizza she could buy and shared it with two equally hungry friends. Tomasa got arrested five times; one for stealing the purse of a rich old lady, twice for shoplifting and thrice for drug-dealing, ending up free every time for her young age. The occasional sexual favour became an actual permanent service when Tomasa was fifteen. She hated it like a toddler hated boiled vegetables, but she was good at it. She always worked at night, standing in corners, behind trees or sneaking in random adult parties, managing to escape from the police whenever an officer nearby detected the type of activity that was going down; Tomasa’s legs were long and fast. Carla was seventeen when she saved Tomasa from getting abused in a toilet, during the several parties Tomasa attended surreptitiously looking for clients. This one had been all inclusive, for men that lived double lives whilst smiling wide for the family portrait and crossing themselves in the Sunday mass, all of them desperate to touch and possess unrestricted. Tomasa had been plastered, a light burden that would crumble to the floor at the most minimal push. Somehow the man took hold of her wrist and guided her to the toilet without Tomasa uttering a single word of approval, Tomasa tripping over her own feet behind her. Once she found herself trapped in the cubicle with a grown man that wasted no time putting his hands on her, she understood and resisted, forgetting her need for money for a moment. Her actions against the attacker were frail and slow, the man easily overpowered her, Tomasa could feel the tears coming as she pleaded him to stop. Then, however, for some magical reason of the mysterious universe, Tomasa registered a loud crash and the man ceased his advances. Before her eyes, the attacker fell down, his head getting hit again when it collided with the floor. A trail of blood poured out of it. Looking up, Tomasa found a red-headed girl with eyes black like coal intruding from the next cubicle. In her hand, a heavy glass bottle that was now broken.

-Oops. I might have killed him –said Carla, without an ounce of regret. Tomasa sniffed, and laughed.

They rented a room together not long after, since their connection had been immediate and they became inseparable. That first night had been the happiest night in Tomasa’s memory: finally having a roof, sleeping on a bed, a proper bathroom to go to. A real luxury. Tomasa and Carla gave it a go and tried to hook up that second night, but found themselves unable to actually get on with it, bursting out laughing instead on their bed.

-It’s like fucking your sister, I just can’t! –Carla cackled.

-I know! –Tomasa’s belly ached from laughing so much.

Three years later, the pair managed to afford to rent a flat, which was their current home. It’d been Tomasa’s greatest accomplishment to date, despite her wish to move out given the unsafe environment that surrounded it. A few months later, when Tomasa had recently turned nineteen, they got hired in Lavanda; as special guests initially, but as permanent performers when the owner learnt that the number of costumers was in fact increasing because of them and not some inexplicable miracle sent from the heavens. Tomasa could go out on three different dates outside of work in a week, yet most of the time the experience ended once she slept with the man. Tomasa was flirty and far from picky; her history led her to look for any type of man to seduce in order to gain a temporary feeling of confidence and self-worth. Although Carla made fun of her, Tomasa’s inclination to fall in love was a serious matter that costed her heartbreak twenty times at least between the age of fourteen and eighteen. She got her first boyfriend at fourteen; a sixteen year old drug-addict that she dated for three weeks and that unexpectedly left Tomasa when he moved out of town. Three more druggies went, an anarchist and even the son of a teacher, amongst several others. Out of all the wounds in her heart though, the two traces that took the longest to fade, were the fisherman and the trapeze artist. Curly brown hair, brown eyes, crooked teeth, a bit pudgy, the fisherman was twenty, and engaged. Tomasa was fifteen. They went out for three months, secretly, meeting up in the same motel room that the man paid. Tomasa sometimes would show up by the promenade just to get a glimpse of him, watching him work from afar with a bashful smile, not caring that the man would look away immediately, because Tomasa understood. The spell was broken when Tomasa found out she was pregnant; whilst Tomasa’s hormonal side wanted to keep it, her conscience objected. The fisherman became paranoid, and the paranoia led to stress, and the stress led to violence. When the roughness went beyond the sex and the threats turned into action, Tomasa decided to put an end to it. Tomasa cried both the bruises and the break-up, and cried again two weeks later, when the fisherman crawled back to her, begging for forgiveness, claiming to have changed his mind about the baby, and Tomasa took him back only to have the story repeated. Fortunately, the seed inside her was still an embryo when she forced it out; the memory felt abstract and distant, like it’d happened in a dream rather than real life though the emotional scar had been too sharp to be the first option, and Tomasa only found comfort knowing that it’d been her personal decision to spare that poor creature the scarcity that would have welcomed them outside the womb. The trapeze artist had been just one year older, Tomasa eighteen, and even though they were together for only that one month and a half that the circus stayed in the town, Tomasa swore she never felt so happy. The trapeze artist was not just athletic and had an enticing Pakistani accent which, before Milo, easily made him the most attractive man Tomasa had ever touched. He was also caring and hilarious. More than once he got Tomasa and Carla free tickets to the show, and Tomasa would spend the night in his small camper, and then he would make Tomasa delicious breakfast in the morning. From the beginning Tomasa knew that their romance was doomed to end; a traveller like the trapeze artist wouldn’t have settled in that boring town for her, not to mention that the man himself openly confessed that he tended to have temporary affairs pretty much everywhere he went, equally brief and passionate. And yet deep down Tomasa hoped he would, a naivety that brought nothing but pain when the circus caravan said goodbye that summer morning. She’d been just a strawberry among a lush field of equally exquisite fruits, Carla had said, a description as peculiar as accurate. In the kitchen, whilst Carla prepared mashed potatoes and Kylie Minogue’s hit The Loco-Motion played on the radio, Tomasa was opening and closing cabinets harsher than necessary. A frustrated whimper slipped from her mouth when she found nothing.

-Take it easy, love –warned Carla –We ran out of it three weeks ago, you know that.

-What about the more you wish for something the more chance it has to come true bullshit then? –Tomasa spat as she stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room –Well, I’m fucking craving a fix right now so your God better send me something out of fucking nowhere! –she yelled as she continued to look in their furniture, as if she genuinely believed that the drug would show up out of thin air. The frantic search continued in her bedroom, and Carla’s bedroom as well, helpless gasps increasing in volume and desperation when the magic never happened. Carla left the kitchen for a bit to stop her and hold her but Tomasa refused, going to check in their cabinet behind the mirror in the bathroom, rummaging with trembling hands, a few things landing on the sink causing a noise of proportions.

Carla studied her with concern –I think we’re better off without it.

-Speak for yourself –shot Tomasa, trying to calm her breathing. She flopped down on the toilet, head tilted down, hands on hair. Her leg kept fidgeting.

Carla hardened her gaze, voice stern –We’re not giving our money to Roki again-

-Again: speak for yourself, Carla! –Tomasa snapped, on her feet again –I work my ass off to earn my money! I’ll do whatever the fuck I want with it, because it’s my money!

-Fucking toss it in the trash, then –Carla sneered –It’s not like it makes a difference anyway.

-As long as I pay my part of the rent, the rest is none of your business –Tomasa passed by her, giving her a shove on her way. She entered her room and slammed the door shut, dropping down on the floor.

-The rest involves your wellbeing, so it is my fucking business! –Carla sentenced from the other side.

-Weren’t you making lunch or something?! –Tomasa groaned –Please leave me alone!

-Of course you’re hungry, Tomasa! You’ve been stuffing yourself with everything you find in the cabinets and let me remind you: you don’t fucking live alone!

-I will pay you the fucking plate if you stop being an annoying bitch!

A muttered for fuck’s sake plus an incomprehensible remark could be heard, followed by steps walking away. Tomasa stood up only to reach the bed and lay down. She hesitated but gave in, grabbing once again the pillow that smelled like Milo. Though the lingering scent was weak at this point; it would fade for good very soon. She waited for Carla to do something outside to give Roki a call, not without shame.

It was around four in the morning, Tomasa was done working for the day, she was drunk and heading towards Milo’s flat. Wandering the lonely streets in that state had been common for her since she was eleven years old; the threat of the darkness was a joke to her. She had to walk carefully, holding onto walls and lampposts, but the heels made her stumble many times and downright fall twice. Tomasa giggled like an idiot and talked to herself, reminding herself to watch her step. She squinted her eyes outside the building as her clumsy brain struggled to remember the place. The way upstairs was a mess; Tomasa grabbed the handrail for support and laughed out loud, drunken and obnoxious, after she tripped and nearly fell face first.

-Quit the fuss, you fucking moron! –a man shouted, surely someone whose sleep she interrupted. Tomasa covered her mouth with both hands childishly, containing the laughter.

Tomasa knocked on the door nonstop –Milo! Baby please! Milo! –she yelled with the stubbornness of the alcoholised –Baby, I miss you! –she added, suddenly getting emotional. Her screams were loud per se, yet in the quietness of the night, the volume magnified and multiplied like she was hovering over the building on a helicopter. A girl covered in piercings and tattoos, sleepy and dishevelled, opened the door much to Tomasa’s disappointment.

-You’re not my Milo –Tomasa observed with sadness, only to let out a dramatic whimper when the girl took hold of her arm in order to drag her out.

-Your Romeo doesn’t live here, you courtesan! –she spat sarcastically.

-But this is his building! –Tomasa objected, wriggling in the girl’s strong grip. She broke free but she kept shoving her out, down the stairs. Just then, the man from earlier got out of his flat one floor down and rushed towards Tomasa, resolute and annoyed, seizing Tomasa and pulling down like she was a puppet. Tomasa got literally kicked out of the building. It costed her a bruise on the ribs and a nosebleed. The next morning, however, she got a phone call. Buried under the covers, she let it ring until it stopped, but then it rang again and Carla was not around. Looking a walking-head that hadn’t tasted human flesh in a week, Tomasa got up and dragged her feet to the living room to answer it.

-You’re Tomasa, right?

Tomasa blinked, brain still half-sleep –Yes.

-I heard you last night; you were knocking on the flat next door –her voice belonged to a serious, grown up woman.

-Yes –Tomasa frowned, last night’s events flying back in swift flashbacks. Her ribs ached, and so did her head.

-I didn’t open the door, I apologize. It was late and you didn’t quite seem sober, I got a bit scared.

-Okay –Tomasa tried to make sense of this –Who is this? –she asked, finally, voice still slow and rough.

-I’m Milo’s mother.

-Oh –Tomasa muttered. She sat down on the couch. The silence on the line was uncomfortable.

-Is he all right? –Tomasa managed to ask. She was confused, and talking to Milo’s mother intimidated her, especially after everything that happened.

-I’m with him –she said, which evidently didn’t answer the question. Tomasa didn’t like that at all, and yes, she was recalling Milo’s attitude that ugly night and his self-deprecating words.

-May I go see him? –Tomasa got anxious, the urge to see Milo becoming overwhelming. She bit on her nails and scratched a non-existent itch on her leg.

The woman sighed at other side –I’m not sure it’s a good idea-

-I’m going –Tomasa cut her off, not caring to sound rude.

Tomasa hated this. The uncertainty. She got dressed and went out with her eyes down, mouth bitter and chest constricted. She felt gloomy and guilty, and unsure. Perhaps Milo’s mother didn’t even know that her son had gotten involved with a miserable prostitute like her. Tomasa rubbed her nose, battling against the lump in her throat, the harsh wind hitting her face that was paler than usual. She got fucked in a dirty toilet last night, right before going to Milo’s. A good, decent mother didn’t deserve to interact with a filthy rat like her. The woman was dressed in black, fair hair combed in a bun. She wasn’t older than fifty and she was tired; the resigned gaze of the unconditional mother. Tomasa was scared that she would sense the sin coming out of her pours like steam out of a kettle. She didn’t look at her in the eye, not for long, self-aware and timid. The mother was not the interrogating type; an observer more like.

-He’s in the bedroom –she said, grey eyes studying Tomasa and drawing conclusions that Tomasa was not optimistic about. Maybe her cheap cologne belonged to libertines like her, and she knew and she was judging her. Tomasa nodded.

In the room, a shadow of the Milo that Tomasa knew. Half-sitting against the headboard, wrapped on the covers, skin pale like the snow, hair dishevelled and greasy. Lethargic and unresponsive eyes lost somewhere out of the window. Tomasa’s pessimistic predictions turned out to be true, she learnt as she took in the scene. There was a tray with breakfast on the bedside table that remained untouched, as the sketchbook on the bed beside Milo. The change was so radical Tomasa was in shock. This was the man she loved, and he’d gone from one pole to the other fast and violent, like he’d been replaced by an imposter. The picture that her instinct had drawn for her was now completed, but it turned out to be a surreal piece with patches and dots and silhouettes that Tomasa couldn’t translate into her language. Cautious, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Milo seemed aware of her presence, but didn’t acknowledge her. A hurricane could have been taken place in the streets and Milo wouldn’t have acknowledged it. Milo was a statue that breathed and blinked, killing time rather than living.

-I don’t know what’s going on, but –Tomasa said gingerly –I care about you, and I hate myself for hurting you.

Milo closed his eyes and let them closed for a good while. His eyelids, however, kept twitching. Tomasa was dying to reach out and touch him. She missed Milo’s skin; its scent and texture, and the warmth of his arms around her. She wondered if it was selfish to feel this way.

-Please don’t cut me out of your life –implored Tomasa –Milo…baby, I wanted this to work. I still want this to work-

-It won’t, you better leave –Milo blurted out. His eyes, open again, held the same darkness of his voice.

Tomasa had words left unsaid on the tip of her tongue that she swallowed after Milo’s comment –You can’t predict the future, Milo –she interjected, trying to reason –We make each other happy.

-And then I fuck up that happiness, and it’s gonna happen over and over again, so there is that –Milo spoke like a robot that was running low on battery; voice croaked, pace lazy, pronunciation more like a babble.

-I will fuck up too –Tomasa frowned –At least we have something precious that we’re scared to fuck up.

-That’s twisted as fuck, Tomasa-

-It’s not, it’s romantic.

Milo sighed. The mere act of speaking seemed to exhaust him; Tomasa understood that she was bothering, and it hurt. To be treated like a nuisance by the person that had provided so much hope, just because she dared to have faith they could build something beautiful.

-Me making a scene in the street, throwing punches…is not romantic –Milo sentenced, dry as sand.

-But me trying to understand, and us talking it through, it is –argued Tomasa, already smelling the defeat –You’re thinking of fairy tales here. I’m just talking about appreciating the little good we have amidst all the crap, and that is all the romanticism common people like you and I can aspire to.

Milo casted his eyes down –There is nothing to understand –he breathed –I’m sick and I refuse to poison you with my shit.

-I carry enough shit of my own, I’ll have you know. I can handle yours, and I want to handle yours –Tomasa shot back.

-That’s exactly the reason, please leave –begged Milo. Fragile and impenetrable.

Tomasa felt the tears approaching –You said you loved me, now you’re pushing me away.

-I do, and I am –Milo confirmed, whispering. Broken, he dared to meet Tomasa’s eyes for three agonizing seconds –You deserve so much better, Tomasa.

Milo called for his mother, much to Tomasa’s dismay. It costed him work to raise his voice, and having Tomasa there made it harder. The flat was small, the woman was fast to show up on the doorway. Tomasa stood there, puzzled, processing. The mother understood immediately. Gently, she escorted her out of the room and Tomasa let her, because her mind remained stuck in the conversation. The I love you but we’re done was a song that she’d hoped she’d never have to hear again, but apparently some people were randomly selected to be doomed to confront nothing but misfortune. It was a terrifying thought, to be subjected to a life already determined before you even learnt to stand on your feet.

She stepped out of the flat and addressed the mother before she closed the door –What is wrong with him? –she asked hopelessly, holding back the tears.

She was reluctant to speak, she paused before opening her mouth, pondering –He’s depressed, and you better stay away. Okay? I’m sorry dear, but your visit did nothing to help.

-I’m sorry. I love him –Tomasa looked down, convinced she was at fault.

-He’s heard that before and got cheated on, and she put the blame on him for stressing her out. Where do you think the bandage on his wrist comes from? –she sighed with pain at the mere mention –He’s much more susceptible to frustration than you and I. He’s distressed again, that’s why I was wary about you passing by.

The bandage. Tomasa was okay staying blissfully oblivious about it, but couldn’t unlearn the information now.

-I’m sorry –she repeated, dizzy from the emotional turmoil upon her.

Milo’s mother couldn’t actually know how Tomasa dealt with frustration. Right then, for an instance, in the skin of Isabella, she was already slightly drunk. Something that, like the professional she was, never occurred. It’s not like the hungry men in the audience minded; Isabella was just behaving chirpier and flirtier than usual, bursting out laughing every couple of verses. It was an empty laugh, like an echo in a dusty basement.

-Am I lovable? –Isabella asked the audience when she finished, making puppy-dog eyes and exaggerating the pout. The men cheered in response, most of them eager for a bite.

-You can sit on my face any time, my angel! –shouted one. The most harmless comment of them all.

-Wanna shoot my load in your open mouth, bitch! Paint you white all over!

-Gonna put my dick in that tight ass of yours and split it in two!

Isabella giggled and pretended to preen from all the love, which was the only consistent thing in her life; herself as a dick recipient. The owner had to force her out of the stage, getting complaints and unhappy whistles in return.

-I was interacting with my fans! –Tomasa objected as she clumsily waltzed her way back to the dressing room.

Carla sat on the chair with a grim expression, Tomasa settled on her lap.

-What a fucking mess –Leo said with a shake of his head and disappeared.

-They love me! All these wonderful men love me! –Tomasa exclaimed pathetically. Carla noted the void in her eyes, it was sad to witness. Tomasa stood up and proceeded to change clothes with more difficulty than normal given the alcohol in her system.

-I don’t need one man to love me when I have…hundreds! –she continued to ramble, words coming out slurred –They won’t push me away, ever! They won’t leave me, ever! They want me close, and closer, and closer! And true love is about wanting to be close!

-Not really, they just want to screw you, but okay –Carla muttered under her breath as she lit up a cigarette. She was in a bad mood tonight for the same reason Tomasa appeared to be ecstatic.

-Roki wants me close, he never fails-

-What Roki wants is your money and you’ll give it to him without a second thought, and if he wants a free suck you’ll give it to him too, and if he wants five free fucks you’re gonna give him those five damn free fucks –Carla was being serious about it. She looked at Tomasa through the mirror; Tomasa was putting on a pair of flashy fuchsia tights.

-You’re one to talk –Tomasa chuckled.

-You’re being impossible –Carla lamented –Of course I’m one to talk, that is my point. I knew him before you and I’ve had enough.

-Let’s see if you stay so strong next time you have me snorting in front of you –Tomasa challenged, purposefully avoiding the sincere worry in Carla’s eyes to keep floating on her farce.

Roki had a nice car, probably the fanciest one Tomasa have ever been in. It was one of those classic models that resembled a yate and most of the time had direct correlation with its owner’s poor personal qualities. He was a man of bling, expensive clothes, ridiculous hats and fat watches to show off on his wrist. All of it to make up for his unflattering features and puny build, except for his icy, feline-like green eyes that he loved to brag about. He liked to compare himself with John Travolta. Tomasa leant in to greet him, the man dropping a peck at the corner of her lips as always before driving off, Tomasa leaning back with a stupid overcompensating drunken giggle.

-Carla is pretending to belong in the good side of the force, I presume –teased Roki. He had a nasal tone of voice, similar to a cartoon.

-That she is, and good is boring –Tomasa snorted with petulance.

-Let’s look at the bright side –Roki reached out, laying a hand on her thigh whilst he kept driving –We get to be alone, you and I.

-Yeah –Tomasa muttered, voice half-hearted and smile artificial, stomach churning at a contact that her skin didn’t welcome. She turned to look out of the window, her sober side reminding her of what she was getting herself into despite the attempts to block it and mute it. The relief of the drug that awaited her was worth it, she repeated in her mind, searching for some kind of solace.

Although he spent most of the time in the capital, the man owned a large house in the outskirts as well, at the side of the shore, where the scenery consisted of the deserted road plus the waves hitting the rocks and the moon above. The roar of the sea was intense in Tomasa’s ears as she stepped out of the vehicle and followed Roki inside, the ruthless wind blowing with a wrath that Tomasa was powerless against; if she stayed outside for long, she was sure she would freeze to death in minutes. If the wind itself didn’t send her flying away first like a plastic bag. It turned out that Roki was not alone, however. There were too young women lounging on the sofa, in their underwear, so wasted they were pretty much passed out. Tomasa’s sobriety increased too abruptly for her taste, being aware of reality was not on her plans right now; she had enough on her plate to wonder about these ladies’ safety. In fact, Tomasa intended to end up like them: lost in the haze of intoxication. Roki poured them a glass of scotch and took Tomasa to his bedroom. It was a big ostentatious room, all eccentric lights and a dramatic deep red bed; the man calmly drank as he put on some music and took off his clothes. A Michael Jackson classic was on. Tomasa finished the glass in one gulp, rejoicing in the burn in her throat. Roki motioned for her to undress, a brief gesture that Tomasa was not going to question. She never did.

Tomasa lay down on the bed on her front and took it. She was glad that Roki was not one to demand kisses. As a reward, Roki decided to put an end to her agony and look for the cocaine. Tomasa’s heart jumped in anticipation like a child that got promised cotton-candy. She was still stark naked on the bed, Roki caressing her arm, when Tomasa snorted the first line that Roki displayed in a small glass square. Heaven. It put her in such a high mood that she let Roki take her again, missionary this time, brief and awkward and not sexy at all, because Tomasa was determined to go for a second line. And she did, desperately so, thirsty to extend the illusion, licking the powder on her fingers. Not one pain existed whilst high, not one frustration haunted her, not one scar stung. Roki took her bag and searched for her wallet without Tomasa’s permission. That’s how it worked anyway, and Tomasa was too busy twisting and turning on the bed in ecstasy, cackling hysterically. But the laughter died down much sooner than anticipated. Violently so. Because Tomasa snorted yet another line and her abused system screamed enough and aborted mission. Her temperature was already on fire when Tomasa put her clothes back on. She was sweating profusely. Roki said something Tomasa didn’t quite comprehend, unable to focus. Unable to listen, unable to walk normally. She smiled an anxious, worried smile when Roki handed her the tiny bag with white powder to take home, because she felt awful and for a fleeting moment Tomasa knew, this was it, and she couldn’t turn back time. The headache was strong, her skull was going to explode. When she put a foot outside in the cold, she realized she was already trembling from inside and the wind was so aggressive the shivers morphed into spasms. She managed a couple of steps, containing it, but then she was throwing up. Her heart was a drum banging loud and forceful, and so fast, inside her chest, in her ears, in her throat, on her wrists. Tomasa was panting, gasping in terror, and it hurt. Her chest and her belly ached, sharp and throbbing. Hardly a car passed, in that lonely road that resembled the passage to some gloomy alternative dimension. Tomasa walked, barely, in zig-zag, with trembling legs and vomit stains on her shirt and a dizziness that was getting out of control. There were frightened tears gathered up in the lunacy of her eyes; the panic of someone that saw death nearing and had no familiar face to cling to. Why did one have to be born, only to encounter nothing but grief along the way and die alone like a bug crushed under a boot. He thought of Carla and Milo, of Mrs. Schmidt, and a pinch of the trapeze artist as well. In the safety of their arms and the joy they gifted her with. Carla’s protection, her jokes, her silly clothes and that delicious chicken stew she made and whose recipe Tomasa never bothered to learn. The nights of laughter and lust and dance in the reduced space of the camper with the trapeze artist. The seductive glance she first shared with Milo that night; his embrace, his passionate kisses, those lovely drawings, his sweet caresses and raw devotion. Mrs. Schmidt ruffling her youthful chocolate curls when she felt like displaying affection. It was three in the morning and the rest of the world slept unaware when Tomasa’s body collapsed on the pavement.

The brave stranger.

Twenty-two year old Marine Biology student Maria wished to arrive to her childhood friend’s house soon, in order to get some proper rest before starting up her investigation that would help her back up the paper she was working on to present at the end of the semester. According to her studies, on this side of the sea she could find the type of plant life she was basing her project on, particularly a kind of seaweed. People in the city told her she was going for an unnecessarily complicated subject to explore, but she was stubborn and she was one to take challenges. A Public Enemy cassette was playing on the radio whilst Maria finished the last sip of coffee she carried in a thermos bottle, determined to keep her eyes wide open and senses well awake given the fact she was behind the wheel, the scenery was pitch black and her life was at stake. It didn’t take her long now, Maria reassured herself as she approached the main road that led to the town; she knew that once she passed that big house by the rocks she was near. The tranquillity got abruptly interrupted however, when thanks to the car lights, Maria spotted a figure lying on the ground. Right there, in the middle of the road. She gasped in disbelief plus a bit of terror, leaning forward, brown eyes squinting to confirm that it was indeed a real person abandoned on the pavement like a trash sack. Her pulse quickened immediately as her mind cruelly reminded her that she found herself utterly alone, in the night, which equalled danger. For a minute Maria considered dodging the figure, continuing her way and agreeing with herself not to mention this to anyone ever. But Maria’s conscience was way too kind for her own good. With her heart up her throat, Maria stopped the car at the side of road.

-Okay –she took a deep breath –Allah help me –she implored, eyes closed, before stepping out of the vehicle. It was a threatening scene all around indeed, she couldn’t help but wonder, or hope, that she was having a nightmare. The fact that she could register every single sound surrounding her didn’t help; the sea that she loved so much never sounded so menacing. Maria arranged her thick scarf higher up her nose, it was freezing outside. Her eyes were large and alert as she approached the figure, though she would send quick glances around her just in case, feeling relief every time it became clearer that this was not a sick trap to kidnap young ladies. Maria’s steps were tentative, shaky hands starting to reach out the closer she got.

-Bloody hell– she gasped in shock, hands covering her mouth. It was a lady, Tomasa, looking like death itself.

-What the fuck, she’s dead –she muttered, hesitant to touch. Maria took a paranoid look around once again, hunched down and reached out –Poor thing, she’s dead –she repeated, with more pity than horror now, putting a hand on her wrist. Tomasa was face down on the ground, motionless, skin so white it was blue. She smelled of a retching mix of alcohol and vomit.

Seizing her wrist to check her pulse, Maria concentrated on feeling something. Anything. And she did; an alarmingly slight beat –Oh, good. I was wrong –she spoke nervously to herself.

Kneeling before her, fixing Tomasa a worried look, Maria pondered through her racing thoughts. It was a hard task, given that bumping into a nearly dead body in the middle of the highway at night was certainly not an ordinary occurrence. Her generous nature, plus the hostile weather helped her take a quick decision as staying there outside was not a contribution.

-All right, so. I don’t know who you are and how did you end up like this but –she carefully turned Tomasa’s unresponsive body onto her back, stood up and lifted her arms above her head –You’re coming with me –she announced with resolve.

She held tight onto Tomasa’s wrists and pulled with all of her strength, literally dragging her weight towards the car, and Tomasa was of thin build, yet her static state made her much heavier. She would surely get scratches on her back from all the friction, but that was the least of Maria’s worries. Getting her inside the back seat proved to be another obstacle. Maria left her on the ground for a bit as she opened both doors, climbed on the back seat and took half of her body outside in order to grab her arms again and gracelessly pull upwards. Maria groaned from the effort, took a short break to catch her breath and continued to pull until Tomasa found herself awkwardly adjusted though part of her legs still hang. Maria lifted her head off her lap, got out of the car to close one door and rounded the vehicle to finish getting her long legs in, bending them. Then Maria closed the door and mounted the driver seat, a hip-hop melody replacing the silence once she pulled out with one thing in mind: the hospital, fast. Tomasa travelled in the most uncomfortable foetal position the night a stranger saved her life. But she had no idea, and would stay sadly oblivious for eight days.

Carla.

Carla was into women only, but at work she tolerated engaging in heterosexual intercourse and didn’t mind exploiting her femininity both in and outside her profession because she was not a narrow-minded prick that believed that people had to behave according to some barbaric notion about masculinity and femininity. She knew several specimens like that. Carla merely complied whenever a client requested her to open her legs and play the good girl, resigned, mentally preparing herself for the pain, counting the seconds until it was over. Around female clients was considerably less annoying though still far from satisfying, for her personal tastes didn’t mean that she lusted over any girl that crossed her path. Carla delivered a service like a smiley vegetarian waitress in a restaurant: whilst the costumer moaned in delight devouring their beef steak, Carla couldn’t relate and just wanted her tip for her good service. That night she got told to give some old man a lap dance before riding his small dick, and Carla, like in every other occasion, ruled like a queen whilst her inner voice shouted that she was getting paid, don’t you ever forget. Once, back when she was just starting in the business at the age of thirteen after getting erased from the family tree for being a lesbian and thus finding herself homeless, she got robbed. She had to endure an unwanted fuck only to gain nothing in retribution, and the mixture of rage and frustration had been so big, Carla swore to the heavens she wouldn’t allow it ever again. The sharp knife she carried in her bag was a permanent reminder of said determination. Just eight months ago she was ready to cut a pair of testicles pitilessly, or at least played the bad girl role convincingly enough for the man to change his mind and give her the money. It was funny, because between her and Tomasa, Carla was the one to come across as carefree and gullible the most, and it’s not like Tomasa was weak at all in comparison but her friend certainly carried, to this day, a tendency to trust. As sassy and mouthy as she was, Carla knew that deep down Tomasa’s heart was soft and willing, and dreamy. Carla was a practical soul that couldn’t understand, but put up with it with an indulgent smile and sufficient encouragement given that Tomasa was the little sister that Carla chose to love with no conditions. A cigarette hung from her plump lips as she walked the client out of the flat, waving him goodbye with delicate fingers to squeeze the manufactured intimacy until the last drop. As soon as she closed the door Carla’s smile went extinct and a tired sigh followed. The routine continued on her way to the bathroom, where she would take a quick shower after smoking the full cigarette. The water heater only worked occasionally and tonight was not one of those occasions, Carla never failed to whine loud about it whether Tomasa was around to listen or not. She shivered as she dried herself up, eager to go to bed already, although her protective instinct wouldn’t let her sleep so easily. Tomasa was an adult and stressing over her whereabouts was not Carla’s responsibility, but she had a soft spot for her friend. She was padding towards her room when the phone rang; Carla was not surprised to receive a call at this hour as some men chose that time to book a clandestine date. Letting the phone ring, Carla put on a pair of knickers and then went to the living room to pick it up.

-Hello, Carla speaking –she stretched the vowels to sound playful and inviting.

-Carla Guerra-Oversen? We’re calling from the hospital on Tomasa Santoro’s behalf –a lady with a stern voice responded, not at all resembling a needy costumer. Carla could anticipate the bad news in her bones; she took a seat on the couch whilst an icy cold feeling ran through her veins.

-All right –she said, the worry drying her mouth and tightening her throat.

-We checked on her documents, you seem to be her contact in case of emergency.

-I am, please tell me what happened –Carla didn’t want to know, but wouldn’t be able to live with the doubt anyway. This was bound to happen, she thought with great sorrow.

-Tomasa suffered an overdose, she was found unconscious in the outskirts.

When Carla said nothing, since she couldn’t find her voice, the lady added –She’s in a coma right now.

Carla tried to contain the tears, but she’s an easy crier. She got dressed in a hurry, having to wipe the tears off her face and sniff every twenty seconds. She told herself to calm down and have faith. To be thankful that Tomasa was still alive, which was almost a miracle on itself so, in comparison, being in a coma equalled good news. The outskirts meant Roki’s house, Carla’s mind wouldn’t cease to provide nasty possible images of the circumstances that led to Tomasa’s overdose. Carla’s couldn’t help but feel responsible, at least partially so, since it’d been her whom had introduced Roki’s drug-dealing business to Tomasa. But then again Tomasa was already familiar to drugs before Carla came into her life, and had it not been Roki, Tomasa absolutely would have found a different dealer to waste her money and dignity on. The unmistakable smell of hospital reminded Carla when she was a kid and would come with her mother so many times because her sickly baby sister would fall ill at least thrice a month. It’s not like Carla couldn’t stay at home whilst her father looked after her, but Carla was a restless child that got bored fast and saw their trips to the hospital like an entertaining pastime. That was, of course, before she reached puberty, her attraction towards girls became undeniable and her unblushing nature had her confessing the truth to her extremely conservative parents. At the age of twenty-three, Carla only laughed it off because they weren’t even rich to be so engrossed in keeping up appearances; her mother used to work in a small sewing factory and her father was a carpenter, there was nothing to be overly pretentious about. This type of memories was everything she kept from those old days, and the nostalgia managed to hit and move her when she thought of her sister. She had to be eight years old now, a little red-headed, freckled lady that lived unaware of her big sister’s existence. Carla sat down outside the emergency room, the worry quivering on her skin erasing all trace of her previous fatigue. Waiting was horrible, especially when death was one of the things you could be waiting for. And Carla knew that life was fleeting, she certainly lived accordingly, but when your affections were at stake then it was hard to remain pragmatic. The guy sitting opposite her was glaring at her long polished nails, drawing conclusions: in this world, an accessory dictated your lifestyle. In response, Carla just fixed her an equally hostile glare, arching an eyebrow for good measure, until the stranger looked away. It bothered her, but also saddened her that had it Tomasa been there in all her bratty glory, the man would have earned some savage remark. Carla could keep on living without Tomasa; her overly dramatic ways were more show than substance. The hollowness left at her passing, however, would never get re-filled, and most importantly, Carla would never want it re-filled. The doctor in charge was a tall pudgy woman with large hands and glasses, before she opened her mouth Carla was ready to weep for five hours straight. She told her that Tomasa suffered a heart failure which indirectly damaged her brain and, although they managed to stabilize her, she’d irrevocably fallen into a coma.

-What does that mean? –asked Carla. She was aware of the general notion of a coma but not of its technical meaning.

-She’s stuck in the limbo between life and death –the doctor sentenced.

-Aren’t we all? –she wondered, eliciting the doctor’s chuckle. Carla stared at her with a frown.

-Yes, but in Tomasa’s case, the part of her brain that allows her to function is barely holding on, which means that it finds itself much closer to shutting down completely than our brains, so the situations aren’t really comparable.

Carla hummed as a lonely tear fell down. She took a tissue out of her pocket to wipe her nose.

-Imagine two Walkman, one with a full battery and one that is running out of battery. Which one is most likely to stop working? –she continued.

-I get it, thank you.

-Doesn’t mean it will, though –she clarified –The Walkman could continue holding on with the lowest battery for a very long time.

-But in reality that doesn’t happen? –she observed –When the battery is down it hardly lasts for another ten minutes.

She nodded, uncomfortable to be questioned –That is because I was giving you an arbitrary example.

Carla understood. For the first time ever, she got sad when she had to confirm that she was Tomasa’s only family. It never meant an issue before, as the two of them forcefully had to learn to be independent and were too busy fighting to survive to waste their time feeling sorry for themselves. Now, however, Tomasa’s loneliness did feel depressing. The room Carla was guided to was small, and cold, and grey like she pictured the morgue to be. Tomasa was nothing but a shell of a human being surrounded by tubes and machinery. Carla took a seat beside her friend, wondering if Tomasa would feel if she held her hand. Carla did, touching a stone cold hand, and prayed for a reaction that didn’t come; not in a minute, not in two hours. At least she remembered what having a mother once felt like, Carla lamented. If she closed her eyes and reminisced, she could visualize a five-year-old girl with braids celebrating her birthday in company of her parents and tasting a cake made with love. Tomasa didn’t even have the luxury of nostalgia, and wasn’t that all we had left when the horizon turned hostile.

-You have an excuse not to put up with smelly balls for a while –Carla joked, smile trembling, eyes watery.

And as much as Carla hoped her best friend would get better, the sour side of her questioned the point of gaining back a life that infringed so much harm.

-I’m performing two songs tonight! –the Magnificent Elsa announced the following night with her characteristic high-pitched tone, after delivering the first song. She wore a velvety green dress, the wig a high blue one that was heavy on Carla’s head. Two or three Isabella lovers complained, the rest cheered and yelled encouragements and it was enough, because she knew and didn’t mind that Isabella was their favourite.

-To the cry-babies over there, you and you! –she pointed at them –Let me tell you: I’m with you! Turns out that I’m Isabella’s biggest fan so I’m as heartbroken that she can’t be here with us tonight as you!

-Isabella owns the place babe, no offense! –an old bearded man shouted.

-None taken! But hey, I have my charm!

-Bollocks! –another drunkenly followed –Elsa is the queen of my heart!

-Aww, aren’t you a darling? –Elsa grinned wide –Here, have a kiss –she blew him a kiss that he pretended to catch like an excited dog –So, how about we dedicate this song to our favourite girl, yeah?

The men cheered in approval.

-Good, good! Isabella, we love you! –Elsa screamed into the microphone, emotional eyes on the ceiling on a silent prayer. She needed a moment to steady her breaking voice.

Milo.

Yet another trip to the capital, yet another appointment, yet another condescending-looking psyquiatrist, yet another awkward face-to face with a desk in between in a room that failed to be decorated effortlessly cosy. She was a new face, a professional recommended by a previously recommended colleague. Milo had been to the therapist more times, many more times, than he’d been to a concert. Or to the mountain. Or to the park on a picnic. This one was supposed to be one of the important, the kind of appointment that suggested the presence of his mother, and that presence was there. As always, irremovable like an iron pillar. She must have been even more tired than him, and so disappointed. Having a twenty-three year old son that promises, over and over, to be capable of taking care of himself, only to let her down every single time. An oversized baby, that’s what he was, wearing his mother out since March 1966.

-I have examined your case Milo, thoroughly so, and I believe that your diagnosis is wrong –she said, not quite as calculatedly deferent like the previous ones. She wasn’t harsh at all, but didn’t bother to be friendly either. She seemed so determined it was almost intimidating, for crucial material generally went through a filter first. He let the information sink in with a tight chest and his next breath trapped in his stomach, but said nothing. Though the depression was not as severe as two weeks ago, elaborating a comment still demanded an energy he was lacking. When Tomasa came to visit eight days ago and he felt forced to utter a couple of sentences, the exhaustion was so strong afterwards it felt like he’d given a five-hour speech in front of five thousand people.

-By diagnosis you mean…his depression? –his mother spoke for him –I’m sorry, I just want to be sure that I’m getting the terminology right.

-Yes, exactly. Milo was diagnosed with clinical depression at the age of seventeen –she didn’t ask, because all the technical information was provided on the document on the desk and she was not one to appear unsure –And from then on, he’s been treated and medicated as such.

-Yes –his mother affirmed –But frankly, they don’t seem to work –Milo could swear that her inner thought was Frankly, they don’t stop him from becoming comatose four times a year and they didn’t do shit to prevent him from slicing his wrist open that one time.

-That’s unfortunate, and it has a lot to do with what I just said -the doctor constantly moved her washed out green eyes from Milo to his mother –You see, I genuinely believe that the professional that diagnosed Milo that one time was wrong, which consequently mistook his therapy, and that problem could explain why it’s been so difficult to keep his depressive episodes under control all these years. I went through Milo’s patterns of behaviour, and I’ve got to say I’m stunned that no other doctor has picked up on this before.

Both mother and son looked expectantly at her, thought Milo held an ounce of wariness.

-It’s undeniable that Milo, persistently through time for at least nine years, has shown symptoms of a clinical depression. This fact could indicate why the professionals the came before me stuck to your current diagnosis. However, Milo also presents a pattern of behaviour that is radically different from the average depressive patient –she addressed him, looking at him straight in the eye –Milo, you experience periods of euphoria.

It took him four seconds and the pressure of two pair of eyes to offer a nod.

-Those periods of euphoria mean that, every once in a whilst, your levels of energy are so high up you might feel capable of conquering the Mount Everest, you can’t sleep because your mind keeps reminding you that there is so much to do, to create and enjoy, and you can engage in an endless conversation with the stranger you met at the bus stop. Amongst other things.

Milo gulped –It’s like being high on coke –he whispered. Confirming what the doctor said.

It was the first time a professional provided an accurate approximation of what he’d experienced since hitting puberty, and he’d been in the hands of six. When he’d tried to explain his mood swings he got told it was his adolescent hormones talking, and when he tried to bring up those overpowering feelings of elation that made him fear he was losing his mind and his touch with reality, he got the excuse of his youth again or was suspected of doing drugs. Since this was the first session and her hypothesis was based off Milo’s medical record, the doctor needed to run a proper examination in order to reach a definite conclusion. After talking for nearly an hour, him answering with laconic affirmatives and his mother asking more questions, she told him to come back in a week with a firm shake of hands. And he didn’t want to sound naïve, but he got hopeful.

-I thought that you acting all happy and reckless sometimes was just the anti-depressants taking effect –his mother confessed as they sat in a café grabbing a sandwich –Or it was you making up for your depressive behaviour. I won’t lie, it did catch my attention but I turned a blind eye every time ’cause I was scared to ruin your excitement son –she looked at him with sadness –We’d struggle so hard to get you out of the dark hole that I thought to myself: well, he might be exaggerating but let him enjoy.

Milo looked down at his apple juice –I don’t exaggerate it on purpose, mum.

She took his hand –I know you don’t, Milo. I’m understanding now.

The words were hard to grasp, throat tight and tongue dry –I don’t want you to see me –he paused, taking a breath –Like a freak with two heads, you know –he swallowed hard –The sad one and the smiley one. I don’t want to be the crazy person that scares people away anymore –he teared up, voice breaking. His mother squeezed his hand and brought it to her lips to kiss it with all the affection she was always willing to give.

Yesterday, he’d gotten a dismissal letter. An excessive absence they wouldn’t tolerate, not even presenting a medical certificate, especially not claiming to be depressed because what kind of illness was that. How vague and lame. Everyone felt down every once in a while yet there he was, missing work for eighteen days and demanding sympathy. It resulted in Milo suffering an anxiety attack and then spending the entire afternoon and evening locked up in his room, hidden in his bed, immersed in darkness like a grown up reviving his teenage angst. His mother didn’t make him eat at night, as she’d learnt at this point, but she prepared a protein shake for breakfast this morning that he slowly and reluctantly swallowed, emptying it just before they got out of the bus. She owned a small electrical appliance repair shop, so being her own boss allowed her to miss work whenever her only child suffered a crisis; the technician took charge in her place. Unemployed, Milo couldn´t afford to rent his flat for much longer. Yet another discouraging event; another step backwards, coming back to his mother’s place. They were waiting for the waters to calm down fully to begin the moving out. Living with his mother was not a torture per se or anything of the sort; she was an open-minded woman that adopted a renewed, strengthened view of life after divorcing Milo’s father following a series of abusive episodes that Milo knew of but she refused to open up about to this date. Although doubtful at first, she also ended up supporting Milo’s unconventional sexuality. The issue was that Milo was a grown man that yearned independence, so crawling back to the mother’s nest for a third time was an absolute failure. He had a handful of friends that Milo wouldn’t even bother to contact looking for a place to stay; he was terrified of their rejection once they’d figure out how messed up he was. His mother bore with him because she was obliged to and she probably felt that she owed him loyalty, but the rest of the world was free to get rid of him whenever they pleased; and they should have, Milo wouldn’t judge. His mother deserved a golden medal for her patience. It was dinner time when they came back, the sky was obscure and looming. Milo immediately retreated to his room and climbed on the bed, both physically and emotionally fatigued, though after putting the television on since its background noise held a relaxing quality. That action on itself was an indication that the worst part had been surpassed, given that any sign of life and any type of distraction stressed him out when the depression first kicked in nearly three weeks ago. Not long after, his mother entered the room and sat down on the bed. Milo wasn’t sleeping.

She caressed his hair that she convinced him to wash the day before yesterday –How’re you feeling, son?

A mumble that she didn’t catch, so he repeated –Not terrible, sort of.

-Not terrible is not precisely good, but it’s a step –she paused –I would like to tell you something.

Milo lowered the blanket to look up at her –Would I like to hear it?

She remained quiet. Enough answer, Milo thought, stomach already in knots, a heavy weight quickly settling on his chest. She seemed uncertain, surely regretting speaking up in the first place, and he felt so guilty for inflecting her stress for such a mundane activity. A mother was not supposed to be so scared to give her son an answer. She didn’t want to ruin his mood, Milo knew. She was already punishing herself for ruining this tiny advance, it was a ping-pong of guilt between the two of them. Milo attempted to execute one of those breathing exercises he’d been taught in therapy; breathing in counting to ten, retain in his belly, let out from his mouth slow. Twice and five times. His mother watched and waited, the same image Milo would have found either rewinding or fast-forwarding the tape.

-Go ahead –he murmured. Not ready, but faking it.

-I’ve tried to find the right moment to tell you, but –she stopped. Milo didn’t move, just listened.

-You got a phone call last week. A woman named Carla –his stomach dropped at the word, lukewarm blood running cold in a blink –You were napping, I didn’t wake you up.

Frowning deeply, Milo held his breath. Nothing but pessimistic ideas roamed his mind like flies in the trash, the worst case scenario and then worse.

-So I check the answering machine just now, and turns out that she called again today and left a message –she went on –It’s about that Tomasa girl –she revealed with extreme precaution, a doctor revealing a malignant tumour, but Milo needn’t to hear any further. Tomasa had passed away and Milo was going to die with her.

Except he didn’t, because his panic was so tangible his mother jumped in to elaborate. Milo had to sit up to process the news. Inevitably, his last conversation with Tomasa came back to him like a derailed train. It was tough, as well as disconcerting, finding himself at the other side of the street for once and facing the truth concealed behind the smile of the person you cared about. You questioned, and blamed yourself, and punished yourself for not seeing it. When he displayed his first signs of a mental illness at the age of fourteen, his parents were too preoccupied on their divorce to pay attention. When he wrote a suicide note after his ex broke up with him, right after he caught her red-handed with another guy, she was too upset and fed-up with him to take him seriously and send his mother a warning that night. When Tomasa put up with his antics, played along and laughed with him, and listened, and loved him back, there was a battle going on inside her that Milo had been blind to. If Milo looked into a mirror right now, he would meet Tomasa’s face staring back. He sat there frozen for a long time.

Back to Tomasa.

-I’m not dead –Tomasa whispered. A weak, barely there whisper that had an emotional Carla leaning closer to catch –You know how I know?

-You’ve been out of coma for hours, you’re aware, you’re talking to me –said Carla with a bright smile, glassy eyes roaming Tomasa’s face in blissful disbelief.

Tomasa stared back, too numb and disorientated to show any kind of expression although her heart recognized Carla like home –Nah. Because Patrick Swayze wasn’t there naked when I opened my eyes.

Carla barked a laugh. That hyperventilated laughter of hers, head thrown back, hands on stomach. It was certainly the laughter of someone that carried endless days of sorrow on her freckled shoulders and could finally let off steam. Tomasa watched, dazed, eyes tired from blinking. The sound of her friend’s joy was too loud and faraway at the same time. She wasn’t trying to be funny, she thought. She meant it.

Eventually Carla calmed down and wiped away her tears –Oh doll, that would require you going to heaven and you don’t even go to church –she reasoned in a playful tone.

-Who says I want to? –Tomasa kept murmuring like a ghost –Patrick and I are going to do all these nasty things that are only legal in hell.

An hysterical laughter again, Tomasa was getting offended –We would get arrested in heaven otherwise –she argued, totally serious.

Carla was gasping for air –Oh my God. I’m not sure that’s how heaven is supposed to work, love. It’s called heaven for a reason.

Tomasa continued to look up at Carla with a blank face and empty, foggy eyes –What reason.

-Tomasa! Because! What did you see beyond that you woke up all philosophical!–Carla tried to find the words, fingers tapping her chin –You’re supposed to earn heaven. Earn your place in it so you can enjoy it without restrictions and for that, you have to be good, and pure and follow what Jesus says, or the Bible, or both. Is it the same? I don’t think it is, pretty sure that the Bible was written by mere mortals like us, which hello? Why is it holy then? Anyways, it’s like working real hard and saving the money to book a ticket for the most amazing cruise in the world. But heaven is an endless cruise, of course. Infinite, that’s the beauty of it. Unfortunately, none of the stuff you and I do really apply so –Carla pursed her lips and shrugged –We’re pretty far low on the guest list.

-But if it’s endless…why do I have to earn a place. Smells like made-up bullshit.

-You don’t have to be rude, but –Carla pondered –I kind of agree.

They shared an understanding look. Tomasa could smell her friend’s cologne, yet another detail that added to the feeling of familiarity that Carla effortlessly inspired in her.

Carla’s emotion went back, the echo of the laughter fading behind –I’m so happy you’re talking, my love. I got scared for a minute.

-Wait. Who are you? –Tomasa joked. She meant this one, but felt awful at Carla’s visible heartbreak. Her friend was five seconds from bursting into tears –I’m fucking with you.

Carla shot her a glare –You insensitive son of a bitch.

After many hours of lying there like a dry flower, Tomasa offered Carla the most subtle smile which was not, by any means, less sincere than a full-on radiant grin. The doctor had been pleasantly surprised to have her back when she first regained conscience, she even shook her hand though Tomasa could hardly shake hers in return and of course Carla jumped in to wrap her arms around her in gratitude with excessive energy. The doctor awkwardly hugged her back. What was awkward as well, but in a painful way, was the little speech she delivered about the drug abuse situation that left her hospitalized once she came back from her lunch break to check on her for a second time.

-You were two minutes away from dying Tomasa, give or take –she concluded after recollecting the events and pinpointing the consequences to her health –If this won’t open up your eyes, then nothing will.

Carla sat on the chair in respectful silence, Tomasa sent her an embarrassed glance before focusing back on the doctor. She felt like a child being scolded and no tantrum could object how right the grown-ups were.

-It’s not like I put myself in danger on purpose –she whispered in defeat.

Her throat was dry, she coughed and tried to reach out for the glass of water. Carla was quicker, helping her putting the straw in her mouth to take a sip, then leaving the glass back on the side. Her friend wouldn’t meet her eyes, Tomasa knew that Carla was still affected by her stupid stubborn behaviour before meeting up with Roki.

-There you go –she spoke –You must know you have a problem when you no longer do things voluntarily –she studied her, looking taller with those severe eyes –You do know that, right?

Tomasa remained quiet for heavy seconds –It won’t happen again.

-That’s not what I asked, Tomasa.

Tomasa closed her eyes, struggling. The silence stretched for too long, it was getting suffocating. Carla was uneasy, she intervened –She’s probably tired-

-I’m sorry, Carla –she cut Carla off in a fragile whisper, eyes re-opened, whilst the doctor watched, Carla staring back, knowing and touched. Carla owned the most selfless heart Tomasa had encountered, she was going to support Tomasa no matter the stress Tomasa put her through, and because of that, she felt that she owed her friend this apology.

The nurses that washed her, fed her, gave her the meds and checked on her vital signs commented nothing, seeing that the day ended, the next day, and the next one, and Carla was the only person that came to visit. Sometimes Tomasa would smile to herself, sarcastic and melancholic, when she found herself alone for hours in the hospital room whenever Carla had something to do. At least they put the TV on, though the image of a sewing lady in some sheep farm didn’t really serve as a distractor, let alone a companion. Losing sense of time whilst staring at the rain falling down the window was a better choice. Tomasa thought of Milo, too constantly for her own sake. That evening prior to the day she would be discharged, Tomasa stopped Carla before she left for work.

-Does he know? –she was touching Carla’s arm, retaining her softly. Making her understand she needed the truth. Caught off-guard, Carla took a moment to respond and Tomasa’s poor anxious face had to do with that pause. Tomasa tried to remain stoic, but her smitten heart was speaking through her eyes.

Carla gulped, tense, nodding her head in reluctant approval.

-How long? –murmured Tomasa, reviving a hurt that had yet to heal.

-I called four days after the incident, Tomasa –Carla said quickly, almost dismissive, resting it importance.

She promised Carla that she was going to be fine, putting on a little reassuring smile until Carla left the room. Once again alone, she gave up the façade. Doing the math hurt too.

-I just wanted to let you know, if you care that is –Tomasa clarified with bittersweet hope –That I’m back home, and. Well, that’s it. They sent me back home –she pulled a face, hating to be recording such a lame, pointless message –Um. You weren’t doing well last time we spoke, I was wondering how you were? I genuinely hope you feel better now –the I miss you was at the tip of her tongue, but Tomasa held back –That’s all. Take care.

She hung up, fugitive now that Carla was out performing because her friend, though she didn’t strictly ban the use of the phone, would have made a big deal of this call and she didn’t want to give Carla more material to be upset. This was her last effort, Tomasa promised with a lump in her throat, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch as she’d been instructed to rest and the alternative muse Kate Bush recited poetry about bullets and a hill on the radio. In fact, at this point she was resigned to aspire for nothing more than giving her romance with Milo a wholesome closure. After all, Milo had been clear on his decision to cut ties. Tomasa murmured along the song in imperfect English. Carla got back earlier than usual; they talked and went to bed.

Tomasa’s heart did a jolt mid-sleep at the hushed sound of her name in Milo’s voice; real life or fantasy too early to decide. Behind her, Carla snored like a passed-out lightweight.

-Tomasa! –repeated who was undoubtedly Milo.

Her lethargic eyes popped up open, magically fresh and well-aware in the shadows. That was her love calling for her and the sense of defeat suddenly gained competition. Though slightly dizzy, Tomasa got up, left the room and went to hers, approaching the window.

Below, an Milo that never looked so shy before. Tomasa held tight to the window frame, opening it, hands a bit shaky. She smiled a real smile –Come upstairs! –she whisper-shouted.

Milo really was nervous –I’m scared Carla’s gonna kick my ass –It was amusing regardless of the context that led the two up to this point.

-What ass? –Tomasa sniggered. Offended, Milo’s mouth fell open like he’d been called a thief and he stood like that for five seconds before his legs moved forward.

Tomasa was freaking out inside the vehicle and out of it too. She wished the high would go away before Milo saw her; she slapped herself in the face to snap out of it. Fruitless. Her legs were taking her too damn fast, too soon. Why was the taxi drive so short. Please not yet, not when the shame was still fresh on her face.

Milo’s hair wasn’t vainly fixed this time, but down and soft. Looked longer. Tomasa could feel her heart throbbing at the back of her mouth. A smile, gentle and miniscule, was all she could offer as she let Milo inside. Tomasa sighed closing the door. Did she look pretty, she wondered. Was this jumper she put on during the wait too dull and old. Probably, which meant that it surely didn’t help to distract from the sickly paleness of her normally sunbathed skin. Tomasa felt the urge to change, but it was near two in the morning and the anxious look Milo was giving her was not related to fashion.

Tomasa hesitated. They both did –Would you like some tea? –Tomasa played with her fingers.

Milo considered –Water. Thank you.

They shared contrived smiles. Tomasa went to the kitchen to get him a glass; a mundane action that, in the strained atmosphere and her delicate state, had Tomasa suffering a sudden dizziness. Brief but awful seconds where the floor span on her feet. She desperately clang to the counter, body temperature dropping fast. There was a reason she got told to get lots of rest.

-Fuck –she gasped, glad that Milo didn’t have full view of the kitchen.

Her hand trembled as she passed Milo the glass, lips cold, Tomasa didn’t have to check on the mirror to know they were chapped and blue-ish. Milo noticed –You should be resting. I’m interrupting your sleep-

-I slept non-stop for eight days –calmly said Tomasa –Don’t stress.

-Stressing is my speciality, so –remarked Milo with sad, self-deprecating sarcasm. He had a gulp of water for the sake of doing something, eyes elusive and self-conscious. Tomasa watched him quietly. I love you she said with her mouth closed. Amidst the silence, a sleepy Carla appeared on the threshold of her room; she looked more hurt than angry. Hurt at Milo. Milo met her gaze, openly embarrassed, if not inadequate.

-I’m very sorry –Milo spoke, offering Tomasa a look too before focusing back on Carla.

-Listen, pretty boy –Carla swiftly replied –You’re apologizing to the wrong person.

Tomasa averted her eyes.

-It’s what I’m here for –Milo clarified, struggling to be articulate –But you reached out and I didn’t reply. That’s rude. So there you go, I’m sorry.

Carla hummed, eyeing Milo from head to toe in a fashion that failed to be judging. It came across as considerate, more like.

-Go back to sleep, Carla –Tomasa requested, eyes supplicant.

Carla fixed her a glare –You’re the one who needs more rest out of us three.

-Please –insisted Tomasa.

Pursing her lips, Carla hummed again –I’ll be watching you –she turned to Milo, fingers in V on her eyes and then pointing one at Milo as a warning that hardly held any substance. When Carla closed the door, Tomasa shook her head. Milo still seemed tense.

-She only gets violent when a client is being a cunt –Tomasa explained.

-I might not be a client, but I behaved like a cunt –objected Milo. Putting himself down once again.

-I’m in love with a cunt, then –whispered Tomasa, just blurting it out. The temptation to fix it by adding an apology was strong, but she repressed it as she wouldn’t have meant it. She wanted Milo to remember. Briefly, Milo held her gaze. There was uncertainty and fond in that gaze, each one fighting for the throne, and in the end the uncertainty won because Milo looked away. They went to sit on the sofa, not touching despite Tomasa’s wishes. The thing was, Milo had touched her like no other man ever did, both in and out of the sheets. His selfless, worshipping hands had been too easy to become addicted to. Tomasa was not ashamed to stare at him, taking him in as if they’d spent years apart, and Milo definitely perceived her longing.

-How are you, Tomasa? –Milo spoke after the silence, carefully –Please tell me what happened.

-I will tell you, if you tell me –Tomasa said. Milo said nothing, a bit troubled, but looked like he wasn’t refusing either so she took it as a yes.

Tomasa looked down at her lap –This girl found me…-she paused, selecting the words –Sometimes you need something extra other than thick skin and a sassy attitude to put up with crap –a past conversation with Milo came back to her. By the look Milo was giving her, he remembered too.

-I hate being a fucking cliché –Tomasa lamented with bitterness.

-You’re not the one in the wrong, but the clichés –interjected Milo with that soothing tone of his, Tomasa timidly listened –They trivialize real struggles, to the point they gain this overdramatic, predictable quality in the public eye.

-Trivialize? –Tomasa frowned, though she got the general idea.

-It’s similar to normalize, but not quite the same. You make me sound like this cultured guy when I’m not –Milo smiled, blushing. Tomasa appreciated the sight –It’s resting importance, sort of. Like in the movies, American movies. The shy, unexperienced girl meets rebel guy trope, then all of her problems magically go away, all of her dreams come true and all that jazz, you know. You get tired of it, and that is unfair to actual girls that have serious self-esteem issues and go through that every day.

Tomasa was paying attention, Milo blushed even deeper –I always end up rambling about movies, don’t I?

-I listen –Tomasa said –You know a lot.

-Not really –Milo shook his head, modest –Some people are like, actual walking film-books.

-You know much more than me –Tomasa remarked –And Carla, trust me. It doesn’t count as much, but –she mused –What I’m trying to say is that, just like there’ll always be someone smarter than you out there, there’ll be someone that knows less.

Another smile. Lop-sided, reluctant, shy. Tomasa’s heart was screaming.

-How are you dealing? –Milo inquired, serious again –With, you know.

-I can say it, but I don’t want to –admitted Tomasa in a gloomy breath.

-Why not?

-Because of the cliché issue –she raised her voice, her forlorn eyes gaining Milo’s understanding gaze in return.

-A homeless kid turned whore –Tomasa tasted in her tongue before letting it out –With drug problems. You round the corner and find fourteen cases like that, give me a break.

-Each case is unique on itself, Tomasa –reasoned Milo –Now you’re the one trivializing it-

-Maybe I am, because I am trivial –argued Tomasa with pain –I had dreams like everyone-

-Don’t speak in past tense, you’re still so young-

Tomasa ignored him –I wanted to be a star. Ever since I started performing, I dreamt that some agent, or producer or one of those talent scout guys would come up to me and be like, hey, you’re good, gonna bet on you. Gonna get you out of here. Obviously, it never happened –she took a deep breath and exhaled to stay calm –Not before I became this, I mean. Now I’m trapped in more ways than one.

Milo listened, processing, eyes down. Reflexive. Tomasa was impressed to be sharing these thoughts with him, or anyone for that matter. They were so private they hadn’t even been confided to Carla.

-I won’t invalidate your frustration, but. What about those thirty men worshipping the ground you walk on per night –said Milo –No offense to Carla, but most of them go to see you.

Tomasa frowned at Milo’s reasoning –I’m just a slut to them, Milo.

Milo arched an eyebrow –Are you? They’re working class people like all of us, trust me, most of them can’t afford a ticket to Lavanda night after night, but they keep showing up. For the show, not for the sex.

Tomasa listened unsure. Milo continued –Tomasa, if they only wanted sex, they wouldn’t bother to pay a fucking ticket and sit through yours and Carla’s show. They would go up straight to the prostitute corners for a quick blow job and be done with it, it’s cheaper and easier.

-They’re just horny guys looking for a bit of fun in their miserable lives-

-Yes, and? I was one of them, remember?

Tomasa felt guilty –Didn’t mean to offend you.

-You only speak the truth –Milo was being serious, his demeanour reflexive –Tomasa, you provide the fun that each one of them needs for a reason that maybe you can’t even imagine, and for that, they adore you. How is that any different to what a Cher fan or a Madonna fan feels about them? You think that the fans of all these superstars don’t fantasize with them? You think they don’t receive letters with nasty offers on them?

-I appreciate the sentiment –Tomasa smiled with sadness. She could tell that Milo was trying to boost up her confidence just like she’d done, sugar-coating the whole thing.

-Am I lying, though? –Milo challenged her, Tomasa avoided her eyes –Please tell me where I lied, I mean it.

-It’s not like you downright lied, Milo –Tomasa argued, because yes. Milo had a point –But it’s just one way to look at it, okay? And when you’re overwhelmed and your life sucks and you’re not Madonna so you can’t just get a nasty offer and laugh it off, it’s really hard to focus on the positive.

-I know –Milo conceded –I was just giving you something to think about.

-Well, I can’t bring myself to think that way right now.

-That’s all right –Milo nodded, reaching out to touch her arm. The warmth was immediate; Tomasa could feel it in her belly, though Milo bashfully retreated and put it back on his thigh, rubbing distractedly. Tomasa attempted to question him without speaking, just looking, but Milo was being stubborn again with his gaze down.

-I apologize for not going to visit you at the hospital –whispered Milo, regaining the troubled look he sported when he crossed the door –That was ugly on my part. I feel terrible, but I can’t turn back time now.

-You weren’t obliged to, we’re not… –Tomasa shrugged, pretending a nonchalance that she didn’t mean –You know.

Milo was shaking his head –It’s something you do out of decency.

-You surely have an excuse, though? –Tomasa offered tentatively, not liking that Milo was always so hard on himself.

-I don’t –Milo looked at her –I’m apologizing to you for my shit, not justifying that shit.

-Well –Tomasa perked up, chin up, pulling her most determined expression as she remembered that Milo was supposed to explain the state Tomasa saw him in –I demand one. Give me an excuse.

-I’m a selfish bastard-

-Other than that –unexpectedly sassy, Tomasa rolled her eyes. She spoke again at Milo’s prolonged silence –You won’t fool me. You have a good heart –she pointed out, watching Milo’s reaction –You coo at babies.

-Everyone does, you’re just weird –mumbled Milo.

-They puke, poop and cry all day, it’s not cute.

-Tomasa! They’re tiny, defenceless people! –Milo gasped, affronted.

-See? You get offended at these things, a selfish bastard wouldn’t.

-I’m- Milo blinked, mouth agape, at a loss of what to say. Then he sighed, confirming Tomasa’s triumph. Tomasa would have smiled if the subject Milo was keeping from her wasn’t so sensitive. Because it was, and Tomasa was keen on hearing it from Milo’s own mouth.

-I told you, I’m sick –Milo said in a reluctant tone, eyes hooded –I’ve been sick, or at least aware of it, ever since I was fourteen. Now, I’m not the kind of person that will pull the sick card to excuse their mistakes, so. I don’t know what do you want me to say. I was weak and terrified of seeing you at the hospital, honestly I thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it, besides I’m not giving off the best vibes right now and you needed, you know, nothing but positive energy. That doesn’t make me any less of a coward, though.

Tomasa let a pause linger after that –Are you sick right now? –she said softly, hoping to be asking the right question as she was completely clueless on the matter.

-It comes and goes –whispered Milo, clearly at war with the issue –Right now, I’m coming out of a depressive episode. I’m better, mostly, but not quite there yet.

Tomasa nodded, patient, lips licking. Trying to understand, guessing that Milo wouldn’t share all the information and not pushing. Milo wouldn’t meet her eye for long –I don’t even know what is it that I really have.

-Oh?

Milo shook his head, not adding anything, and Tomasa decided to respect it although Milo’s odd behaviour before he fell depressed still brought questions into her mind. At least she knew for sure that there was an explanation for it. A silence expanded, both dense and expectant. The pull between them remained intact, magnetic, but this time one of them was resolved to resist it.

-I’m glad you feel better now –remarked Tomasa. Milo listened, Tomasa could see a little stubborn smile that lit up her damaged hope.

-I care, you know –Milo said, after a bit. He stared at Tomasa with that pretty sky-blue transparency Tomasa became entranced with. Tomasa stared back in curiosity –You said, I’m back home if you care. Tomasa, I’ve cared since the first second I saw you. If there is one thing I can promise you, is that I’ll never stop caring.

The tears gathered up instantly. Tomasa rushed to wipe them away before they fell, having to repeat the action three times, lower lip quivering against her will. Milo was moved too.

-You can speak without fucking up –Tomasa teased through a trembling smile and shiny eyes. Milo couldn’t pretend to be offended, instead he just offered Tomasa the sweetest smile she’d seen in that fateful month.

She walked Milo to the door, where they stood reading each other’s eyes; unlike Milo, Tomasa was not one to put an act –Can we be friends? –she suggested, not without reluctance.

-Sure –said Milo gently.

Tomasa didn’t want to be friends with Milo, but staying away from him was even worse and life was too short to get fussy. She stood by the threshold, watching Milo approaching the stairs with a trite sigh trapped between her ribs.

-Milo? –she called whilst she still could. Milo looked back, Tomasa licked her lips –Can I get a friend hug?

-A friend hug? What are the codes? –Milo was teasing, he was already retracing his steps; Tomasa could feel his scent again. The pair stood nervously, both aware of the absurdity of their behaviour given all the intimacy they shared before everything got ruined by the doom of implausible expectations.

-We just hug…in a friendly way –Tomasa explained, flustered at the proximity, hands already touching Milo’s arms.

-Too technical, sounds tough-

-Shut up, you dork –Tomasa smiled. Milo was doing his playful eyebrow thing –It just means we don’t reach lower than the waist –said Tomasa softly, hands on Milo’s shoulders.

Milo complied, suddenly shy again. He put his hands on Tomasa’s back, Tomasa got closer and they hugged. Arms hooked tight around Milo’s neck, Tomasa grabbed a fistful of his sweater. She breathed in deep, toes curling up against her socks, a content smile blossoming. She couldn’t explain in words how safe she felt in Milo’s embrace; she could only respond by returning the safety. It sent shivers down her spine, feeling the rub of Milo’s nose on her neck and the palm of his hands hot on her back. Tomasa was a child seeking and finding shelter in her love’s arms, and the avid heartbeats colliding against her chest told her that Milo most likely experienced a similar sensation.

-We’re friends now –she confided Carla the next day, head supported on Carla’s lap as they watched television, a blanket draped over her legs, a bowl of cereal within reach. Tomasa didn’t feel that well; she felt fatigued and down, so Carla took her to the couch to watch something silly. They settled for a cartoon.

-That’s nice, baby doll –said Carla distractedly, running a hand through Tomasa’s hair –It’s the first time you’re friends with an ex.

Tomasa hummed. She missed Milo already –We didn’t even date officially.

-Formalities –commented Carla, waving a hand.

Tomasa pouted. The sound of Carla munching on cereal was piercing in her ears. After a moment, she spoke again –He asked me how I’m coping.

At this, Carla looked down, searching for her eyes. Tomasa squeezed Carla’s thigh, almost scratching; her friend let her until it got annoying, grabbing her hand to stop her.

-It’s funny because…you just want to stop the pain. But in the end, it causes more pain.

-That’s life –Carla sighed. She left her hand on Tomasa’s, reassuring –And when it’s you against life, you know which one always ends up winning –Carla reminded her, shaking her a bit. In the television, the regular schedule was interrupted by the local anchor-man announcing the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Tomasa blinked, sombre and lazy –Maybe it’s my time to lose.

Carla’s snort could be heard all the way from Antarctica –What kind of melodramatic bullshit is that?! Oh my God! –she shouted like she had an audience and was making sure the people in the back could hear. Eyes wide-open, Tomasa twisted her neck to look up at her friend –You’ve managed to survive the twenty-one years of your life with no parents, no money, no fucking roof and no fucking food for a long time, no sugar-daddy like the bitches from the city! You can manage without a stupid drug!

-It’s not the same –Tomasa protested, though weakly.

-But you are the same fighter with the same strength! –Carla pressed a finger on her chest, so hard Tomasa hissed –Sorry. The thing is; it shouldn’t matter what you’re fighting, as long as you know what you’ve got to fight it.

Carla’s eyes softened, seeing that Tomasa was actually paying attention and getting emotional –You have, like, a fucking degree on beating the shit out of the crap life throws at you. A fancy diploma and whatnot.

-What about the drug –Tomasa whispered, staring knowingly at Carla. Trying to absorb her confidence.

Carla grimaced comically –She hardly finished primary school. Like, she nearly fails art class. Art class, Tomasa! She got told to mix the colours and she thought that pink was the result of mixing up yellow and red, tragic!

Tomasa giggled; a fragile kid amused by the lamest joke. On the screen, hundreds of people surrounded and climbed on top of the newly defeated wall.

She lost Carla among the mass of bodies shaking their skeletons to New Order’s Blue Monday beneath the flashing lights, Tomasa looked around in despair. The nameless American women tried to pull Tomasa back towards them, but Tomasa broke away. Screw them for tempting her, it was all their fault. Tomasa felt the frantic beating of her heart, the adrenaline and the restlessness that she swore she wouldn’t experience again. The electricity in her veins was fighting a war with her conscience. Finally, she opted for leaving the party and hailed a taxi.

-I had an idea! –her now friend Milo shouted from down there two evenings later. An excitement seemed to be running through his system, his chest rose and fell, but he kept it under control. Barely. Nevertheless, Tomasa wasn’t worried. It was not like that one time, she sensed it.

Elbows supported on the window frame, posture casual, Tomasa looked down at him with a grin –Why do we keep talking this way?!

-It’s romantic!

Like a virgin heart, Tomasa’s heart did a happy flip –You do have an old-fashioned idea of romance –she chuckled –Anyways, we’re just friends you and I, remember?! –she was squealing on the inside. Had she been beside Milo, she would have witnessed the flush taking over Milo’s cheeks in all their adorable glory from up close.

-I remember! –Milo said after a pause. Though clumsy and fake-cool, because he didn’t provide an argument to deflect. Tomasa sniggered to herself.

She got invited to the capital for reasons unknown, and though Tomasa’s stomach dropped at the memory flooding her mind, she trusted Milo in the way she exclusively trusted Carla for years. Regardless of the hyperventilated behaviour Milo sported that one time and the tense moments, it’d been an overall happy date that made her smile and succeeded at making her feel loved. Since the night was falling and the cold was ruthless, Tomasa didn’t put too much thought in her choice of clothes despite the exquisite thrill in her stomach pushing her into dress to impress. Either way, she made sure to spray perfume on her neck and put on the earring she wore on their first date. Milo met her outside the building; compared to the other night, there was more life on his face. His gaze zeroed in the earring, Tomasa knew he was reminiscing.

-Hey there, friend –Tomasa couldn’t help but flirt, reaching out for Milo’s hand and it was okay; it’s not like Milo was unfamiliar with her feelings.

Smiling nervously, Milo squeezed her hand and let go –Friend.

-Where are you taking me, friend? –Tomasa was practically fluttering her eyelashes.

Milo gave her a look –Tomasa, stop. I get it.

-I’m sorry…f- Milo’s finger on her mouth shut her up. They communicated with their eyes, Tomasa nodded, so Milo lifted the finger.

-For fuck’s sake, it’s cold! That’s what I was going to say, obviously: for fuck’s sake, it’s cold –Tomasa lied, the cheeky smile gave her away. Milo hummed, unconvinced.

-Tomasa –said Milo, turning serious. He stared pointedly at Tomasa, who nodded –Do you trust me?

For a split second Tomasa suspected that Milo could read her mind. However Milo projected an anxiety that a mind-reader could do without. Tomasa offered him a firm nod in response, hoping that her eyes exuded the same crystal clarity.

Milo took a deep breath, let it out and put on his hoodie –Okay. Let’s go.

Their bodies swayed slightly along with the movement of the bus; one of the middle seats was the only available, Milo by the window that displayed mostly blackness plus the isolated sign of life that came up as the bus passed by. Travelling by night held this cosy, lethargic quality that the sunlight and the street noise deprived you of, the passengers around them exhausted after a long day or work. Sheepishly, Tomasa let gravity pull her head towards Milo’s shoulder. Holding her breath, she waited until Milo showed no sign of rejecting the gesture to exhale in relief and lean against him properly. It was exciting to be in the capital again, Tomasa smiled as she looked around the large streets and modern buildings illuminated in the night; she could brag about being to the city twice now. They walked close side by side, too fast for Tomasa’s liking because she still felt out of shape. In fact, she had to stop at some point, as they neared a neighbourhood.

-Can you walk? –wondered Milo, with a worried frown. Tomasa nodded, breathing in and out slowly. At this, Milo draped an arm over her shoulders, prompting Tomasa to hold onto his waist and they continued like this, at a more patient pace. Tomasa didn’t complain. It was an affluent neighbourhood, in an already affluent city. Even in the dark, Tomasa noticed that everything had this neat, symmetrical, perfect appearance of the magazines.

-I feel like Cinderella arriving at the ball –she joked.

-All right. In that case…Carla would be the evil aunt keeping you hostage?

-Nah, she’s obnoxious but not evil –she pointed out with fond. They smiled at each other and looked away at the same time, their arms eventually detangling.

Tomasa had questions retained, that only grew as they made their way towards one specific house. They stopped outside, and whilst Milo looked at it with an ambiguous expression of resolve, Tomasa stared at him in intrigue. And it was not a cool, thrilling intrigue anymore.

-Milo? –she was saying the words without pronouncing them. Tomasa searched for an eye-contact that Milo wouldn’t return, so she had to grab Milo’s arm to get him to turn to her. Milo was nervous, but no less convinced. Mouth agape, only air escaped Tomasa’s lips because she suddenly couldn’t form a sentence.

-You said you trusted me –Milo spoke in a low voice, much vulnerable than Tomasa would have liked –I know what I’m doing –he added. His eyes pleaded –You can step back, now. If you want.

-Why are you doing this? –whispered Tomasa. And it’s not like Tomasa was going to judge, as she stole things countless of times in the past. It was the fact that it was Milo, pure, harmless Milo, that puzzled her. Then again, purity was a social construct.

Milo stared at her intently –I want to give this to you.

-Me?

The question remained hanging, unanswered, as Milo was already stepping forward, taking a key out of his pocket to insert it in the lock. Smoothly, way too smoothly for someone who was apparently breaking into a random rich house, the door opened.

He turned to Tomasa with wide-eyes, Tomasa gasped –You in?

-Um –she stammered, throwing paranoid glances around the street, heart throbbing up her throat. Not overthinking any further, Tomasa followed Milo inside.

The promising front of the house did the inside justice; Tomasa found herself surrounded by wide spaces, high roofs, eccentric mini-statues, an sumptuous staircase, classy chairs and sofas. A shiny creamy-white floor that was covered by a dramatic patterned purple carpet on the living rea. Now, this was definitely what Cinderella felt that one time, except that Tomasa’s ugly old boots were not made for the occasion. That, and her prince charming was actually a robber. Not very cute. Before advancing one step, Milo took off his shoes, put them in his backpack and wiped the floor with a rag he carried in case of any trace left. At this, Tomasa instantly did the same. Then Milo put on his gloves and was set into motion: rushing to check on all the cupboards and compartments of all the furniture in sight. Tomasa just watched, assuming that her role was keeping an eye on the door and registering any movement outside.

-Should I expect someone to show up anytime or? –Tomasa kept her voice down.

-I did my research the other day, he’s on vacation with his new family –Milo casually commented –He has a strongbox, but I never knew the password –he added as an afterthought, moving around in a too familiar way, and that’s when everything clicked.

-All right –Tomasa murmured, processing –So you were rich once –she concluded after a pause. She wasn’t even confused, just impressed. The idea crossed her mind when they first locked eyes, but faded way when she learnt Milo’s ordinary lifestyle that didn’t add up to a wealthy background at all. Then again, all monkey business brought money so she should have suspected. That angelic damn blond hair should have given him away.

-Past tense –Milo stressed dismissively, going to run up the stairs, Tomasa’s eyes following him until he entered a room and disappeared from sight.

A car parked outside a minute later, Tomasa could have sworn her heart stopped. Too much stress, she was going to be sick. Cursing under her breath, a fine line of sweat dropping down her temple, she approached one of the windows, pulling the curtain open just a bit in a slow, ginger movement. Then, instead of panic, a sigh of relief: it belonged to the house next door. Tomasa only then realized that her knees were shaking. Before her eyes, Milo ran down the stairs mumbling the word library, trotting towards a room at the far end of the house, fading from view again. Tomasa was a little dizzy, blood temperature dropping, but didn’t comment on it, resorting to drop down on the floor, curl up and rub on her arms and legs. A hushed fuck yeah reached her ears, followed by Milo taking long strides towards her sporting a triumphant smirk and what was definitely a wad of cash.

-Holy shit –breathed Tomasa as her sceptical eyes took in the money. There was lots of it, Milo enveloped it in a newspaper and put it away at the bottom of his backpack.

-We’re going to Broadway –Milo announced, the joy vibrating off him.

From her position on the floor, Tomasa let the information sink in –Milo! –she breathed in astonishment, the sweetest shock running through her system. Their eyes met, celebrating in silence. Their legs took them away from the neighbourhood with rushed steps like two competitors in a race, elbows colliding, heads down, smiles secretive. If they linked hands, the adrenaline was the excuse. Behind them, they left a house that couldn’t provide one trace of their crime. Above them, like a mute passive witness, the moon served as their accomplice. In a motel room, they devoured greasy fried chips and burgers whilst Milo shared details of his childhood life and how their family ended up split in two. His father was very mysterious about his field of work, but Milo was pretty sure he had illegal investments in the casino business somewhere overseas. Tomasa found out that Milo had half-siblings with whom he’d never spoken a word, or even shared a glance with. They would be granted his father’s inheritance, as long as they presented themselves as heterosexual of course. Tomasa washed her mouth with Milo’s toothpaste. They went to bed facing each other.

-Pretending that everything is all right is a privilege –said reflexively Milo when Tomasa asked him the reason for this –I want you to have that privilege if only for a moment.

-How can I thank you? –Tomasa caressed Milo’s face.

Milo blinked with sleepy eyelids –You don’t. This is me thanking you and apologizing for everything in one package.

Tomasa kissed his lips. Milo responded, resulting in a series of slightly-contained but heartfelt kisses.

-Be with me –Tomasa pleased, delicately, as her nose nuzzled Milo’s.

Milo held onto her arms –I get so jealous I turn into someone I hate –he whispered in a calm, resigned way –I’d rather have you like this, than us being serious and me making scenes and spoiling your work. You have enough on your plate Tomasa; you don’t deserve a crazy boyfriend on top.

-Shut the fuck up, you’re not crazy –Tomasa stated through gritted teeth, hands squeezing Milo’s face in emphasis.

-I think she’s telling me next week –said Milo –My diagnosis, I mean. She had a notion but wasn’t sure.

Tomasa hummed –How do you feel about that?

-Strange –Milo pondered, fingers stroking Tomasa’s elbow –She’s just going to put a new label on it, but it’s not like my illness itself is going to change.

-Yeah. May I join you next time?

-Seriously?

Tomasa smiled, nodding brief in response. Milo took her hand and kissed it.

The Rio De Janeiro Carnival was tame compared to Carla’s explosive reaction when told the news about travelling to New York. Because Milo kept his promise. Carla was half beer away from doing a striptease in the building’s rooftop whilst scream-chanting New York, New York through a megaphone. She hadn’t had holidays ever since they started in Lavanda, so Carla boldly requested Leo to give her those five days off. It was not a sudden absence either way, since both her and Tomasa had to process their passports which took days of waiting. This wait and the prospect of the trip injected in Tomasa’s arm the energy that she was lacking. Partially at least, since the overall fatigue persisted, mixed with an increasing temper. She spat lies at the hospital when she did the scheduled check-up, insisting that she was managing just fine, sleeping and eating well. The closest to the truth was the part about eating, perhaps a bit too well, since she’d been stuffing herself with cereal and crisps, which were the things she and Carla never fail to buy on their shopping trips. The doctor explained that anxious eating was part of the process, at which Tomasa just nodded distractedly, wishing to get out of there soon because going back to the hospital was a distress trigger to her. On her way back home, she feel tempted to drop by Milo’s, but refrained. Tomasa needed help, she was aware, but didn’t know how to ask for it. She’d been overcoming the obstacles by herself all her life. From the moment she started packing, everything was new. Seeing that Carla seemed adamant in throwing her entire closet in the suitcase given that selecting the outfits was an impossible task, which consequently resulted in a messy, huge pile of clothes that forced poor, stressed out Carla to pick and choose, Tomasa decided to be tidier about it. She found out that they shared weathers with the United States, so she packed her most decent warm clothes plus the mandatory flamboyant accessory.

-I hope you’re planning on nailing some fine American meat –Carla pursed her lips, throwing her playful judging looks –You have to pack condoms –she added as she took care of the chaos in her suitcase.

-If it’s not Patrick Swayze, then I pass –she shrugged –I’ll settle for a skinny local boy just fine.

-Okay –Carla challenged her –If Patrick Swayze and the skinny local boy whose name we all know both walk up to you and want to hook up, who are you going to pick?

-I’m not meeting Patrick Swayze, be realistic Carla.

-Use your imagination.

Tomasa pondered. Carla raised an eyebrow –We can go for a threesome –Tomasa proudly stated.

-Dear Lord, you have no cure –Carla sighed dramatically.

Tomasa and Milo sat together on the bus, and stood close on the tram in the capital. Carla, amazed, wouldn’t shut her mouth ever since they set foot at the airport and Tomasa, though more prudent, shared the excitement. Whilst Carla stood by the giant window watching the planes as they waited for their flight, Tomasa told Milo that this was not Carla’s first time flying. When she was kid, Carla confided her once, she went on vacation abroad with her family.

-The airport is a nostalgic place –Milo mused, keeping his voice down.

-A happy one too –she smiled at Milo with her mouth and eyes. Milo was once again staring at her with that devoted gaze that put poetry to shame.

-I suck at planning stuff, so I apologize in advance for any fuck-up –Milo admitted after a pause; he seemed genuinely concerned –Like, I had to check and re-check the same bits of information over and over before booking or buying anything –he elaborated. Just then, they were called on-board.

-At least the flight part is covered –Tomasa tried to tranquilize him.

It was a bit of a show when the plane began to take off and Carla nearly burst out crying. Milo, who sat by the hallway, reached over Tomasa who sat in the middle and rubbed on Carla’s leg in a soothing manner, repeating that everything was going to be okay.

New York was all they ever dreamed of plus more. Winter did nothing to dim the charm of the city; if anything, it enhanced it. Never in her life had Tomasa seen so many people of different colours and cultures co-existing within the same square. As soon as they landed, they checked in the hotel room Milo booked downtown Brooklyn; it was a nice three-star hotel, and it was enough since Milo spent a great part of the money affording the two-way flight tickets for the three of them. The Christmas spirit floated heavily in the air and embellished the stores with its decorations and lights. If Tomasa felt small in the capital then here she was an insignificant peasant, but Carla’s contagious bliss and Milo’s company helped her let go of any self-loathing thought. Throughout the five days, they visited Time Square, the Statue Of Liberty, the Rockefeller Center, the Fifth Avenue, the MET Museum and Central Park in the mornings, taking so many pictures they had to keep buying rolls. In the evening, they would go out to eat and then attend any show they found in Broadway that was not sold-out. Those were special to Tomasa; when she sat there and watched, dazzled, she could feel her heart expanding and bursting and levitating. The level of the productions went beyond her expectations; you could see that they cared, that there was a passionate, hard-working crew pouring out of all their talent into the plays both onstage and backstage. The third night they stumbled upon a musical, it was called Aspects Of Love, and Tomasa’s eyes filled up with tears. Out of the corner of her eyes she caught Milo studying her, followed by a hand reaching out for hers, plus an understanding nod; that was Milo silently validating her emotion. A rewarding feeling that Tomasa cherished, because sometimes people needed empathy rather than solace. Their fingers stayed intertwined until the end of the play had them clapping non-stop for solid five minutes. Just like that night in the capital, they cuddled up in bed and let themselves be loved. Tomasa lay half-way on top, hands caressing Milo’s silky hair, cradling his head like it was made of glass. Running down her back over her shirt, Milo’s fingers were the sweetest and way too respectful for Tomasa’s intrinsic wishes; like the fields missed the rain below the scorching sunrays, Tomasa missed her love inside her body. They nuzzled faces like a pair of puppy-dogs exploring. Their tongues danced as kisses were shared, hot breaths mingling into one. Bursting in with a drunken grunt, Carla came back from her date with a woman she met wandering about by herself whilst Tomasa and Milo visited the MET yesterday; Tomasa and Milo pulled apart, and it was okay. They had to let things flow, slow and spontaneous. Whining about her date’s boring personality and the woman stressing at the language barrier not letting them communicate properly, Carla took off her clothes and climbed on the kind-sized bed the three shared. Settling in the middle like she’d established without asking them first, serving like the Naughty Business Police like she put it. On their last day, Tomasa decided to go looking for a gift for a very special person, and Milo and Carla joined her. At the hospital, she got told that the girl who saved her life had been wearing a tunic over her head, which meant that she was a Muslim. To her embarrassment, it was only when she started looking for a beautiful one to get her, that she learnt that the item was actually called a hijab.

-Of course it’s called a hijab, Tomasa! I mean hello, we’re three weeks away from 1990, ten years away from the new millennium, the world is changing! How ignorant are you –Carla rolled her eyes, her speech a garbled English –Please excuse her –he addressed the old lady that ran the clothing store. She seemed flustered, whilst Milo was busy inspecting the cushions at the back.

Tomasa fixed her a death glare –What is the name of their God.

-I beg your pardon? –blush taking over her cheeks, Carla licked her lips and hesitated –Tomasa, c’mon. That’s common knowledge-

-Good. So you know it, you mister know-it-all –Tomasa smiled a devilish smile.

Put on the spot like a gladiator to the animals, Carla had no choice but man up. She gulped hard and cleared her throat before coming up with –Mohamed?

Tomasa earned herself a heavy smack on the head on their way out, but the taste of revenge was too sweet on her tongue to complain at all.

That last night Milo claimed not to be in shape to go partying. He told Tomasa that the medication did this to him occasionally; the weariness and sickness. It was a bummer, since Tomasa was in the best mood to go out dancing with him. In fact, she’d put on what was probably her favourite jacket: a flashing purple windbreaker with two golden thunder signs printed on each side, the colour matching her earrings, applied blue eyeliner that matched her acid wash light-blue jeans and fixed her hair to leave a swirly tube fringe hanging above her forehead. All of it to look attractive for a friendly night out that she was choosing to live like a date. A date with a third wheel but a date after all; one that it wasn’t going to be no more. Tomasa stood by the door, waiting for Carla to finish getting ready in the bathroom, a sickly pale Milo on the bed watching through drowsy eyes an American TV show called Seinfeld. Hands in pockets, she was looking at Milo with a longing that she barely supressed. Too many times she argued about wanting to stay in with him, but the pressure from Carla’s side and Milo pretty much warning her that he would get seriously mad if she didn’t enjoy their last night in New York had her there, reluctantly dressed up, pouting in disappointment.

-Do you need anything? –she inquired. Not the first time she asked.

Milo shook his head –Thanks. I just want to sleep now.

Tomasa hummed. They could hear Carla flattering herself in the bathroom –Is it any good? –she wondered, nodding up at the screen. She just wanted to make conversation.

-Mm? –three seconds later, Milo understood what Tomasa meant –Oh. It’s relatively new, I think.

-What is it about? –Tomasa got several words separately, but not every dialogue.

Milo blinked, thinking –Nothing –he replied, in such a dry way it was funny. Tomasa smiled, Milo offering her a faint smile in return –You look gorgeous –he added, blue eyes scanning Tomasa from head to toe.

Flustered, Tomasa nearly did a little spin like a princess showing off her dress –I look so good in these clothes I’d look Milo better off without them?

Now Milo was the flustered one, pasty-white cheeks turned pink. He swallowed visibly.

-To me you’re gorgeous in any shape, but it’s your approval the one that counts –Milo whispered, and he meant it, the message sheltered between the lines. That stare was telling Tomasa things no other lover ever bothered to tell; the perspective he never knew, so he never reached for it.

Walking arm in arm with Carla down the gay streets of New York was a surreal experience. Carla got told that in the West Village, not only the heterosexuals were welcome but the non-heterosexuals too. In fact, especially them. That foreign feeling of inclusion and acceptance sank down to their bones like a bolt of electricity; it was so empowering that Tomasa didn’t mind being the minority as long as her friend belonged in the majority for once. As they neared the clubs, Tomasa was amazed to be free of judging glares and rude commentaries about their accessories and make-up. As a matter of fact, the two friends were shy compared to the bold people passing by with the most extravagant hairstyles, high-heels, bizarre patterns, glittery jackets and metallic tights; looks that Tomasa pulled only in character. Eventually the pair came to a stop by a club that caught their attention; the synthetic beat of Falco’s hit Rock Me Amadeus echoed outside as they waited in line. Carla happily made pretty eyes at any woman nearby, whilst Tomasa pretended not to notice whenever some person sought eye-contact. Just behind them in the line, there was a dark-skinned man in a wide leather jacket apparently by himself and not bothering to be subtle when it came to checking out Tomasa. Inside, the scene was heated. Colourful lights danced above the crowd, people pulled the silliest moves and no one stared, couples of all kind made out obscenely. As soon as A-Ha’s Take On Me started blasting, Tomasa was meant to lose Carla.

-Oh my God, my great-grandfather was Norwegian! –Carla’s arm let go of hers –You have a Norwegian in the flesh right here! –she announced to the world, hoping someone would care though everybody seemed immersed in their dancing. To Tomasa’s dismay, someone did: a short blond girl with a buzz cut that joined Carla to the bar for a drink, and that’s how Tomasa lost sight of her friend for the time being. The atmosphere was contagious. It pulled you in. Tomasa wasn’t familiar with clubs other than the raunchy ones she stumbled upon back home, where most of the time she was actually working rather than partying. This one was a proper discotheque and she was on holiday. Tomasa’s heart was incomplete, yet her feet wanted to dance. Milo didn’t commit a crime for her to stand there awkward and bored in an American night club. So she danced. Soon enough, a stranger with huge square glasses came up and Tomasa let her. Politely. They danced as the woman introduced herself, told her how pretty she was and how she never saw her around before. Right beside them, two boys shared hungry kisses; by the eager look on her dance-partner, her mind went to Tomasa to copy their actions; however Tomasa’s mind was already settled in Milo to go venture somewhere else. Tomasa declined when the girl tried.

-Are you even gay or?! –the stranger shouted in her ear over Madonna’s singing about a material world.

-Yes! –Tomasa struggled to find the words, gesturing with her hands. She didn’t know why she was lying, she supposed that she didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings because the real world was unfriendly enough to her as it was –You and I, dance! –was her best effort, in a thick foreign accent.

The woman, however, was definitely not there to gain nothing but a platonic dancing session, losing interest on the spot and moving on to someone else that was actually up for some fun. It was fair, Tomasa thought; she’d been on the girl’s shoes. She stayed there for another minute, lazily swaying to the music, eyes scanning the place looking for a glimpse of Carla with no success, until she gave up and made for the toilets. It was a long, narrow hall, two women were hunched on the floor by the back wall cackling hysterically, their frenzied gazes collided with her in one tragic second; the recognition of the allies, and like such, lending a lonely sister a hand was a duty. Tomasa took a pee and took much longer than necessary to get out of the compartment. Then she washed her hands, movements calculated, eyes downcast. A puny soldier putting on a fight, she was. A newbie in enemy’s land, exposed to the drop of a bomb. The youthful resolve was not enough. Tears For Fears’ Shout was on when Tomasa gave in. It subconsciously echoed within her enclosed brain.

She couldn’t spot Carla among the mass of bodies shaking their skeletons to New Order’s Blue Monday beneath the flashing lights, Tomasa looked around in despair. The nameless American women tried to pull Tomasa back towards them, but Tomasa broke away. Screw them for tempting her, it was all their fault. Tomasa felt the frantic beating of her heart, the adrenaline and the restlessness that she swore she wouldn’t experience again. The electricity in her veins was fighting a war with her conscience. Finally, she opted for leaving the party and hailed a taxi. Tomasa was freaking out inside the vehicle and out of it too. She wished the high would go away before Milo saw her; she slapped herself in the face to snap out of it. Fruitless. Her legs were taking her too damn fast, too soon. Why was the taxi drive so short. Please not yet, not when the shame was still fresh on her face. Was it a myth that New York never slept? Apparently not, Tomasa looked around in a blur, dilated pupils sparkling like marbles under the lights. The buildings looked huge all around her, the skyscrapers far away giant towers that from the confinements of her small undeveloped town came across as otherworldly. Reaching the top was like reaching the sky, she imagined. How nice would have been, spying on the land from up there, playing God. An unreachable monarch, immune to the vile and the dictations of fate. Breathing agitated, head down like one claimed guilty at the court, she passed by the lobby and got in the lift. The wait was too long, as it was when she knocked on the door: suddenly she’d changed her mind and wanted nothing but kill this wait. Her belly was in knots in reversed anticipation; what she was actually looking forward to, was the punch in the stomach that would rise up the bile up the oesophagus and eject it out of her mouth once and for all. Please, let her face Milo’s disappointment quick because she couldn’t pretend no more. Milo opened the door and Tomasa jumped into his arms like she was breaking free from invisible shackles.

-It was just a sniff, just one, I swear –she rushed to confess, unprompted, against the crook of Milo’s warm neck. The palms of Milo’s hands were flat and secure on her back, though his words had yet to arrive. Tomasa shivered in her love’s embrace, fingers digging into his skin like she wished to bury herself and build a cave inside.

-Don’t hate me, I love you –Tomasa sobbed through dry tears.

Almost a minute later, Milo made sense of the situation and found his voice –Loving someone is not enough, babe –he said with sadness. To Tomasa’s magnificent relief, the grip on her back tightened instead of loosened –We’re gonna get you real help, yeah?

-Yes, please –she nodded with a passion –Be there for me?

-I’ll be your shadow –Milo promised. It was the best offer Tomasa ever received.

It felt like everyone was judging her, from the doorman of the building to the secretary on her desk. The weight of their gazes was heavy on her shoulders, and it was awful. This was why seeking out help was a laboured, stressful initiative, she was not declining at the last minute only because Milo contacted the therapist after she herself actively requested it. Tomasa killed the minutes scratching a non-existent itch on her arm with her eyes lost on the polished floor. The doorman had been, in fact, reading the newspaper and the secretary was busy sending a fax, but her paranoid point of view wouldn’t let her notice that. She did notice Milo’s hand reaching out to rest, very softly, on her lower-back. One of the few things Tomasa was powerless against was the reason that brought her into this clinic, and another one was Milo’s touch. Her friend and love. Milo searched for eye-contact, Tomasa complied with a contrived smile.

-You just talk –Milo said patiently –He won’t force you to spill certain things you don’t want.

-What if I don’t wanna talk at all –Tomasa pointed out.

Milo considered –So…you expect him to read your mind?

Tomasa looked down, understanding Milo’s point –You need to give him something to work with, Tomasa –Milo told her soft but determined.

Turned out that the professional was a hippie, carrying himself as chill and unprejudiced as Milo had previously described him. It was a relief, since Tomasa had pictured a stiff, formal man ready to lynch her like an inquisitor. Tomasa entered the room yet Milo stood in the doorway, questioning in silence, at which Tomasa urged him to get in; the therapist gave his approval. Tomasa sat down on the chair, whilst Milo went to settle on the broad windowsill that provided a grey view of the capital. The sight brought memories that Tomasa retained with a tiny smile, that her nerves erased quickly either way. Making eye-contact with the therapist was tough, as a random spot on the wall was safer.

-I’m not here to interrogate you, Tomasa –the man explained friendly –You can breathe.

-He said that already –Tomasa signalled Milo –I have to speak anyway.

-Your friend is right, but you speak at your own pace, there is no room for you to say the wrong thing.

-That’s modern –Tomasa observed.

The man blinked –How so?

Tomasa shrugged –You’re always scared to mess up, you don’t know how people might react –she said casually, like speaking to herself –But you’re chill, you listen, no stress. It’s how I imagine modern people to be.

-So your definition of modern is basically a decent human being.

A silence passed –They like art and stuff –Tomasa replied instead, half-joking. Stealing a glance at Milo, she found him invested as he listened. He smiled at Tomasa.

The doctor was watching her –I need you to tell me what brings you here, and we’ll start from there.

A pause, reluctant. Then –I snort, you know, coke –she said in a tired, sombre way. It was a start.

Those were bittersweet days for Tomasa. Starting therapy was a concept absolutely foreign to her, an occurrence that months ago wouldn’t Milo consider crossing her mind. Though she asked for it, Tomasa remained wary about the whole dynamic as she couldn’t comprehend how spending an hour talking would solve her addiction. Talking was mundane, everybody talked, what was special about this. Soon enough, however, she’d learn that the therapist would also teach her methods to gain control over the anxiety that led her to irrevocably resort to the drug as a relief. This meant rewinding the tape a whole decade back, to the day she first gave it a taste. If the man was stunned, or pitied her, he didn’t show, and Tomasa preferred it that way. Like he was listening to the random tale of someone rambling about their day, the therapist listened and casually nodded as Tomasa told him that a young punk couple that used to hang out in the abandoned building Tomasa lived next to offered her a line the night she first gave a blow job for food. They found her hunched alone in a corner away from the rest of the homeless kids, sat down with her and assured her that it would make her feel better. Reviving experiences like this right when her medical rest was up doubled the difficulty of getting back to work. The thrill of putting Isabella’s heels back on was one thing, prostituting himself again was another story. For years she told himself that she no longer cared, but she did. Hearing the therapist associate her addiction to her traumas –traumas that she simply overlooked at the time because she didn’t have the impetus of dwelling on them – made her understand, and accept, that she cared. She wanted out.

They held hands outside Tomasa’s building, foreheads pressed together. Tomasa wished she could kiss him casually again, any time. She would rub their noses, putting her mouth in display, not pushing, just testing. Reminding him for the fifth time of her real intentions, because she wasn’t letting Milo forget, and their lips would brush before Milo’s mouth was out of reach again. Settling on her cheek instead, or nose, or forehead. Milo averted his eyes, reflexive. He was going to say something, so Tomasa waited. For her love, he would have waited years.

-They were checking my stitches that day –he said, voice rough, a bit unsure. Tomasa’s memory rushed to recall, eyes searching for an answer.

Milo caught on that –Our first date.

Comprehending immediately, Tomasa nodded. She wouldn’t tell Milo that she already knew from his mother; in fact, she felt bad for finding out beforehand.

Milo looked at her in the eye, serenely –I’ve been pretty unstable this past year and a half, or so. I’d go from manic to depressed and back to manic in very short periods of time. The doctor said it was the wrong medication having a counter-productive effect, you know –Tomasa nodded. They recently found out that Milo suffered of something called Bipolar Disorder, which delivered Tomasa an explanation of Milo’s odd behaviour during those weeks. She didn’t retain all the technic terminology, but she understood enough. She learnt that Milo’s range of energy would go from excessively high to excessively low in a matter of weeks, and sometimes months, which consequently had him acting hyperactive, over-stimulated, reckless and restless, and then so fatigued, pessimistic and depressed he could become suicidal.

-Well –Milo continued -The night we first met, it was the first night in many nights that I felt like living again. Because, before that –Milo pressed his lips together, inhaling deep and letting it out –I was still grieving the break-up with my ex. I tried to kill myself.

Tomasa squeezed their fingers and kissed his cheek. Milo smiled, shy. He couldn’t imagine the homicidal thoughts wandering Tomasa’s brain right now. Anyone who hurt Milo had a spot on her blacklist that already included all the people that had harmed her and Carla.

-I’m thankful that you didn’t succeed –Tomasa told him –Are you thankful about it, too?

-Most days, yeah –Milo confessed whilst staring deeply into her eyes, and Tomasa stared back in surrender. This kind of connection was one of the many firsts she shared with Milo. She raised a hand to his hair, touching so gently and yes, Tomasa was in love with Milo’s hair too, and his toes, and his veins.

-I want to be there in the days you wish you’d succeeded –she meant it from the bottom of her loins.

Milo was touched. He put his free hand on Tomasa’s cheek, holding it safe and warm –I love you –he whispered, simple. It’d been a whilst since Tomasa last heard that from him; it enveloped her like a fluffy blanket in the harsh wind.

Forcefully though, she had to drop the blanket. She already had three dates set up. Tomasa stood against the door and closed her eyes, submerged in the silence of the apartment, Carla dead asleep. It’d been nearly a month since she last touched a man, and she was content to keep stretching the record, but they had bills to pay. As of now, they were three days away from being late on the electricity and the water bill was due tomorrow. The rent was the first priority, they’d never failed to pay on time, but they could go a whole week lighting up candles and without telephone as the water, gas and food were more important. It was not supposed to go on for that long, this job. As soon as she got herself a place to live, she’d planned on quitting, starting fresh. And she did, for a few weeks, but no-one would give her an opportunity even though she applied for the simpler ones. Her lack of education was the main factor, and at least two people checked her out from head to toe and appeared personally offended at her unapologetically flashy appearance. That one isolated time an old lady gave her a chance and hired her as her gardener for a week, ended up humiliating her when her young grandson, who’d been watching her from afar since day one despite flaunting his pretty oblivious girlfriend every time he visited, approached her all conspirational one afternoon, cornered her and tried to blackmail her into sleeping with him, otherwise he’d make up a gross lie to tell his grandmother and get her fired. Tomasa, who’d been precisely struggling to get away from that life, punched the guy in the face and stormed out. Four days later, the desperation of the unemployment put her back in the streets.

She took a shower and got ready with zero enthusiasm, movements lazy, eyes down, lips a straight line of apathy. There was a hole in her chest, deep and black, swallowing up any trace of energy like a quicksand. Returning to the routine meant filling up her personal bottle with water and putting it away in her bag along with a towel, soap bar, cologne, toothbrush and toothpaste, minty chewing gum, lube and a preservative. Also, just in case, Tomasa decided to follow Carla’s guidance and went to the kitchen to get a knife. Because she was done being optimistic. Resigned, Tomasa walked towards the park nearby where a dark green car would be waiting for her. She lit up a cigarette as she waited, hand already shaking. The need to snort a line turned her into a starving soul daydreaming with a juicy watermelon in the desert. Stop she begged in her mind, over and over, anxious sweat gathering up on the nape of her neck. The man arrived, Tomasa got in the car and continued smoking with her eyes in the window, faraway, left leg twitching compulsively. She was driven to a lonely road by the sea, got told to be quick. Tomasa had to suck him briefly and then they awkwardly fucked in the back of the car for pathetic forty seconds. They wouldn’t run out of electricity this month, at least.

That night, she talked with Milo on the phone whilst Carla was out working. At a low volume, the soothing melody of Eyes Without A Face by Billy Idol played on the radio. Milo elaborated on his job-hunting and told her that he’d started writing a screenplay whose details didn’t feel like sharing right now for silly insecurity issues. Tomasa desired to read it once he finished it, as getting a new glimpse of Milo’s imagination felt like a privilege to her, a girl hopelessly in love that wished to discover all of her love’s facets. Ever since she found out that Milo was now living with his mother, Tomasa had an idea floating in her head that wouldn’t go away but was unsure to vocalize.

-I’ve decided –she told Carla later on, as they cuddled on Carla’s bed having a smoke, her friend’s newly shaved legs draped over her lap –Loving Milo doesn’t make me weak, but strong –Tomasa stated sensibly. She thought it through and was satisfied with her conclusion.

-Very good –Carla let the ashes fall on the ashtray balanced on her thigh –What brought this on?

-You think I’m weak.

-I think you’re soft –Carla clarified –But you’re the strongest girl I know, Tomasa.

Tomasa hummed, lips pursed in thought –There is nothing wrong with being soft for someone who’s soft for you in return.

-Listen to you, all grown up and wise! I raised my baby well-

-Shut up, I’m serious –Tomasa smacked her leg. She was giving Carla those kitten eyes her friend liked to make fun of –I’d like to think that I won’t be devastated if we drift apart in the future, because I matter on my own, and I get that now. He helped me understand.

Their eyes met, Carla paying attention. Tomasa took a drag of the cigarette, exhaling slowly as she spoke –But I’d lose his love. And I believe in love. In his love. He loves me and I deserve it, like a friend or something more, we’ll see. I just want him in my life because he makes me happier than I was before I met him.

-He’s a pretty selfless guy –Carla conceded, finishing the cigarette –He doesn’t fake it and trust me, I’ve got a fake bitches radar stuck between my eyebrows –she pressed two fingers against her brow.

Tomasa snuggled closer, resting her head on Carla’s shoulder –Do you mean it?

-Yes doll, I mean it –said Carla, lifting the ashtray to put the covers over their laps. Tomasa took the ashtray from her and left it on the bedside table, dropping her burnt out cigarette too.

-You like him?

-To the point I feel a tiny bit less gay in his presence, but I won’t elaborate not to make you jealous.

Tomasa sniggered –Imagine a man coming between us.

-Over my dead body! –exclaimed Carla. Tomasa agreed. It’s been an unspoken rule between them; their friendship had to remain insusceptible to love interests.

-Carla…-Tomasa whispered. She sat upright to make eye-contact –Would you mind if he moved in with us?

Every second seemed to drag on, but Tomasa understood that Carla needed to process. In the meantime Tomasa lit up another cigarette, as it helped to kill the anxiety of her recovery; the therapist knew very well that the nicotine was far from benign and addictive too, it was a point they both agreed on, but he was a non-politically correct man that wouldn’t aspire to erase all the bad habits of someone like Tomasa. To him, it would have been downright unrealistic. In fact, he bluntly confessed to Tomasa that, had he grown up in the environment Tomasa did, he’d probably be dead.

An extended pause, many blinks and frowns and a long sigh later, Carla replied –Four things.

-Four?

-Could have been nine.

Hesitatingly, Tomasa nodded.

-He doesn’t have a job. His good-looks won’t pay our bills.

-He’s looking –Tomasa stated convinced –Pretty sure he’ll find something any day now, he’s determined and charismatic.

-What happened to his previous job, then?

-You sound like a job interviewer –Tomasa whined, frowning. Carla huffed –Be grateful that I’m open to the idea, Tomasa! This is a third party you’re bringing in to our super exclusive little sisterhood of sequins and cigarettes, it’s a big change, we have to make sure it could work out.

-It would, don’t stress. Once he gets a job, we’ll split the bills in three people –Tomasa wriggled her eyebrows at Carla –Cool, right?

-Very cool, but you didn’t answer my question –Carla pursed her lips, demanding.

-He was sick so he missed work for too long, he’s getting the right medication now though, apparently. Satisfied? –Tomasa blurt out, reluctant.

Carla frowned –Okay? Sick how?

-Not my place to tell, and not relevant to his value as an individual –Tomasa stated vehemently. When Carla seemed wary, Tomasa put a hand on her shoulder and shook her –Carla, come on.

-Is this related to his sex-machine phase?

-Maybe! Next point.

Tomasa couldn’t deny that Carla’s next three points were equally valid, the last one being the decisive one. Was Milo okay with different clients coming in and out of the apartment, where was Milo supposed to sleep, and did Milo want to move in with them in the first place. That’s when Tomasa had to avert his gaze and acknowledge that she was only being hopeful about an idea that Milo remained unaware of. She just felt like displaying a nice gesture in return, after Milo treated them with the New York trip and was taking part of his personal savings to help Tomasa cost her treatment. Like Milo could read her, Tomasa could read Milo; behind his smile, she distinguished the sadness of a young man that felt stuck under his mother’s supervision. A pinch, or admittedly a tad more than that, of romanticism got mixed up in her motives as well, but it was secondary; Tomasa was adamant on not making it bigger than her disinterested generosity. Giving Milo like Milo gave her was a reciprocated dynamic she was proud to engage in, and deepen, and establish for posterity.

Carla was long asleep and Tomasa chasing her demons. Two hours after their conversation she finally drifted off into a sleep that wasn’t Milo pleasant, as her dreams were untameable.

Tomasa had to go to the post office to deliver the present for the girl that saved her life, finding herself pleasantly surprised when Milo offered to join her. The gesture meant a lot, considering that it was Milo’s former job so returning to the building as a costumer was most likely unpleasant. But they were friends now, Tomasa reminded herself more often than not, in the purest sense of the word, and every day that passed, that truth sank deeper into her headstrong brain, earning its place. Relishing in Milo’s company, without the romantic factor involved, grew on her unexpected and uninvited. Walking down the streets by Milo’s side, smiling and chatting about nothing important, had an almost cleansing effect to her soul tainted by the need to gain validation through sex only. Her blood, red-hot and dreamer, accepted that there was a high chance she would be in love with Milo until the day her motionless body got deposited inside a coffin, yet the torture within the statement was beginning to fade no matter how slow and unsteady.

Maria Barra, she was called; she got told in the hospital, along with her address. After saying cordial hellos to some of his ex co-workers, Milo stood with her by one of the surfaces displayed to write down a number of words for her. They stayed there pressed together for several seconds, eyes on the blank paper, thinking in silence, Tomasa chewing on the pen.

-Should I go for some cheesy speech or just keep it simple?

-Hey, a cheesy speech requires work, don’t underestimate it –Milo pointed out –I’d say: keep it simple but be honest.

-I just want to say thank you –Tomasa said softly, reflexively.

-Then a thank you it is, babe. A person that saves a stranger’s life is not expecting anything in return, so I’m sure that a small gesture like this is gonna make her day.

Tomasa agreed. She didn’t have to know her personally to tell she owned the kindest heart. It was touching to think about and Milo, the observant, noticed. Gently, he put his hand on Tomasa’s neck as Tomasa started to write down, fingers drawing feathery circles on her nape. The shiver was immediate, electric, though not exactly distracting as it would have been three weeks ago. Just the heart-warming yet casual reminder of Milo’s supporting figure. She offered Milo a brief knowing smile as her mind continued to hunt the right words to say, discovering just then the hard task of translating an emotion into the paper with the hope that nothing got lost in the process. Hug her, that’s what Tomasa wished for. Envelope the faceless girl in an embrace powerful enough to transmit, from her body to hers, her immense gratefulness. Requesting Milo’s help not to make any grammar mistake, Tomasa tried to convey those feelings. Dear Maria, he started, I’m gonna be brief. It’s surreal to me to think that, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here writing this letter. You literally saved my life. Turned out that I had a guardian angel after all. I could say thank you a hundred times but it wouldn’t be enough. I will say it either way: thank you so much. Thank you thank you thank you. Please picture me hugging you very tight and kissing your cheek very sweetly. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out I’m sure. I hope that your family and friends are aware of the fortune of having someone like you in their lives. Someone selfless, brave and generous. I was in a very bad place when you found me, so I figure you’d like to know that I’m doing better. You contributed, Maria. I hope you like my present, I picked a baby-blue one because that colour reminds me of peace and optimism, you’re gonna look so pretty. This wasn’t brief at all, wasn’t it? I got inspired. You can reply, if you wish. Or don’t, no pressure! I just thought we could be friends, I would love to stay in contact. Sending all my love, Merry Christmas (excuse my ignorance, I don’t know if you celebrate it). Yours truly, Tomasa.

Milo’s mother was at work, meaning the house was empty for the two of them when Milo invited her over for lunch. Tomasa kept him company in the kitchen as Milo prepared spaghetti alfredo, pretending to help passing him the ingredients and tossing the rests in the bin. Tomasa was nervous, the good kind, but she kept her cool. Whenever their gazes collided, amidst an instant of quietness, Tomasa would let her eyes linger in open appreciation before looking away with her features relaxed rather than guilty. In return, Milo stared at her exactly the same, recognizing the reciprocity floating in the air. Finally, they both acknowledged in silence, the understanding overtook the desire. If only by a pinch, as the chemistry pulling them together was one hell of a monster to defeat. But in comparison to the personal ones they battled with every day, this monster was gentle.

-I have a job –Milo announced all of a sudden, nonchalant, as he stirred the sauce before continuing to wash the lettuce to make a salad. With the dishcloth hanging on his shoulder, he looked so domestic Tomasa had to hold back the most sentimental sigh. Fortunately, the good news shook off her haze.

-Seriously?

Milo nodded, fighting a happy grin like a timid little kid.

Eyes wide in surprise, Tomasa was blissfully offended –And you’ve withheld this information from me for hours?

Milo was blushing –I just…I don’t know, didn’t find the time. Also…I don’t want to jinx it.

-You won’t jinx it, you silly! Aren’t you hired already?

-Still –Milo shrugged. Tomasa hugged him, though Milo’s wet busy hands couldn’t hug her back. Tomasa congratulated him, Milo thanking her right in her ear. Pulling back enough to make eye-contact, Tomasa caressed his face, the rosy cheeks beneath his fingertips growing Milo redder; she wanted to smooch him and call him beautiful.

-I bet you can’t guess where it is.

-Oh, how mysterious –Tomasa said, helplessly flirty, pupils nearly gaining a heart shape.

Milo smiled, the fond exuding through him –It’s in the restaurant where we had our first date.

It was on the honey sweet quality in Milo’s voice as he spoke, plus his soothing lethargic eyes admiring Tomasa’s face without a wall of restrain in between. It was in Tomasa’s touched silence after that. Then, in the slight friction between their thighs as they sat together on the couch eating the pasta with salad (on the table was too proper) and watching a movie. The non-accidental brush of fingers and Tomasa leaning towards him to emphasize certain words as they commented the movie. Milo took the empty plates to the kitchen and Tomasa watched him move, her tongue still savouring the leftovers in her mouth, hands distractedly wiping her jumper. She had to wait long minutes for Milo to reappear with two small cups of tea, which meant that Milo decided to stay in the kitchen until the water boiled. Black clothes suited Milo, Tomasa observed, whilst Milo kept his attention on the TV screen taking careful sips of his tea. It was all those fair colours of his, that contrasted prettily; she wondered if Milo admired her brown shell in shades of pink. When Milo left the cup on the bedside table, Tomasa took the opportunity to do the same after emptying it in one gulp, resembling a child playfully copying her friend.

-Okay –Milo chuckled, reclining back on the couch. Tomasa smiled, body fully turned towards him, knees bent and legs tucked beneath her weight. Milo had his eyes on the movie ending but his attention focused on Tomasa. There was a glimpse of defeat in Milo, as he shifted to look at her, his friend that undoubtedly wished for more. There was a lazy smile on Tomasa’s mouth, and the blinking of her eyelids was lazy as well. Heavy and doped in captivation. Questions were asked and responses were said through unspoken communication, because they weren’t required. The two were well informed of the complexity of their situation, elaborating further on the subject would have been redundant. Tomasa snuggled against him when Milo put an arm around her bony shoulder, taking the initiative to break the ice. Her heart was joyful, a blissful hummingbird in the spring breeze, this close to Milo. Inhaling the scent of his neck, her body heat co-existing with the warmth of his skin. Only Milo, and no one else before, stirred the need to translate her love into action. Project her love, speak of it, through her body. Nuzzling his hair, kitten like, getting lost in the magic, her hand, that’d kept a safe spot on Milo’s middle, ventured south almost against her will. Almost, because the want was authentic, but the touch happened before her reason approved of it. It was no surprise that Milo wasn’t soft, for the reciprocity of the longing was not the issue in question. A kiss landed on her forehead, the same time a hand enveloped her pulsing wrist, tentative at first, letting Tomasa caress over the denim until the teasing became determined and thus Milo’s steady breathing started to get laboured. Fingers now gripping her wrist firm, Tomasa’s advance was halted. And Tomasa respected him. Pressed together, Tomasa breathing against Milo’s neck whilst Milo’s mouth hovered near Tomasa’s forehead, Milo’s hand intact on her shoulder, eyes shut to just feel, they didn’t move. It was okay, they agreed wordlessly. They had their codes to stand by. A friendship to maintain. A jealousy that sex would only help feed and increase; and if there existed a brutal, destructing feeling, it was jealousy. Not even the kindest soul was immune to such poison, not when lovers were involved; it was the devil’s lethal weapon against all good and chaste. It hurt, but it was a shared hurt and they found comfort in that truth. There was not one victim.

-Are you sleeping with other people? –Tomasa spoke, whispery and intimate. She was not being accusatory, only resigned. She just needed to know; she’d lose her mind if she continued to live with the doubt.

-Just twice, with you in my mind –Milo confessed, sounding as pained as Tomasa. Tomasa felt like crying a little, maybe a tear or two fell down as she buried his face in Milo’s neck like a sleepy baby.

She looked up to meet the sadness in Milo’s eyes; her love was not one to lie –Are you punishing me? –she dared to ask as picturing Milo in bed with someone else, male or female, doing all the things they once did, was killing her cold-blooded.

-I’m just waiting, love –said Milo with a tired sigh. He was exhausted of this hiatus just like Tomasa was; a reality that this unexpected private bubble prompted him to reveal, otherwise the masquerade of nonchalance would still be on. Their fingers intertwined, away from Milo’s crotch this time, Tomasa staring down at them with a bittersweet taste in her mouth; Milo’s pianist fingers between her generic ones. She was waiting for the same thing, she thought. Hoping to get out someday. When she looked back up, Milo was aiming for her lips, capturing her nose first. Effortlessly, they kissed. Open-mouthed and easy, patiently, adjusting angles without trying, like they practiced five hundred times before.

-Please don’t think of me when you fuck them, that’d mean you fuck them like you used to fuck me and that is my privilege, mine only –Tomasa begged, a fragile lover, when their mouths separated.

Milo gulped hard, gaze glassy –So you don’t think about me at work?

-I thought of you once –said Tomasa with nostalgia –But you happened to be there with me.

Afterwards, shortly after their conversation, they took a nap. Snuggled up in a couch too small, Milo spooning her, nose squished against Tomasa’s neck, Tomasa’s arms secure on Milo’s squeezing her middle like a belt but a cotton belt, cosy, prolonging this type of intimacy the longer they could. As it was platonic but not really yet the truth was concealed beneath their smiles of resignation and sometimes pretending was healthier. Not one touch between them could ever be deprived of longing.

-Come live with us –whispered Tomasa, bashful and drowsy. So drowsy, after sleeping so warm and safe from her shadows. Her blood pressure was eager to hear and not hear the answer; not seeing Milo’s face was, for the first time, soothing.

-Would I sleep with you?

A throb beneath her tongue, heart wild at Milo’s quick response –Just sleep –she rushed to clarify, because she had to. Softly, and only a tiny bit blue –And, by the way, I’m no longer working at home –she’d decided, because she was tired of not providing herself one wish. Just one. A detail to cherish.

One kiss dropped on her neck; it tickled, Tomasa squirmed whilst experiencing the glory of a romantic feeling running down her figure like a drop of sweat during sex. How wild was this, that a cuddle could hold so much meaning. Tomasa nodded, preening in his hold, when Milo confided in her ear that he was going to think about it and continued to hold her like she mattered. A royal creature, imperfect and so valuable; it’s how Milo held her, and how Tomasa thought of Milo in return.

Christmas arrived, faster each year it seemed. Tomasa was not the most religious person, questioned the very little she’d heard about the Bible and her faith in God came and went like the waves, but she appreciated the mild, reconciliatory atmosphere that surrounded the festivity. It didn’t harm to pretend that everything was good in the world for one day. Besides, she liked putting on her fluffy Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer sweater. With Carla, they never missed the Midnight Mass, as Carla was a Christian and Tomasa was grateful for the Christmas’ Eve dinners she was given by the volunteers of the chapel when she lived in the streets. The nostalgia hit her every time, and Carla wasn’t far, staying in the back with Tomasa whilst her parents sat on the front with her sister. They would have to speak someday, Carla and that little girl, Tomasa told her occasionally. But she knew, and understood, that Carla was scared that her baby sister was already contaminated by her parents’ homophobia. The heartbreak of being kicked out of the house was enough to put up with once; facing the potential rejection of her sister, not only for her sexuality but for her profession as well, would require going through the trauma for a second time deliberately. And who has the time for that Carla would say, covering the hurt with sarcasm. People subtly stared at their linked arms, and they didn’t separate because people were going to stare anyway; their prestige was well-known. The only stare Tomasa bothered to give importance to, was Milo’s; coincidentally the only friendly one. Hate could be defeated, if only temporarily, by one supportive smile. He sat on the middle row of the other side, by his mother’s side. Beaming at him, Tomasa felt her stomach tighten like the first day.

Their neighbours on the floor above, two cousins that trafficked marijuana, invited the community for drinks. Nobody on the building was friends, but Tomasa and Carla accepted out of courtesy just like several others did, following the Christmas spirit. Around fifteen people gathered in the small flat, sharing small talk, having a laugh, eating snacks and getting drunk. If Tomasa was not mistaken, the mysterious man that lived alone on the first floor was hitting on Carla, resulting in the most hilarious exchange she’d witnessed in a whilst since Carla, already tipsy, was oblivious. He would lean towards her as they laughed mindlessly at some stupid story, his sneaky hand resting on her thigh and to be fair, Tomasa couldn’t blame him for mistaking the signs because Carla was an overly friendly, tactile woman with alcohol in her veins. She couldn’t help but feel bad for him when the truth eventually hit him. A person followed her to the bathroom, she sensed it since she stood up from the chair; after two fleeting glances the intention seemed apparent. Tomasa hadn’t seen him around the building before, she guessed he was a friend of someone. If anyone noticed, which was plausible given the small size of the apartment, nobody commented on it. Before reaching the bathroom, Tomasa span around to face the man; it was a skinny young guy with a huge messy blond mane like the ones sported by rockstars. He came across as thirsty but unexperienced, barely legal, he was most likely hard already beneath those tight washed black jeans. Tomasa granted him a challenging eyebrow raise.

-Am I being escorted to the bathroom? –she kept it casual, with a thin layer of annoyance on top. These games were no longer fun.

The boy shrugged, his eagerness failing him to seem cool –You tell me. I’ve heard you’re a whore.

It stung, the belittling of his voice. Addressing her like a filthy object to use, with such glorified property for his young age. Tomasa had been spoken to like that for so long it became her normality, a detail to put up with and let pass. That’s where the trick lay; the more meaningless it was on surface, the easier it was to absorb. Tiny little peddles, dropping one by one, so minuscule and light she didn’t notice when they’ve already built the castle of her identity.

-You’re charming –Tomasa spat, fed-up of feigning seduction –How old are you, fourteen? Grown any hair down there yet?

-I don’t know, why don’t you find out –the boy grabbed himself, though he was blushing at Tomasa’s questions.

-I’m not fucking a kid –sentenced Tomasa, nonchalant and bored, eyes giving the boy an unimpressed once over. The stranger gave a step towards her then, almost predatory, breathing on her face as their heights were equal. Tomasa merely blinked, the experience on her shoulders erasing all intimidation.

-My big fat cock turns seventeen next month, I can wreck your pussy, slut –he hissed in a pathetic, forceful attempt at domination. A child playing the adult. As someone whose childhood died at the age of twelve, Tomasa could certify it was depressing. Rolling her eyes like any working-class person tired of the routine of their ordinary job, she let the guy following her into the bathroom; it was not a working night, but a tad of extra cash was always beneficial. After locking the door, she stood there watching with excessive apathy at the boy loosing the buckle of his belt and pulling his trousers down.

-Give me the money first –she demanded the exact amount, extending her hand. The view of the guy’s average penis was as exciting as staring into a blank canvas; keeping track of the amount of male genitals she’d had before her was virtually impossible.

-So you really are a whore –the client sneered, taking the bills out the pocket of his jacket.

-No, I’m a fucking astronaut –Tomasa remarked, deadpan, lifeless –Hurry up.

Tomasa was handed the cash, making sure to count it. Satisfied, she folded them and put them in the front pocket of his trousers before proceeding to undo them. As she got into position against the wall, hands flat on the wall for leverage, the guy kept masturbating making those obnoxiously wanting sounds with his breathing, like some desperate animal in heat. Sex was not supposed to taste nauseating yet there she was, whilst a revoltingly sour flavour took over her tongue.

-You pull out before coming, you hear me? –she warned, noticing that the guy didn’t carry a condom.

The client chuckled dismissively –We’ll see-

That petulant smirk got replaced by a frightened grimace when Tomasa abruptly turned around and took hold of his testicles. Fingers gripping like claws, pulling firm and painful –I was not asking, bitch –Tomasa hissed through gritted teeth in what was a blatant threat.

She wished it’d come out of nowhere, just a reflex response to dealing with an annoying character on Christmas’ Eve, but it was not the case. This was Tomasa exposing a side she’d been too insecure to show but it’d been always there, obscured at the bottom beneath a pile of fake smiles and coquetry. The fear of rejection, of failing her costumers, of losing her charm was ever present, silencing protests that she’d owned the right to vocalize. How many times did she neglect her dignity in fear of losing a coin. The boy was killing her with his eyes, but he understood that Tomasa could actually kill him with her bare hands. Tomasa was not going to hesitate, not anymore. A quietness of indifference, cold like a corpse’s skin, was what Tomasa offered the guy in return to his thrusts. Mastering the skill of not making a sound whilst enduring the physical sting of the penetration didn’t take her long in this profession; unsurprisingly so, as she hardly ever took something positive out of the experience and thus blocking out the world for the duration of the act came as a natural saviour. Though it was so much better when the evasion came easy after a snort. Swift and visceral, the best lubricant. The boy lasted nothing, hardly shameful thirty seconds, which was precisely what Tomasa anticipated; she stepped away as soon as he pulled out, not wanting him to ejaculate near her. Tomasa’s former broad tolerance was now paper thin, she was not getting in contact with random men’s semen if she could help it. Pretending the other guy was not there recovering from his orgasm, anxious to get away, Tomasa was quick to wipe between her thighs with toilet paper out of habit, adjusted her trousers and stormed out of the bathroom. Carla was now perched on the lonely neighbour man’s lap when Tomasa passed by, breasts dangerously close to the guy’s hungry eyes level whilst the group was engaged playing never have I ever, everyone intoxicated. It was no longer a funny scene.

-Forget it honey, she plays for the other team –Tomasa crashed his hope just like that, a glass breaking with a bang. The truth hurt, she reasoned. Better face it than live a fantasy; optimism only led to frustration. The man’s grin froze; Tomasa locked eyes with Carla and shrugged. Seemingly confused, Carla just then took the hint, realization dawning on her features with great amusement. About time. She didn’t give her friend explanation for her departure; she wanted nothing from anyone, putting on a show of tranquillity required a will she lacked of right now. The stairs were dark in the dead of night; Tomasa wished to be graced with the naivety of fearing ghosts. Wished to be so deprived of earthly issues that her mind made up potential threats when the lights went off. She opened the door to her flat and closed it behind her, her crestfallen gaze on some inexact spot of the large layer of black spread across the tiny space. Technically, Tomasa was looking at nothing. A tear fell upon the collar of her Christmas sweater. Was she being realistic or was she depressed. Maybe being realistic made you depressed; there was a reason people avoided dwelling on their problems like one avoided a venomous plant in the wild. In a hot hushed roar inside her, was the need to snort cocaine; some rude sixteen year old fucked her bareback, the memory had to be cleansed away with something stronger than her volatile willpower. Therapy helped and Milo’s affection fought against it, but what on earth soothed her in the meantime. A kind soul volunteering to walk on her shoes for a few weeks would have been a nice remedy to ease the fatigue demolishing the bones of her shoulders. Explaining her mind didn’t equal transferring it, only Tomasa knew what she lived with every second of every day. And she lived with a lot. When she sat down on the windowsill where Milo used to sit after worshipping her unrestricted, and looked down at the street illuminated by a lamppost, Tomasa considered jumping out. Life was a gift, they said, the doctors, the priests and the heroines in the television. But no one was stuck with a gift from dawn to sunset and the night in between; you were supposed to make use of that gift whenever you pleased, whether once a day or twice a year. Life though, was permanent, and everything permanent lasted so long that certain edges got rusted. Tomasa accepted, however, that Carla would have missed her like she’d miss Carla had it the roles been reserved. And Tomasa empathized with his dear ones; plural, because her love, her porcelain-made man, loved her back fiercely enough to faint at her farewell and never wake up again. Besides, Isabella didn’t want to die yet.

Isabella was the gentlemen’s favourite at Lavanda. It was New Year’s Eve, the decade was about to change, the pub/theatre was ornamented with balloons, colourful pennants and a sign hanging from the ceiling that said: Welcome 1990. She felt like dressing up differently tonight, that one battered, faded movie poster she stumbled upon a random wall down Broadway fresh in her memory. Replicating it was an impossible task, but she delivered her own version of it; her top and mini-skirt combination was of the same glittery black colour of the figure of the poster, she covered half her arms with long black gloves, put on her messiest wig and her make-up went heavily black around the eyes and heavily deep-red on the lips. Fishnet tights on her long legs, red heels and a fake white pearl necklace hanging close around her neck completed the look. The gothic sensuality of her outfit had those thirty pair of eyes mesmerized, but so were their ears listening to her song: immersed in the most respectful silence like a child dozed off to a lullaby, heads gently swaying side to side as they let her, their queen for one night, perform her softest melody to date; a romantic Elvis’s classic. She gestured, soft and delicate, with her hands, hips rocking to the rhythm equally. From the side-lines, Carla watched her with a glass of champagne in hand, Isabella sensed her pride radiating from what was probably a wide drunken smile. This was Isabella’s official return to the stage, their boss commanding them to perform two songs each for the special celebration. It’d been a while since this town saw so many people hanging out in the streets at night; as she performed, more people entered the club, having to crowd together in the back by the bar, their attention solely focused on the stage in wonder. It should have been the miracle of reaching the nineties, but Isabella’s eyes didn’t deceive her when she spotted a pair of couples cuddled up, enjoying their date. The boyfriends free of second intentions. When Isabella set her eyes on someone, he knew. His name was Milo, was wearing jeans, a white shirt and a denim jacket, his dark-blond hair was fixed James Dean style, and kept staring at her with a sparkle of recognition in his eyes. Milo was young and very beautiful, but Isabella was happy to testify that the pretty package was only the introduction to the real treasure inside. A wink was sent his way, heavy with symbolism, exclusively for tonight, and all the upcoming nights.

Her body was still buzzing from making the crowd dance with an energetic Whitney Houston’s song. Literally dance, people were in the mood, though Carla later on clarified that it was Isabella who put them in the mood. Humble as always, Tomasa shared the credit with The Magnificent Elsa but yes, she couldn’t deny the thrill at being appreciated as a performer. The round of performances was done with that song, Leo agreeing beforehand that it was a fitting choice to keep the party vibe going so people would stay and keep drinking. The crop top remained on but she added her leather jacket and changed into jeans. Tomasa was on a hurry, but she didn’t feel guilty leaving her friend alone on New Year’s Eve because Carla had her own plans with her latest fling.

-Go get that cock –said Carla as she watched Tomasa grab her bag to go, but only jokingly. There was indulgence of the finest sort beneath her tongue, she was aware of the situation.

-Go get that pussy –Tomasa blew her an air kiss before leaving the dressing room with a bright smile on her face. It was the I’m not working extra tonight kind of smile, one that showed on her lips in isolated cases so she revelled in it thoroughly, like a rain that comes unexpected in the middle of summer, cleansing the suffocation in the air. Plus the success of Isabella’s return contributed a big amount, and the fact that her special person was waiting for her. It was freezing outside, but Tomasa’s heart was well protected and bundled in layers built by a love that did her good and treated her fair. And love was welcomed, when it was good and fair. It did her so right that it even gave her the strength to keep going if it were to disappear someday. Tomasa no longer begged; she only hoped. Standing by his bike, pretty like the moon, cigarette in the mouth, Milo raised his eyebrows in salute and Tomasa was a rosebud flourishing in an abandoned garden. She crossed the street, a veteran on heels, being welcomed by Milo’s free arm hooking around her waist. Much like before, but nothing like before.

-Let’s do it –said Milo, excited. Replied Milo, to a suggestion that roamed disorientated in the atmosphere for more than a week.

-Lovely –muttered Tomasa, taken back. It was a challenge they were taking as a pair, and they were going to fight to make it. One hand on the nape of Milo’s long neck, thumb playing with the strands of hair within reach, Tomasa let the cigarette slip out of Milo’s mouth to have a smoke and beamed at him like a little girl relishing in the pride of her parents. As she exhaled all over Milo’s face like it was the funniest, cheekiest thing to do, Milo’s hand got under her jacket, palm flat on her lower-back to pull her closer. Tomasa got kissed on the cheek, long and so heartfelt; a kiss of reward and congratulations, a supporting one, one that summed up pages and pages of the contract that sealed a promise. She sighed, or purred like Carla put it, leaning in to mirror the kiss on Milo’s cheek. The rivers flown towards the ocean as naturally as they embraced, and stayed embracing among the alcoholised passers-by chanting and popping bottles in honour of the New Year. The town administration didn’t have resources to mount a fireworks show, so a siren setting off when the clock stroke midnight had to suffice.

-Happy New Year –they said in choir, chests pressed together and smiles dreamy like the couple they should have been but chose not do because life happened. Like that too, they shared three consecutive cloud-tender pecks on the lips. Maybe some more. They rode on Milo’s bicycle in the direction of what Tomasa quickly enough learnt was the beach, Tomasa perched on the seat whilst Milo expertly carried both their weights, cycling on his feet. The surreal feeling of no longer being in the eighties, and thus welcoming the last decade before the new millennium had the people wandering the town ecstatic like it was a carnival.

-Why are we going down to the beach, it’s bloody cold! –she yelled from behind Milo’s back, hands holding onto his shoulders that went up and down.

-The cold is in the mind, Tomasa! We have to defeat our minds! –Milo grinned, free as a bird.

It’s not like Tomasa could have jumped out of the bike. Not that she would have if she could; she would have turned down a gondola trip in Venice for this. Indeed, the weather turned aggressively colder the more they neared the promenade that in this particular night gathered more youth than normal. Reading her mind, Milo continued to ride them towards the most deserted spot they could find, and as he did, Tomasa took in the scene of his town, collecting the images like picking up flowers in the meadow; the immense navy blue tide framing the west, a drunk adolescent pulling some silly moves encouraged by his friends that carried a stereo, a worked up girl and boy about to consummate behind the public restrooms, the park with that old pair of swings she used to play back then when her biggest concern was tying her shoelaces correctly not to upset Mrs. Schmidt, the strict supervisor that otherwise bought them candy when the children weren’t being mischievous. She was the one who died that day and soon, perhaps next Sunday evening over tea and cigarettes, Milo was going to find out the whole story about how Tomasa wept for her like any broken girl wept for the only lady to show her sketches of motherly care. They reached a spot far away, where the houses in the background began to leave space for the big rocks, the organic transition from the mundane to nature. Even there, they could hear the echo of laughter and music travelling through the ocean breeze, and it was nice, refreshing, to feel her birthplace so alive for once.

Milo was doing all right this time around, Tomasa sensed it in her bones like that one time suspected the contrary. He was just happy, like Tomasa was and everybody else for making it into the new decade in one piece. An accomplishment for those familiar with scarcity. So Milo ran towards the sea, stripping further with every step, cackling in harmless bliss as the items flew down to the sand, a trail of discarded clothes the evidence of his boldness. And Tomasa cackled with him, heels and bag on hand, bare feet supporting her shivering legs as she followed behind. She dropped the items as she approached the shore, the wet sand feeling like ice molecules straight in the vein, but Milo diving in without a second thought was distracting enough. Then, once he re-emerged, an unseen wave knocked him over, Tomasa bending over in laughter. In seconds, whilst she recovered because breathing normally whilst suffering a fit of laughter in the freezing cold that constricted your lungs was quite challenging, she had a revengeful naked Milo striding across the water in her direction, soaked hair plastered gracelessly over his forehead, expression painted in mirth. They become two kids playing chase and run, except Tomasa actually ran the faster she could in her rigid legs across the shore and Milo trotted after her like he meant it, both mouths spitting profanities like it was a serious matter to conquest.

-You warmed up, see! –Milo claimed between thick gasps, reaching out for Tomasa in one swift jump but being dodged, Tomasa and him continuing to play the mouse and the cat although the two looked about to throw the towel –You thought you wouldn’t get over the cold, but you did!

-You fucking made me, you flasher idiot! –Tomasa couldn’t help but giggle at the bizarre photograph of Milo running around starkers, which slowed her down and inevitably brought her into her hunter’s grip. She screamed like she was being murdered whilst Milo lifted most of her weight in order to drag her to the sea; someone passing by easily could have heard the noise and call the police, however to their luck the closest human being around was passed out on the sand like a sack of potatoes, bottle of wine clutched to the chest.

-Did I do the run for you?! I don’t think so! –Tomasa ceased the childish shrieks, she had to, in order to close her scarlet mouth when Milo let go of her in the ocean. Underwater, all sound died down except the simultaneously majestic and menacing hum of the tide that rocked her miniscule body as it pleased, limbs waving in autopilot to keep herself afloat. Milo was right, Tomasa thought. She was no longer cold. In fact, the temperature outside the water was the hostile one. Back up on the surface, Tomasa inhaled deep and coughed, eyes searching for Milo as she waved underwater until her feet could reach the ground. The moon above served as the only light among a bottomless black. Too uncomfortable in the jacket, Tomasa zipped it down and took it off, holding it with the hand she tried to keep above the water. Sensing a noise behind, the whistle of a song, Tomasa turned around to find Milo floating on his back with the most peaceful expression, gaze up in the sky like he was having a nice chat with the stars, light as feather. It was the Elvis melody. Milo locked eyes with her, and Tomasa replied with a smile that Milo returned, convinced, and hopeful. They were hopeful. Tomasa tried to imitate him, appreciating the new calm in the tide, arms batting like wings as she tried to stay afloat face up, the stars staring down; amused, she had to admit that Milo’s technique was finer. Ten years from now Tomasa wished the town had the money to cost fireworks, as she wanted to witness them first hand, hopefully with her friend, and her loved one.