A. C. Meyer

The right kind of wrong girl

Translated by Francine Ozaki

© 2019 - A.C. Meyer

Published by Tektime

The right kind of the wrong girl

The girls – Book 1

A.C. Meyer

Synopsis

Can love itself be stronger than the fear of loving?

Malu lives life at its fullest, as if each day were her last. Nothing seems to cause her courage or determination to falter. The only way she reveals fragility and sensitivity is through her delicate and intense art, as well as in the arms of Rafael – her best friend and safe place. This friendship brings up strong but, at the same time, frightening feelings – which both are unwilling to explore.

When desire overcomes reason, Malu and Rafa allow themselves to live a relationship with no restraints, but, at the same time, intense and passionate, which leads them through a roller coaster of emotions. Until the day fate sets a cruel trap ahead of them, so Malu must make a fatal and painful decision to protect the ones she loves.

The right kind of wrong girl

Copyright © 2019 by A. C. Meyer

Cover by: Luizyana Poletto

Translation: Francine Ozaki

All rights reserved and protected by Law 9.610 of 19/02/1998.

No part of this book, without the author's prior written permission, may be reproduced or transmitted whatever the means used: electronic, mechanical, photographic, recording or any other, except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews. Fonts used with Microsoft's permission.

Copyright infringement is a crime established by Law No. 9,610/98 and punished by Article 184 of the Penal Code.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are products of the author's imagination and fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, events or establishments is purely coincidental.

“In the end, everything will be alright, and if it’s not, that’s because it’s not the end yet.”

Fernando Sabino

To Sebastião Cantarino (in memoriam).

You left so quickly… and all that was left was longing.

Chapter one

“The wrong person must appear to everybody, because life is not right, nothing here is right.”

Luís Fernando Veríssimo

Malu

This is not the story about a princess who lived in a castle until, one day, she found prince charming, fell in love with him, and both lived happily ever, walking towards the sunset in a white horse. I’m not a princess, never was. That doesn’t mean that life hasn’t provided me with opportunities to be a little princess, on the contrary. I was born in a ‘conventional family’, so to speak. Conservative parents, traditional school. But I’ve always been the black sheep in this family, the one with colored hair and a shocking attitude. The one who smokes, drinks, swears and enjoys a bohemian life. The right kind of wrong girl. That girl mothers would never want as a daughter-in-law and boys don’t usually take home to introduce to their parents. That fun girl in the gang who is always ready for the next adventure.

Until that day when life knocked me down and made me realize that everything can change in a heartbeat.

It’s four o’clock on a Friday morning and I’m here, lying on this hospital bed. I look around and there’s Rafa, sitting on a chair right beside my bed, his eyes closed, immersed in a restless sleep. I can see his eyes surrounded by small dark circles, his unshaved hint of beard starting to show, his coat on the armrest. I watch him carefully: his brown hair, messed by fingers running through so many times; those expression lines on his eyes, which cause his eyes and lips to smile together, and on his cheeks, marking irresistible dimples. While I look at him, I realize how much his presence is important in my life and the only reason that I’m here, on this hospital bed, with all these things attached to me, is because of him.

Everything I wanted was taking that trip, at peace with whatever life prepared for me, but Rafa wouldn’t allow it. The only thing I needed to reconsider this decision was a shred of hope and that was exactly what I received.

To help you understand how things came to this point, we must go back about eight years in the past. I remember, as if it were yesterday, the first time I stepped into my college building. It was an extremely hot summer day, and the sun was burning. My neighbor and beer buddy Beto gave me a ride. Yes, I was only seventeen but already very fond of a night out. My friends used to say that I had an old, wise, and bohemian soul. I was in town for a bit more three months to study, guess what, Law. That was my last attempt to please my parents, who wouldn’t even consider the possibility of me not following the family career, since my father, uncles and grandparents worked in different Law fields.

Beto was a Social Communication student, a couple of semesters ahead of me, who lived in the apartment downstairs. He was the personification of every woman’s surfer boy dream, almost a walking cliché: sun-kissed and almost always messy blond hair; tanned skin; a dragon tattoo on his arm; an honest smile, and flip-flops on his feet. No matter where we went, he never wore shoes or sneakers: he used to say they hurt his feet. And, honestly, it was all part of his natural charm.

We left the car in a parking lot next to our campus. Beto’s old car clashed with most of the new ones from the playboys, as he used to call them, but he didn’t mind. He was in college as a promise to his mother, who died when he was fifteen. The only thing that really mattered to him, besides honoring his promises, was how good the waves were.

We headed to the majestic campus, which comprised five huge buildings and a whole world of people.

“Babe, that’s probably your building.” Beto showed me the construction a bit far ahead. “Mine is this first one. Are you okay?” he asked me, apparently worried, as if I was his little sister. Beto had always treated me as if I needed protection. That was just way he was, no romance from his behalf or anything like that.

“That’s ok, Beto. I’ll check the schedule I’ve printed. I’m sure the classroom numbers are written there.”

“Rad! See you after class then. If you have any problem, call me.”

“Cool,” I replied before heading to the building he showed me. After hanging out with him almost every day, I was sort of learning his surf slang and incorporating some things on my daily routine. I reached for my headphones in my pocket, and I put them on before walking through the campus, listening to rock music, and watching everybody around. There seemed to be all sorts of people: frat boys, bimbos, rockers, skaters and so on, which was good, because that made me feel less “different”, considering my unusual look.

My dark hair was asymmetrically cut, right above my shoulders, with purple tips. I was wearing jeans shorts, a black T-shirt showing the Brazilian rock band Legião Urbana and the drawing of a white guitar, sneakers and a backpack. I was sure that, if my mother could see me at that exact moment, she’d say I looked homeless. Overreacting much?

I reached for the printed piece of paper in my backpack. I was comparing the written classroom number and building name to the ones on the sign hanging from the building entrance, when a deep voice resonated behind me, which made all the hair in my body suddenly curl.

“Need help?”

I turned around to a vision that took my breath away. I wasn’t the type of girl who fell in love. I was more into hook-ups or, even better, single but not alone. I didn’t even believe in love, happily ever after or any of this shit. All I wanted to do was drinking, dancing and French-kissing. I still hadn’t had any sexual experience purely for lack of opportunity. The reason for that was simply the fact that the guys I used to date had never made me want to go any further, and not because I believed I had to save myself for the great love of my life, which I knew for a fact that was a likely story. But that guy standing in front of me was not like the other boys I knew. He was a man, in every sense of the word. His long hair was tied in a man-bun. His eyes were a shade of grey I’d never seen in my life. His brown skin, sun-tanned, contrasted with his bearded face and white-toothed smile. He was wearing a white T-shirt which hugged his body and washed-out jeans. Despite the bearded look and long hair, he didn’t seem sloppy, on the contrary. I shook my head, trying to organize my words.

“I was making sure my classroom is here.”

When he smiled, his expressions lines made his smile go all the up to his eyes.

“What is your course? Fashion design?” he asked me, looking at me from the bottom up. What a cliché!

“Law.” My answer came right away, which made him laugh.

“Another rebel! Welcome to the family!” he laughed and pointed out to the building. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”

I nodded, feeling thankful, but suddenly realizing that I’d lost the ability to speak merely by standing next to that handsome stranger. He walked me to the building, craning his neck to look at my piece of paper to read the classes I was going to take.

“Constitutional Law! Your classroom is right over there.” He pointed to classroom 101.

“Thanks,” I replied, and he smiled back at me.

“Rafael.” He introduced himself and offered his hand.

“Malu,” I replied taking his hand.

“I’ll see you around, Malu.” He smiled one more time and winked at me before he disappeared in hallway heading for another classroom.

And that was the place, at the first day of boring Law school, that I met the man who stole the heart that I didn’t even know I had.

Chapter two

“Silvering the horizon, rivers and fountains shine, in a cascade of light.”

Lulu Santos

Rafa

I keep walking straight ahead through the boardwalk, feeling the breeze coming from the sea. Starry night and warm weather: perfect for today’s plans. Almost ten o’clock on a Friday night. I’m a bit tired after hours on court watching hearings to complete my credits. Even though I’m dying to stay in bed after a hard-working week, missing Malu’s birthday party is not an option. She’s the youngest in our group, but by far the most fun. By the age of nineteen, Malu is the life of our parties and no deal is the same if she’s not there.

Beto has arranged a luau at the beach near my house and the celebration has no time to end. I’m pretty close to the meeting point when my phone rings.

“Yes?”

“Rafaaaa! Where are you?” Malu asks me right away with music playing in the background.

“I’m on my way, Malu. Almost there.” The sound of her laughter is enough to make me numb.

At the same time Malu makes me feel overprotective, due to her fearlessness and sometimes even rashness, some aspects of her personality fascinate me. Her sexy laughter, the way she looks at me when she is not sure about what I’m talking about, her skin as white as moonlight contrasting to her hair, which is always dyed in a different fashion. From time to time, she changes her look to one that is suitable to only her and no one else: her hair tips have already been purple, green and blue. By the two years we’ve known each other, her hair, originally black, has already been colored red, brown and even blond. She looks like a small chameleon, changing colors according to her “state of mind”, as she usually says herself, even though I’d prefer her natural dark hair. Deep inside, I believe all those changes has something to do with her artistic spirit, as our friends usually say.

“Okay, I’m waiting for you.” she says and then hangs up.

She’s a sophomore student at Law school, and I know how unhappy she feels. She’s in college to please her family, who couldn’t care less about her, instead of pursuing her passion and studying what she really loves: art.

When I arrive at the kiosk we settled as our meeting point, I can see people swarming around at the luau. There are about thirty people at the beach, chatting or eating snacks offered by the kiosk on an improvised table. Even from afar, I can see Malu next to Beto and Merreca, a college friend who got this nickname for always being broke and having almost no money in his pockets, as he usually claims – merreca means very little money in Portuguese. She’s wearing a loose white dress, with her bare feet touching the sand, dancing to a ballad someone’s playing on a guitar.

Her hair is waved, not her usual straight fashion, running loose through her back. I’ve never seen her hair as long as it is right now. It makes her look innocent, something that doesn’t suit her exuberant personality.

There’s only friendship going on between us. Since I first met her, looking lost in front of our college building on her first day of classes, I kind of adopted her and introduced her to my gang. We’re just friends, because I believe she’s too young for my twenty-two years of age. I’m at my senior year, preparing for my Bar examination and, even though she may arouse some reactions in my body, she’s too young.

I step on the sand and feel cold grains touching my feet. I quickly take off my flip-flops and leave them next to other guests who are gathered in a corner. I greet some people and head towards the birthday girl. As if she can feel my presence, she turns around and smiles at my sight. Her eyes are shining bright, her lips are red, and there’s a cigarette in her hand.

“Hey, young lady! Smoking already?” I come closer to see a sour expression on her face while she stretches her arms to hug me.

“When you talk like that, you make me look like I’m fourteen, instead of nineteen. I’m a woman, Rafa, not a young lady,” she replies frowning her forehead but then she laughs and presses her body against mine. Is it just me or she’s been showing some curves lately?

“Happy birthday, woman.” I tease her, making her laugh even more while she gives me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, handsome,” she replies winking an eye at me, while her hands caress my face where my beard used to be. “I miss your beard.”

I sigh at the memory of having my hair cut the year before because of work. I had it cut, but not much, only enough to look suitable for my career, even though I can still feel some wild locks of hair near my neck.

“Me too.” I smile and let go of her body, which was still against mine. I reach for her cigarette when something on her wrist catches my attention. After putting the cigarette in my mouth, I hold her inner wrist up high so I can look at it. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” she asks me while I look at the tattoo in her arm. An infinity symbol intertwined with a sentence from a Beatles’ song: You may say I’m a dreamer. “Oh! I had it done today. Do you like it?”

My eyes move from the drawing to her pretty face before I smile at her.

“It suits you.” She smiles back at me watching me take a drag on her cigarette. I don’t usually smoke, only when I go out to drink or when I’m feeling nervous. That day, I’m a bit of both. I’m certainly going to drink, but I also feel strangely restless feeling her body so close to me. She takes the cigarette out of my hands. “I’m going to talk to the guys and catch a beer,” I say, to which she nodded in agreement.

I say hello to the guitar guys and move away, heading to other friends who were already there. After I talk to everybody, I take a beer followed by Leo, my best friend.

“I don’t know how much further you’re going to resist this,” he says. I look at him curiously.

“Resist what?”

“This Lolita of yours,” he says laughing and looking at Malu, who’s dancing again.

“There’s nothing between us, dude.” I protest feeling downhearted. “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh, I know… it’s crystal clear that she’s hitting on you and you’re into her.”

“She may turn me on, but she’s still growing up” I reply feeling my body react to the smooth swings of her hips as she dances. “But you know I don’t do dating nor want any of this shit.”

“Neither does she” Leo replies, making me nod in agreement. His words make me remember a conversation we’ve had, a couple of months before, when she told me about her parents’ fake marriage and her own lack of faith in love. “But that doesn’t mean you guys can’t hook up once in a while.”

Those words have an impact on me, stimulating a series of mental images that I have no idea where they came from. Our lips together on an urgent kiss, her naked body against mine. I shake my head trying to erase them from my mind. Bad idea, Rafael.

We change the subject when Cesar, a friend from the beach, arrives. The party is still going as the evening progresses. Malu spends the night going from group to group, talking to everybody, making everyone laugh and interact to each other. However, from time to time, as usual, we exchange looks, strokes, caresses. I can’t deny we have a strong connection. It’s like a magnetic field is always bringing us together.

By the end of the evening, I take her home, as I usually do when we go out together. I don’t like letting her go back by herself, especially at night. Malu’s absent-minded and always this close to let something happen to her because she’s not paying attention to any prospect of danger. We are pretty high on beers and capirinhas – a Brazilian national drink. Lucky us we live close to the beach, so we can walk home.

We walk through the neighborhood streets, holding hands, laughing and talking. Halfway through, she let go of my hand and hold me by the waist. Her soft and warm body makes her even more desirable to me.

“You didn’t even give me a gift, Rafa,” she says making a funny face.

“Your gift is at my place. I wouldn’t take it to the beach so you could lose after drinking too much, would I?” I reply, making her laugh even more.

“I’d never lose anything that came from you.”

We enter her building and take a lift to the seventh floor. There, I watch her while she gets down in front of her door, holds the doormat up, and takes a key from beneath it.

“What the hell?”

“What? My key…”

“Under the doormat? Fuck, Malu! Someone can find this key and get inside!”

“Better than taking it to the beach and losing it. Where was I supposed to keep it if I didn’t take any purse?”

“At the same place you kept your phone?” For the first time, I realize she doesn’t have any purse and her cellphone isn’t anywhere to be seen. Maybe she lost it? “Where’s your phone?”

“Right here.” She sticks her hand in her cleavage and pulls out her phone, which was hidden between her breasts. That vision wakes up my whole body and makes my breath even heavier.

“I don’t want you keeping your key down there anymore. You must take it with you. If you don’t have any purse, hold it in your hand until I get there. I’ll keep it in my pocket for you. Or ask anyone else you trust.”

“You’re too bossy. You don’t even kiss me but want to give me orders?” I can’t tell if it’s her daring tone, her raised eyebrow or the vision of her in that white dress. Maybe it’s mixture of all of that with a lot of caipirinhas that impels me take her by the waist, hold her in my arms and press her against the wall, stealing a passionate kiss from those red lips.

Waiting for no permission, my tongue invades her mouth, provoking, punishing and arousing her desire. I can feel her pressing her body against mine even more, throwing her arms around my neck, kissing me back.

I can’t tell how long we stayed there, lost on each other’s lips, until a low moan coming from her throat tells me it was time to stop what we’re doing. The next step would be going to bed and I know Malu has no experience. She told me that herself and I’m the right person for anybody’s first time. I move my lips away from hers and realize that I was holding her hair really tight and that her body completely pressed against mine.

“Don’t you ever leave your fucking key under the doormat again, Malu. Do you hear me?” My voice sounds low, irritable by the fact she’s not worried about her own safety, and hoarse by all the excitement from that kiss. She smiles and nods in agreement. I let go of her and take the key from her hands. When I open the door, I push her inside, handing the damn key back, strongly recommending her to close the door and lock it after I leave.

“Bye, Rafa.” She says good-bye leaning against the door, her lips swollen by that kiss.

“Happy birthday, nut-head.”

Chapter three

“My life used to be whisky, tears and cigarettes.”

Pink

Malu

When I arrive home, slamming the door after passing, I see my eyes on the mirror, surrounded by mascara smudges and puffy for crying so hard. That is the last time I shed tears for them. This bond is definitively broken after what happened today.

Going back home is always extremely hard. I don’t even know if I can call going to the house of those who brought me into the world as going home, since that big house has never been a real home for me. The Honorable Judge Eduardo Figueiroa Bragança and socialite Mrs. Lucia Bragança, a.k.a. my parents, are not the definition of real parents. They’ve been married for many years in a sort of family agreement, once they’re belong to the elite of our small hometown high society.

My parents’ house is a mansion that, for me, feels more like a dungeon. Impeccably arranged with everything exactly in the right place, that house is extremely oppressing for a free spirit like myself. My parents are cold, indifferent, distant. The only kisses and hugs I remember came from the nannies or housekeepers who, surreptitiously, tried their best to give me a normal childhood. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m so physically needy nowadays. I’m a tactile person, someone who likes taking, touching, holding, speaking through my hands and very fond of human affection.

When my brother, who’s two years younger than me, was born, I believed that finally I’d have someone to whom I could give all those things exploding in my chest. I figured he’d be someone to share feelings with me and be my friend. My mistake.

Eduardo Jr. – God forbid calling him Du, Dudu, Edu or any other nickname, which would mean the end of the world for him – is almost a small replica of my parents. He used to study very hard and, by the age of fifteen, he was admitted in one of the most applied to colleges in the country. All he wants is being a judge like my father, while I hate law and dream of studying and living from my art. Obviously, the perfect couple wouldn’t allow that. I had to come to Law school, with grades barely making through the semester and skipping more classes than watching. I feel trapped like a convict on the death row, who can’t catch a glimpse of solution to that problem.

In big city, I live in one of my parents’ properties and, obviously, they support me financially so I can graduate and, in the future, follow a career they’ve chosen for me.

Concurrently, I paint. As no one pays me a visit, I turned one of the bedrooms in an atelier where I spend hours and hours of my day finding happiness. I paint faces, landscapes, abstractions which come to mind while I sleep. As I must report my expanses and my parents would never allow me to spend money with dyes, canvases or brushes, I work at a bar in the evenings, waiting tables from Thursdays to Sundays, using the rest of the week to paint or, when I managed to get up early, to go to classes. I earn good money with tips, which allows me to invest in my art materials.

For obvious reasons, after some time with this busy life, my body has started to complain, as does my heart. I spend more time depressed than feeling good about myself, but I try my best to hide all the things that make my soul ache. Cigarettes are my major daily companion, and canvases, where I pour my heart in. However, for everyone else, I make a point of always expressing joy and not letting anyone see my pain.

The only one who knows me too well to let my feelings to pass overseen is Rafa. We’ve already been friends for four years, but he knows me better than I know myself. He hates my job at the bar, because he thinks the guys may take advantage of me, as if I were a fragile flower, something I’m not. I’m more of a Maleficent than a Snow White.

He knows about my love for the arts and my hatred for Law school. After some conversations about it, I managed to gather the courage to tell my parents that I’m changing majors in college. Rafa has already graduated and, without him there to support me, I know I can’t go through with Law school.

I wander around the house and go to my bedroom. Looking at a large mirror hanging in the wardrobe door, I see through that gloomy track of dark tears on my face, a purple bruise on my cheek. When I take off my checked long-sleeved shirt, I can see my pale skin ornated with tattoos, as well as the finger marks left by a tight grip. I also take off my jeans, standing only in my underwear in front of the mirror, to see the belt marks on my legs.

I close my eyes, but I can still hear their cries and curses. Tramp, bum, whore, those were some of the names he used to refer to me. I look at myself in the mirror, not recognizing that painful image standing in front of me. Tasting the blood in my mouth, I promise myself that this is the last time he mistreats me like this. I’ll never let him hit me again, physically or verbally.

Then, I go to the bathroom, seeking comfort in a hot shower, knowing that this is what I need to gather strength to act. I take about thirty minutes in the shower, allowing water to run through my long-dyed hair while I think about what I’m going to do next.

I get off the shower and call Tito, the manager at the bar where I work.

“Hi, Malu,” he says picking up.

“Hi, Tito. Sorry for the short notice, but I can’t make it tonight.”

“Are you still at your parents’?” he asks me, sounding truly worried.

“No, sweetie, I’m back already. But I’m not feeling well. I’m going to take a painkiller and lie down. Maybe I’m just tired after a long trip.” I reply hoping he doesn’t ask too many questions. I hate lies and I’d never be able to hide anything from him. Tito is probably fifty-something but sounds like a sixteen-year-old boy. Surfer, jokester and a good company, he’s a wonderful person and always treats me with the utmost respect. He gave me a job even though he knew I had no experience in bars besides drinking.

“So, rest, Little Malu. I’ll take care of everything here.”

I thank him and hang up, promising to take care of myself. After drying body and hair, I untangle my hair in front of the bathroom mirror. My hair is now platinum blond with dark roots, and long as never before. Before I have the chance to think, I take some scissors and cut them at neck length, pouring all my frustration on those long locks. I look back at my own reflection and realize that now my hair is uneven. My eyes, puffy and red for all the crying, added an even sadder look to my appearance. Damn.

Then, I go to the living room wrapped in my towel. I grab a whiskey bottle and I pour a generous dose on a glass, lighting a cigarette right after. Turning on some music, I sit down on the balcony chaise.

Amy Winehouse’s melancholy voice gets me lost in my thoughts until I’m brought back by the noise of the front door being opened and of someone calling my name.

“Where are you, Malu?” Rafa is the only one, besides me, who has the key to the apartment. I gave him a spare key when he started complaining about me shutting down from everything else when I paint, and he was left outside ringing the doorbell without being heard.

“Balcony,” I replied taking the glass to my lips and making no mention of getting up. I watch him carefully, realizing he’s even more handsome today than he ever was. Almost twenty-four years of age and working for a large Law firm, he barely resembles the boy I met on my first day of college. He is a man now. His body is stronger, improved by a blue shirt and jeans pants. His short hair and shaved face make him look all grown-up. The only things that haven’t changed are his intoxicating perfume and tanned skin. Rafa loved being outside and outdoor activities.

“I went to the bar and Tito said you were not working today. How did the conversation with your parents go?” He asks turning on the balcony lights while I take a drag from my half-finished cigarette.

“I need to move out,” I say without facing him. I don’t want to move a muscle, because my whole body hurts.

“Holy shit, Malu! What’s that on your face? What happened to your hair?” he asks clearly sounding alarmed. I reach for my uneven locks of hair while a single tear escapes from my eyes.

“I also need a hairdresser,” I reply turning my eyes back to the balcony skyline view. He comes closer, sitting right next to me. After he takes the empty glass out of my hands and puts out my cigarette, he holds me in his arms and lifts me up.

“Come on, I’ll take care of you,” he says in a low voice, taking me back inside the apartment. I snuggle up against his chest, allowing myself the relief of knowing that I’m not alone. Not completely.

Chapter four

“What defines us is how we rise after falling.”

John Hughes

Rafa

Finding Malu in that state feels like a punch to the gut. She is a complete mess: unevenly cut hair, swollen face, puffy eyes and a considerable purple bruise on her cheek.

I take her to her room, which looks like it was struck by a tornado: clothes everywhere, a suitcase thrown in a corner, a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. I take her to bed, help her wear a T-shirt from her closet, taking off the wet towel she was wrapped in. She lies down curled in a fetal position and I cover her with a comforter. While she rests, I pick up her stuff from the floor, hang the wet towel and sweep off the hair from the bathroom floor. When everything is finally organized, I take off my shoes and lie down next to her on the bed, holding her in my arms.

Beyond desire, Malu brings up tenderness in me in a way nobody else can. Deep inside that strong and vibrant woman, there’s a little girl hidden, who hardly ever shows up.

Just the thought of what may have happened makes my heart bleed. She left home to visit her parents with no bruises on her face or anywhere on her body. Unfortunately, I must wait until tomorrow to find out.

I let my hand walk through her left arm, the one she uses to paint, caressing it lightly. When I reach her thin wrist, what I see brings a smile to my lips. There, pending on her hand, is my gift for her nineteenth birthday, which she hasn’t taken off since. Touching her wrist, I feel the cold metal from the bracelet from which two pendants hang. The first one is a silver paint palette with a small golden brush to remind her of never giving up on the art she loves so much. The second one is a joke of the fact she doesn’t believe in love: an adorable silver frog wearing a tiny golden crown representing what she usually says about men: there’s no prince charming – all men are frogs in disguise. I smile at the thought of, year after year, she hasn’t taken that bracelet off. That’s something representing our bond, which may be something beyond friendship… we’re almost a family, even if it’s a dysfunctional one.

Little by little, the sound of her breath becomes constant, indicating that Malu has fallen asleep. I get lost on the strawberry perfume on her hair, the soft touch of her small body close to mine and the constant movements of my thumb on her wrist. In a couple of minutes, I fall into a deep sleep.

****

Both the sunlight and a smell of coffee wake me up. I open my eyes to realize that I’m not on my own bed, but on Malu’s. I get up in a sudden jump, wear my pants, which was lying on an armchair, and follow that wonderful smell.

I expect to find Malu still a bit down, with tears in her eyes, but the woman who greets me in the kitchen is totally different. Her hair, cut in a complete uneven fashion, was wavy to hide the bad cut. Her face, wearing heavy makeup, doesn’t show any sadness or bruises. She’s wearing a short sleeved blue dress which let part of her arm tattoo exposed, as well as the black rose covering her left ankle and feet.

“Morning, honey.” She greets me with a peck on my lips, as she usually does, and a coffee mug.

“Morning,” I say, taking a sip. “How are you doing?”

She takes a deep breath and turns around to face me with a smile. I know she’s playing strong and I’m proud of her for not letting that event take her down.

“I’m doing fine. I need your help…” she begins walking towards the living room, follow by me.

“I wanna know what happened, Malu. And don’t even begin by saying it was nothing.”

She lets her head down, takes a deep breath and nods in agreement.

“I did everything as planned. I went there, explained that I’m not happy so I want to change majors, that there’s no way I can get through this shitty course they want me to take.” She begins her narrative, and I don’t interrupt her. “First, the Judge yelled at me. He said his money doesn’t grow on trees and I’m going to finish to course one way or another. When I said I wouldn’t, he jumped over me saying he wouldn’t take it.”

“Did he hit you?”

“Yeap. He gave me thirty days to find an apartment I can afford with my own money, since I’d never be able to afford a place like this. He suspended my allowance, my tuition and everything else. Oh, and he also said I’m a whore who doesn’t belong to that family anymore.”

“You’re not a whore” I replied feeling irritated.

“The first virgin whore in history” she says laughing and I help but laughing of her sense of humor. “If you had had sex with me, at least there would have been some truth in it.”

“You deserve more than some guy with relationship issues.”

“Save it, Rafa. Who says I even want a relationship? I’ve told you already that I don’t believe in any of this eternal love shit.” She shakes her frog bracelet to remind me of where she stands.

“If you didn’t believe in it, you wouldn’t still be a virgin.”

“I must stop hanging out with you. All the guys who want to bang me are afraid of being punched by you.” I can’t help but laughing of what she’s saying. “I don’t know of one single relationship that has worked out or of a love story that has lasted forever. This is soap opera material – or movies, for that matter. Love is a son of a bitch invented for delusional fools.”

“What should I do with you, Malu?” She’s the most honest person I’ve ever met.

“How about helping me figure out my life? I don’t know what to do. After my life is settled down again, I’ll find some hot cutie to take me to bed and solve this inconvenient issue.”

“Damn it, Malu.”

“Damn you what? I’m sick and tired of this shit. I know you hold your horses because of that. You think I don’t feel your little buddy all agitated when I’m around? This way, when one of us is need of a more intimate care, we may turn to each other as we already do when we need someone to talk. You won’t have to search for skanks on the streets anymore.”

“Foul mouth.”

“Stubborn.” She smiles and I can’t help thinking about everything she just said. “Well, but before pleasure, I must decide what to do. I have to move out from this apartment.” She looks around with sadness. I know how much she likes this place, where she’s been living for so long.

“You can stay at my place…”

“No way” she doesn’t even let me finish.

“But Malu…”

“Rafa, no. You have your own life. I don’t earn a lot at the bar, but I can always ask Tito to let me work more hours.”

My face shows how unpleased I am at the same time I try to think of a way of finding her another job. Suddenly, an idea emerges.

“Let me take a look at your atelier.”

“What? Why?”

“Just because. Come on, move this pretty ass and open the mystery room door. I want to check it out.”

She unwillingly leads me to the bedroom she keeps locked out, as if she’s hiding a big secret there. When she opens the door, the smell of paint and thinner hits us. She walks in and opens the curtains, while I wander around surprised at what I see.

I thought there would be average paintings. For what Malu has told me, she’s never taken art classes and everything she knows, she’s taught herself or learned by watching videos on the internet. She uses her sixth sense to lay on canvas what’s on her imagination. However, to my surprise, her work seems really good. Of course, I’m no art expert, but to the best of my little knowledge, I could see great potential. I head to a pile of paintings in a corner: landscapes, people, a boy on a surfboard trying a maneuver, half the face of a sad woman with black tears running through her cheek. Those paintings bring up different feelings for me. I immediately reach for my phone in my pocket and call Hellen.

Hellen’s a friend of my parents who owns an art gallery. By the age of fifty, she possesses an incomparable sincerity. She’d be able to take a look at Malu’s production and evaluate if we could get anything for it.

“Have you ever shown anyone these paintings? Like, selling or something like that?” I ask Malu while I wait in line.

“No, never” she replies, to which I shake my head turning my attention to the phone.

“Hi, Hellen. Rafael Monteiro here. How are you? I’m great. Sorry for bothering you so early, but I need your professional opinion. A friend of mine has some paintings and today she’s finally agreed to show me. I’m no expert, but I thought them quite good. Could you take a look and give us an expert opinion? She has to decide if she’s still going to pursue a career in arts and we’d really appreciate an evaluation from a professional. Sure, I’ll text you the address right away. Looking forward to hearing from you. Thank you.”

“What was that?” she asks looking confused.

“Hellen owns an art gallery. She’s stopping by in a couple of minutes. Apparently, she’s been looking for a new artist to exhibit in her gallery for about months now, since the one who was booked decided to leave everything behind and move to Paris.

“Exhibit?” Malu sounds strangely scared.

“What? Isn’t that the goal when someone paints?

“Oh… I don’t know.” She looks at me apparently lost. I pull her closer to hug her.

“What about this? Hellen stops by to take a look at your paintings and tell us if you have a chance of turning this into a career. Then, we’ll see what to do about the house situation. When your grandparents died, haven’t they left you and your brother some sort of trust fund?

“I suppose so, but the Judge has always told me I could only get access to it by the age of twenty-seven.”

“Do you have any paper attesting that?”

“I don’t know” she looks at me, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “I don’t even know what a paper like this looks like. What kind of shitty Law student am I?”

I look at her and can’t help but laughing of her frustration.

“Come on, my dear foul-mouthed girl. Show me where you keep your papers and I’ll search for it.”

Chapter five

“And maybe I wanted to give up, but maybe, just this once, I should move on.”

Ana Carolina

Malu

All that fear that I hadn’t felt when facing the possibility of starting over hits me now that Rafa has called that art gallery woman. Holy shit! I’m not ready to show anyone my amateur artwork. It’s hard enough to have him wandering around and touching my stuff, let alone having a stranger here.

Feeling my whole body trembling, I go to my bedroom where all my papers are. I feel stupid for not having any idea about my rights. At least, I’m organized regarding my paperwork. I come back to my atelier to find Rafa standing still, looking at one of my paintings on an easel. Curious to know what’s that he’s looking at so closely, since the easel was facing backwards, I get into the bedroom holding a folder in my hands and stop right next to him. Hum… shit.

“Where did you find this?” I ask, putting the folder over a stand, suddenly feeling shy.

“In that corner over there.” He points to some paintings which were leaning to a cupboard. I don’t even remember putting them there.

The painting he’s looking at is a self-portrait in watercolors. It’s a nude, wherein I’m lying down on a canopy bed with red satin sheets, displaying an uneven Chanel haircut style in my natural color: black. I had my breasts exposed and my hips covered by a thin almost-transparent fabric. Beyond the red sheets, the spotlight was on my tattoos: colorful flowers on my right shoulder, a sentence in an infinity shape on my wrist and a rose starting from my left ankle going all the way down to my foot.

My face had a serious look, with languid eyes and parted lips. It’s definitely a sexy portrait, but I’ve never considered sharing it with anyone.

Without saying a word, I come closer and lift the painting up to put it back where it was.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Putting it away. You were not supposed to see it.”

“Why not?”

“Just because. I haven’t painted it for showing publicly. There are some things that are personal.”

“That’s your most beautiful piece. It’s sexy, sweet, inspiring. You must show her” he says in a low voice, which makes me stop midway. I lean my head down and he comes closer, holding my arms from behind.

“No… I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me feel… exposed.”

“It’s beautiful, Malu. If there’s one painting, she should see, that’s the one. You must share your art with others.” He says precisely the one thing that would be able to convince me at the exact moment the doorbell rings. He takes the painting off my hands, put it back on the easel and, holding my hand, walks towards the front door.

A petite old lady with blond hair up on a bun is standing at the door. She’s wearing a beautiful green dress, low heel shoes, and an elegant handbag. Her makeup is impeccable and, when she sees Rafa, she opens a welcoming smile and hugs him, who, in turn, leans down to kiss her on the cheek.

“What a pleasure to meet you again, my dear. You’re using your hair short now, so handsome” she says making him smile.

“That’s my pleasure, Hellen. It’s been many years since we’ve met in person, hasn’t it? You still remember me with long hair.”

“Actually, last time we’ve met in your father’s place, your hair was neck length, and you were still rebelling against adulthood conventions.”

Rafa laughs loud and hard before inviting her in. She stopped right in front of me, measuring me from head to toe. Shit. I should be wearing something more… adequate? She then smiles.

“And who are you?”

“Er… Malu.”

“How exotic. Just Malu?” she asks me, making me feel a bit embarrassed for not introducing myself properly. If the Judge could see me now, my manners would make him pass out.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Maria Luiza Bragança, but nobody calls me that. Just my father.”

“Nice to meet you, Malu. Hellen Torres.” She shakes my hand and pulls me for a hug. After greeting me, she turns back to Rafa. “Is your girlfriend the artist?”

“We’re not dating”, I reply quickly, before she gets things the wrong way.

“Malu is a friend of mine, Hellen. She’s leaving Law School because painting is what she really likes. I’ve found a whole world of paintings in a bedroom she uses as her atelier. I’d like you to take a look at them to see if her skills have trade value enough for her to consider a full-time dedication.”

“Well, you both know how hard it is to make a living with art in this country” she says, following Rafa to my atelier, “but…”

She gets in and comes across that painting Rafa had placed over the easel, but now facing the door.

Hellen suddenly stops talking and walks towards the painting, watching it in silence. With my whole body trembling, I feel a lump in my throat that won’t let me breath. I leave the room in pursuit of a cigarette and some water.

After drinking a whole glass of water in one gulp, I move to the balcony, where I light my cigarette and lean on the grid to look at the view. I’m not ready to hear someone saying my paintings are bad. Not at all.

I stay there for some time until Rafa joins me at balcony and holds my hand.

“Put out that cigarette and come with me.”

“No… you can tell me later whatever she said.”

“I can’t decide your exhibition details for you” he says. Suddenly I’m taken over by a choking cough episode. “I’m so tired of asking you to go easy on the cigarettes.”

While he stubs my cigarette out in the closest ashtray, I look at him jaw-dropped in complete disbelief.

“Holy fuck, Rafa, maybe the smoke’s clouded my brain. I could swear I heard you say ‘my exhibition’.” I say, air quoting and laughing, completely skeptical. He can’t be serious.

“Shhh! I’ll have to do something about this foul mouth of yours. That would probably scare all you potential clients” he says, popping my eyes out of my head. “She’s totally charmed in there with everything you’ve already done. But that painting you wouldn’t let anybody see is the one that Hellen is in love with. Come, she’s waiting.”

We walk towards the atelier to find that Hellen has a notebook now and she’s making an inventory of everything there.

“Oh, my dear! Such a talent! This one is my favorite. Have you named it?”

“No regrets” I reply, making her smile with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, that’s perfect! I’ve called in my assistant Jacques. He’s on his way and we’re going to make a full inventory of all these pieces for the exhibition. July 6th is our opening. We’re going to call it ‘Just Malu’ and, obviously, No regrets is going to be our main piece. We’re also going to have a cocktail with the press and other important guests. I believe you have enough for an exhibition! What’s the name of that one, with the surfer?” she asks, without a single breath between sentences. I can’t help but feel dizzy with everything that’s happening.

“Name? Drop” I reply, making her smile again. “It’s a surf slang, meaning going down the wave from crest to base” I explain, to which she smiles even more. Hellen takes her phone, still making notes and, suddenly, she’s talking to someone.

“Nuno, my dear! Hellen here! I’ve just found what you were looking for.” She listens for a while and speaks again. “You’re not going to believe this. I’ve found a new artist. She’s exhibiting in July, but one of her paintings is exactly what you had asked me before. You know I usually don’t choose favorites, but, in this case, I thought I better call you first. Check your email.”

She waits for a couple of minutes, and, suddenly, she’s speaking again.

“Isn’t it? It’s even more wonderful in person. Do you want to make an offer? How much? Oh, Nuno. Well, let’s wait for the exhibition then. No, my dear, this is definitely one of the names of the new generation of visual artists we’re talking about. What you’re offering me is dirt-cheap. We can start talking on twelve. But you know that in the exhibition, that would be at least eighteen.

Hellen proceeds to an intense discussion until, finally, the man gives in and she hangs up looking satisfied.

“Well, first sold painting.”

“Already?” Rafa and I ask at the same time.

“Sure, pumpkins. I’m not here to play!” She smiles and gives gentle pats on my cheek. “My commission is twenty percent. We’ve sold Drop for sixteen thousand and five hundred. Nuno is a regular client, and, by the end of the day, the money will be at the gallery’s bank account and I’ll transfer you share.

She keeps talking and I feel dizzy.

“You said sixteen thousand?”

“That’s right. Jacques must be almost here, he’ll bring a contract and take your information, including your bank data. It’s a good thing your lawyer is here” she says with a smile and goes back to her inventory.

I leave the room and go back to the balcony, reaching for a cigarette pack in my pocket. I’m about to light it when Rafa comes closer, takes the cigarette out of my lips and throw it away.

“Are you okay?”

“Sixteen thousand?” I ask, to which he nods smiling.

“Yes. You do have a bank account, right?”

“Just a joint account with the Judge” I reply, still dizzy.

“Well, after I check that contract and they’re done here, I’m taking you to a bank to get you one. This amount of money will be enough to rent an apartment and pay your bills for some time. With an exhibition in the horizon, I don’t see any reason to be worried, for now.”

I’m sitting down, facing the view from the balcony, looking ahead without actually seeing anything.

“Sixteen thousand?” I ask again, making Rafa laugh.

“Congrats, miss Artist. I’m proud of you” he says, taking me to sit on his lap, holding my body in a tight hug.

Here, with my body next to his, I come to the conclusion that, even when it seems that it’s better to just give up, moving forward might be the best option.

Chapter six

“Being happy is to stop being a victim of problems but become an actor in history itself.”

Charles Chaplin

Malu

Only one hour left until the exhibition opening. Even now I can’t believe that time has passed so quickly. During this period, with Rafa and Helen’s support, I managed to get my life back on track.

I walk through the living room in my new apartment, going towards the balcony. I don’t know how, but Rafa’s found me this furnished apartment to rent, close to his place, for a bargain. According to him, the rental housing market was facing a slowdown and the landlord was happy to get rid of that condo.

The place was beautiful, well-lit and ventilated, in a quiet section of that neighborhood, where I could paint peacefully. My favorite room was the balcony. There, I could sit on a chaise, smoke a cigarette and watch the sunset. This apartment isn’t as close to the beach as the previous one, but I could still see a little bit of the sea through the buildings, and that’s enough for me.

The apartment itself is not big. There’s a small living room, decorated with one of my paintings, which I hung there right after I moved in. The master bedroom was turned into an atelier, with the landlord’s permission, where I keep my paintings, paints, thinners and brushes. I sleep in another room that, technically, is the guest room.

I look at my own reflection in the glass door which separates the balcony from the living room and smile with satisfaction. Hellen has been helping me to find myself. She took me to a hairdresser to have my hair properly cut and we talked about dyes and colors, reaching the conclusion that we should go back to my natural hair color. Then, right in front of me, I see a woman with beautiful dark hair in a Chanel haircut style with layers and side fringe, eyeliner in her eyes, and burgundy lipstick highlighting her lips. I was wearing a beautiful one-shoulder black dress, showing the colorful flowers on my bare shoulder, and a nice pair of killer sandals, which were oddly comfortable considering their looks.

I had my nails painted blood red for the first time. I tried to warn Hellen that it wouldn’t last, though. After two days dealing with paints and thinners, my beautiful nails would soon be nothing but smudges on a cotton rag. But she insisted nonetheless that, today of all days, I should look flawless. Tonight, nobody is going to see the hard-working painter, but one of the names of the new generation of visual artists. Whatever that means.

I sit down on a chaise holding a cigarette. I’d promised Rafa that I wouldn’t smoke. At least not until the reception. But there’s no harm in just holding a cigarette between your fingers, am I right? It’s almost supportive therapy. Just the thought of having a cigarette within my reach makes me feel better.

I hear some noise, and the living room, which was completely dark until seconds ago, suddenly lights up. The smell of perfume lets me know who it is before he can say something. I don’t know what I’d have done without Rafa. He was my foundation, the one I could blindly trust, and I’ve felt grateful for that every day since the moment I met him. I hear footsteps coming closer until he stops at the balcony door. I can see that the way he looks at me now is completely different.

“Hello, stranger. Do you know where I can find Malu? She has self-inflicted weird hair, of a washed color I can’t find words to define” he teases me, laughing. I start to scold him, but he lifts me up. “You should…” he begins but stops when he sees me standing up. Some seconds pass by until he’s able to finish his thoughts. “… swear less.”

“And you should be a gentleman and shouldn’t call my hair weird.” I approach him. With one hand, he takes off the cigarette from my fingers, while let other linger on my hips.

“You look beautiful,” he smiles and smack me on my lips.

“You don’t look bad yourself.” I wrap my arms around his black suit, embracing his broad shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

“A little nervous, but okay.”

“Everything’s going to be alright. I’ll be by your side all night long. Don’t worry.” These things he says make me smile and I feel deeply grateful for his affection towards me. My feelings for Rafa are the closest thing I can define as love for someone. I’d never been loved, so I wouldn’t be able to identify such a feeling. People usually talk about parental love, love between man and woman, family love… I know none of those things. The only thing I know is that, if there really were such a feeling and if I were worthy of feeling it, even though I believe I’m not, whatever this is – what I feel for Rafa – it may be my own way of loving.

“Shall we? We must arrive a bit early.”

“Sure, let me just take my purse.” I go to my bedroom and grab the tiny purse lying on my bed. When I come back, I meet Rafa again. He lets his hand lie on the bottom of my spine and follows me towards the hallway.

****

Rafa

I’ve never seen Malu like that. Even when she used to argue with her family, she didn’t look as fragile as she does now. I look at her, sitting next to me in the car in complete silence, playing with the pendants from a bracelet I gave her while staring outside, I wonder what’s on her mind.

Hellen did an outstanding job with her. Malu looks gorgeous. She doesn’t look like a rebel girl anymore, but like a woman who’s aware of her own beauty and sex appeal. She seems all grown-up, mature, feminine. And I definitely should start dating soon, because I’m seeing things in her that I’m not supposed to.

As we approach the gallery, I spot some movement on the seat beside me and look straight to Malu, watching her wringing her hands on her lap.

“Hey, calm down. Everything’s going to be alright,” I tell her, holding her fingers on mine.

“What if nobody comes to this shit?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“I mean it, Rafa. If it’s empty, Hellen will be fucking disappointed. We better go back home. Look, if you go straight ahead, there’s a turn on the road and…”

“It’s not empty. Take a deep breath and watch your freaking mouth.” I’m laughing. She looks at me scared but then she also laughs.

“Do you think so?”

“I’m positive. At least the guys from the beach and from Tito’s bar are going to be there.” Her smile grows larger, and she exhales all the air she was keeping in.

I stop the car in front of the gallery and a valet opens her door to help her out. People around us turn their heads to watch her with admiration, but she’s trembling so much she can’t even see what’s going on. I go around the car, and after I thank the valet by handing him the car keys, she grabs my arm.

When we get inside the gallery, we’re greeted by Hellen right away.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! You two look so beautiful.” She greets us with kisses and take a step back to admire Malu. “You look amazing, young lady. Are you ready? The press here is dying to know who’s our talented artist.”

“Really?” Malu seems thunderstruck.

“Yes. Rafael, you may take a look at the exhibition while I take our artist to meet some people.

“Sure. Good luck, sweetie.” I kiss her forehead and watch her go away, still a bit apprehensive.

I look around but can’t face any familiar faces. It’s still early, so I decide to take a look at the exhibition, even though I’ve already seen all the paintings. I walk through the hallway, but a waiter stops me to offer a glass of champagne. Holding on to my glass, I enter the exhibit room. About forty paintings are hanging around the gallery rooms, but right on the entrance, I’m greeted by No regrets. The large canvas with an image of Malu in watercolors opens the exhibition, greeting visitors as soon as they arrive. I can’t help but feeling a little uneasy seeing her so exposed. However, there’s no denying regarding the beauty of that painting and the model herself.

This piece depicts a strong, brave, fearless woman, but, at the same time, highlights her femininity and delicacy. It’s a mixture between daring and innocent, erotic and sexy. I stay there for a couple of minutes, enjoying the beauty of her art and trying to make sense of how someone with so many shades, complications and rebellion was able to pour so many feelings in a single canvas.

The whole night passed as a blur. The gallery was crowded, all the paintings were sold and, according to Hellen, some people have already made requests. They were really impressed not only by the beauty of her paintings but by the woman behind the artwork. I can’t help but feel proud of the way she blossoms when doing what she really likes.

After people were all gone, Hellen locks the gallery doors with a huge smile on her face.

“This night was a success, Malu! An event like this, with 100% sold, is pretty rare, you know. Even No regrets was sold.”

“Really, Hellen? I still find a bit disturbing the thought of someone seeing me naked on their living room wall.” Her laugh makes me smile.

“Shall we go home, Miss I’ve-sold-all-my-paintings?”

“Let’s go!” she accepts all excited. We say good-bye to Hellen and head to the car.

We cover the short way home from the gallery in silence. She turns on the radio and Mais Ninguém (which means no one else), a song by Brazilian band Banda do Mar, starts playing. Malu sings along in a low voice and the lyrics moves me in an inexplicable way.

I just hope no one else comes

Then I can have you only for myself

I may steal your sleep

I want your everything

If someone else comes, I won’t even notice

I change to another song, even though we’re close to her place. This strange feeling that song gave me is too much to handle.

I stop in front of her building, without turning it off. She looks at me surprised.

“Aren’t you coming up?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Oh, no! I need someone to talk to. Come on, turn this beater off and cut the crap.”

“Malu, you may hardly call my car a beater.”

“Yeah, playboy car” she says while frowning at me, to which I eventually give up and laugh. I enter the building through the garage and park on her spot, which I’m the only who uses anyway, since she doesn’t own a car.

We enter the elevator, and she quickly takes off her sandals, remaining in her bare feet.

“I can’t believe you’re touching this filthy elevator floor with your bare feet.”

“I’m in pain” she says, with her sandals on her hands while stretching her toes.

“Shit” I curse in a low voice, lifting her up. She throws her arms around my neck, smiles and smacks on the lips, as we usually do.

I can’t tell if it were the dress, the booze, or the stunning song, but her lips touching mine make me feel thunderstruck.

When she looks back at me, she comes across the way I’m gazing back at her, and, just like me, she can’t look away.

The elevator stops at her floor, and I carry her all the way to her door. She unlocks it, and we get in. When I put her back on the ground, already inside the living room, she turns away to lock the door. At this moment, all this desire that I’m feeling anymore get the best of me. I hold her against the door letting my mouth rapture hers in the most passionate kiss we’ve ever exchanged. I’m kissing her as if my life depends on that.

She drops the sandals and the small purse she was still holding and throws her arms around my neck, letting her hand walk all the up to my hair. Her body sticks to mine and I can’t think of anything else but how her kiss is so much better than all the others I’ve had before. My heart pounds faster when I feel her taste, pure and unblemished. And that reminds that she’s still a virgin. Shit.

“Malu.” I call her, pulling my lips away.

“Hmm” she moans against my mouth and I can feel myself getting even harder.

“We have to stop.” My mouth is saying that, but my body is screaming: No! no!

“Stop? Are you crazy?” She sticks her mouth back to mine, waving her body against mine. She’s going to be my downfall.

“Yes. First of all, you’re a virgin…”

“Oh, good one. Now tell me another one, because that doesn’t count.”

“Second, having sex will change everything between us. I don’t want to lose you as a friend” I look into her eyes.

She remains quiet for a couple of seconds. Then, rising up on her toes, she holds my face with both hands and say:

“Rafa, the last thing I want right now is losing you and your friendship. You’re all I have. But, just like you, I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want a commitment to someone and depend on his presence to be happy. You know I don’t believe in any of this romantic shit.

“Watch your mouth.” She laughs.

“We can make a pact.”

“What’s this? Fifth grade?” My question makes her laugh even harder. Her eyes are sparkling.

“I mean it! We’ll be friends forever. If any of us feels up to a more intimate moment but doesn’t feel like dating strangers, we’ll look for each other. It’s going to be like a celebration of our friendship. We can have sex and, when it’s over, it’s over. No promises, no expectations, no future plans.

I look at her still feeling suspicious. That sounds too good to be true.

“A ‘friends with benefits’ kind of thing?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“And what about the virginity stuff?”

“What about it? If it’s not you, it’s going to be someone else. I rather be with someone I care about than some idiot who’s going to fuck me, make it hurt and leave me pissed off.

“Girl, you swear like a sailor.”

“But you like me anyway.” She smiles and I smile back at her nodding in agreement.

“No relationships?”

“Just friendship.”

“Nor plans for the future?”

“God forbid me fantasizing of wedding dresses and veils and shit like that.

“No monogamy?”

“Holy fuck, if you’re not having a relationship with me, of course there’s no monogamy!” Malu starts frowning faces again and that can’t help but laugh. “You better stop all this shit and kiss me.”

“Or?”

“I’ll have to abuse you.” She sticks her lips to mine.

That’s everything I need to send self-control straight to hell and hold her in my arms. We kiss so passionately that I feel my whole body burn. Our tongues dance in perfect harmony, magnifying the decadent taste of all the champagne we had.

I strongly hold her hips against mine, making her moan at the feeling of my hard length. I then support her so she can throw her legs around my waist. She keeps moaning low while I take her, attached to me, to her bedroom. When I lay her down on her bed, before I have the chance of taking off my clothes, she pulls me by the tie, making me lie down on my back so she can climb on top of me.

Malu unties my tie, throwing it on the floor. My coat and shirt follow the same route after she takes them off in a delicate but sexy manner. My breath is heavy, even more because I knew I had to go slower considering that this is her first time.

I start pulling her dress up to undress her, but Malu holds my hands and gets up. I’m reclining on my elbows, curious to know what she’s going to do next and, obviously, I’m surprised by her, in the middle of the room, unzipping the dress and letting it go down forming a puddle on the floor.

She is different from all the other women I’ve known.

Her small and curvy body looks like masterpiece ready to be discovered and enjoyed. Having only the moonlight to lit them, the flowers on her shoulder almost look like one of her paintings, filled with colors, as she usually paints them. I look to her small breasts, her waist, her crotch, her legs, her ankles bearing that sexy black rose going all the way down to her foot.

She’s unique. There’s no one like her, in the whole world. Looking at her, naked in front of me, all I can think of is that she should be worshiped as the erotic goddess she is.

I lie back on the bed, offering her my hand, to which she smiles in acceptance, coming towards me with a smile enhanced by the red lipstick. When our fingers touch, the electricity that greets us is so violent that I can feel her shiver. I hold her hand tightly, helping her climb on the bed and, after she lies down on the sheets, as red as her painting, with her lips parted and her eyes lighted up in expectation, I take off my pants, throwing them on the floor with the rest of my clothes.

“Rafa…” she whispers my name and all my self-control dissolves, though it was not much anyway. I lie on top of her, feeling how soft her skin contrasting with my own roughness. She lets her hands walk all over the sides of my body, following all the way to my back, while my mouth steals a kiss from hers. This kiss is intense, provocative, and sexy. I let my lips slip through her face, reaching her neck, and I can hear her panting when she feels me nibbling on the base of her neck.

Feeling her heart racing against my chest, I resume caressing her down to her breasts, nipping first, until I feel her twitching under me, and then sucking her hard. She grabs me by my hair, moaning my name while I tease her already harden nipple. My unshaven beard scratches her sensitive skin. I leave there my marks and perfume.

I keep caressing her until the point of no return. If I still had reservations about what we’re doing, those feelings are lost between the nibbles I leave on her waist. I slowly move away from her, looking at her eyes, with pupils obscured by lust. I reach my pants and take a condom from my wallet. While I put it on, I hear her sighing slowly and deeply. Then, throwing her arms around my neck, I feel her press her burning naked body against mine. I touch her, letting my hands slide all the way down to her hips, holding her tight.

“Rafa…” she whispers, and my name sounds like music coming out of her lips. “Please…”

“Please what, beautiful?” I ask her, holding her tight against my erection while I let my tongue trail all the way through her neck.

“I want you,” she pants, and I feel ready to take her, claim her and make her mine. Damn! Where does this come from?

Maybe she feels my hesitation, so she steals a kiss from my mouth and whispers in my ear, nipping my earlobe.

“Fuck me, Rafa.”

Her words have the power to bring up even wilder feelings inside me.

“Foul mouth” I groan, seeing her smile mischievously in expectation.

“You like it,” she says and nip my chin, making me moan. I’m sure it makes you horny.

“You make me horny” I reply and kiss her again, slowly diving into her so she can get used to my thickness and, little by little, I break the barrier of her womanhood.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, a bit worried.

“Yes”, she whispers, looking me in the eyes. “Don’t stop.”

I smile and hear her moan when I start to penetrate her. She holds to me tighter. Slowly, my thrusts grow stronger and deeper, always kissing her to drive away any shadow of pain.

When her body embraces mine and she’s ready, I pound faster, growing into a rhythm, until both of us are lost in a cloud of desire. We kiss nonstop, and I feel like I could die of pleasure.

“I’ve been picturing this all night long, since I saw you in that tempting black dress.” I say, causing her eyes to pop up a little and her mouth to open in a sexy and satisfied smile.

I feel her vagina tighten around my length, showing she’s very close to her peak. Just the thought of providing her an unforgettable night makes me reach my own orgasm. Our bodies contract and, when we peak, we scream each other’s names, our muscles contracting and stiffing like steel cables.

“Wow,” she groans while I lean my head against her chest, completely breathless.

“Wow?” I ask her, laughing. “You used to be more eloquent, foul mouth.”

I can feel her laughing under me.

“Eloquent? Holy fuck, Rafa!” She laughs out loud. “What a shitty word to use after fucking.”

We both laughed, then I nibbled her shoulder.

“I think you like it when I say difficult words during sex, sailor.” I tease her, and she keeps laughing happily. It’s so rare to see her smiling like this, with no shadow of melancholy, but realizing that gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“And I think you like it when I put my foul mouth to work in bed.”

“I think we need to put that to a test.”

“Thankfully, we have all night long.” She laughs, and then she holds my face so she could look me in the eyes. “We’re okay, aren’t we?”

“Exactly what I was going to say.” I smile reassuringly. “On my behalf, we are. What about you?”

“On mine, too. If I knew it was going be this way, I’d have seduced you a long time ago.” Malu makes a funny face and we both laugh. “Friends?”

“Forever” I assure her, stealing a kiss that leads us to a second turn, which promises to be even more intense.

Chapter seven

“You become responsible, forever, for that you have tamed.”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Malu

I arrive at my building with my hands full of bags. I headed over downtown to buy art supplies and, as usual, there are always so many options that simply I can’t restrain myself. I always buy more then I need. I’m walking through the lounge when I’m suddenly ran over by a small black-haired rocket with blue eyes, which knocks me down to the ground.

“Oh, my God! I’m sorry!” says a woman who’s coming in right behind me, while she helps me take all the scattered things. “Bruninho, come here and help”, she says to the little boy, who’s flushed and a bit scared.

“It’s okay… he has a lot of energy, right?” I reply, not really knowing what to say. I’ve never really had any contact with kids, and I always feel awkward around them. The woman smiles at me.

“Too much, sometimes”, she replies, offering me her hand. “Clara. I’m the new tenant on 601. And this little pepper is Bruninho.”

“Hi, auntie,” the little boy says, smacking me on the cheek, which takes me completely by surprise.

“I’m Malu, we’re next-door neighbors!” Clara’s smile grows even larger and, besides the fact that I’ve just been ran over by her little savage, I like her immediately.

“Are you living here with your husband? Do you have other children?” I ask her when we’re back on our feet, heading towards the elevator. Clara looks down with sadness clouding her eyes.

“No, that’s just the two of us. I lost my husband last year.” I look at her frightened. Clara seems so young to be a widow. And with such a young child. Once again, this idea that life is so tough – sometimes, too tough – crosses my mind.

“I’m sorry, Clara.”

“Thank you,” she says. I feel like asking more, but I don’t have the guts to do it. She seems to notice the question in my eyes, though. “Leukemia. It was pretty tough.”

“Oh… such a sad disease.”

“Yeah, it is. He was a fighter, until the end.” She gives me a sad smile. I feel a shiver down my spine, and I’m taken over by a sense of melancholy. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to go through something like this… it looks like a lost battle and, at the end, the people we love are the ones left with all the pain, given that the sentence is about to be executed. I hold her hand tight, trying to show some sort of support, once I’m out of words. “But we were happy until the end. He left me this wonderful gift that is our son.”

“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through,” I finally manage to speak while we step down the elevator at our floor. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Our pleasure. Listen, would you like to have some pizza with us later?” she asks me before getting inside her apartment. “We don’t know anyone else here and it would be nice to make some friends.”

“Sure! Knock on my door when it’s time. I’ll take something to drink.” We hit it off immediately. She was so young, but with such melancholy eyes.

****

By six-thirty, the doorbell rings. I’m wearing frayed hem denim shorts and black T-shirt. My hair is a mess and I have paint all over my body. I’m working on this new technique and got excited about all those supplies I’ve bought.

I leave my brush on the table and move to the living room still cleaning my hands. When I open the door, there is my new favorite man in the whole world.

“Have you forgot how to paint, sailor?” Rafa asks me. He walks by me, leaving a peck on the top of my head. It’s amazing how tall he is in relation to me.

“Hi, cocky. How are you?” I close the door and follow him to my atelier. “Where’s you key?”

“Yeah,” he says, untying the knot of his tie and taking his jacket off. “Yours was turned sideways inside the lock, so I couldn’t open it. I’m going out later, but, since we hadn’t seen each other this week, I thought about stopping by to check on you.”

“What’s up for today?”

“Hmm…” He’s hesitating, so I conclude he’s going out with someone.

“You can say it, Rafa. I told you already that it doesn’t bother me the fact you’re seeing other women. There’s no such thing between us.”

He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

“I know… I’m seeing Taninha,” he says, bringing the picture of that red-haired bitch to my mind. She goes out with anyone who pays for her drinks. I remain silent, but I can feel his eyes on me. “What?”

“What what?” I ask, feeling confused.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“And what do you want me to say? That you deserve better than that whore from Tito’s bar? You already know that.” I frown and he laughs.

“That’s why you’re my best friend. You always talk me up.” The sound of his hoarse laugh raises all the hair from my neck. “And what about you? Are going out?

“I’m having pizza with my next-door neighbor. Maybe later, I’m going out for a drink.”

“Hmm… by yourself?”

“Are you keeping track of me now?” He seems embarrassed all of a sudden.

“No, Malu. I’m just… making conversation.” The doorbell rings again and he opens it. A couple of seconds later, rocket-boy enters my atelier and I manage to hold him before he has time to throw anything on the floor.

“Excuse me, Malu. Your… oh, that’s beautiful!” Clara is interrupted by the sight of my unfinished painting.

“It’s not ready yet.”

“But it’s wonderful! You’re very talented,” she says making me flush. “Sorry to break in, but your boyfriend said it’s okay.”

“Boyfriend?” I frown upon her comment. “Who? Rafa?” She looks at me confused. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh, sorry… well, he said I could come inside. I was supposed to come and call you for that pizza, but if you’re busy…”

“No, Clara. Rafa is family. Can I take a quick shower?”

“Sure, it’s still baking. If he wants to join us…” At this moment, Rafa come inside the atelier holding a beer.

“Are you up for a pizza, Rafa?”

“Sure! Can I take my beer?” He laughs and I punch his shoulder on my way out.

“My beer, you mean.” Clara looks at us with an amused smile.

“All you have is mine.”

“Yeah, right!”

“You most certainly can take your beer,” says Clara with a smile. “I’ll wait for you guys at home. Just push the door open.”

****

Our evening was lots of fun. Clara, Rafa and I kept talking when, by eight-thirty, while cute five-year-old Bruninho was already asleep on the couch, Rafa left to take a shower and go on a date with his whore.

“You guys are great together. Have you never thought about dating?” Clara asks me with a hint of smile.

“We’re kind of friends with benefits. We don’t do relationships.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t believe in love, romance or happily ever after. Actually, every time you love, you suffer, you lose. You suffer for betrayals, break-ups, harsh words. You lose when you break up with someone, when someone dies, when someone leaves you for another person. Loving simply is not worth the risk. It’s better to keep your heart safe. I don’t even know if love really exists or if it’s just an invention made up by the media for profits.

“Gosh, Malu… now I feel sad. A young girl like you having such a cynical view of life. I can tell you for sure that love does exist. And I lived it at its fullest.

“But you’ve lost it…” I try not to be so harsh and hurt her.

“Yes. But I wouldn’t change our moments together for anything in the world. Breno showed me, even in the end, all the love he felt for us. He fought for us, so he could have the longest possible period by our side. Even at his worst days, beaten by his disease, he always had something to say that was filled with love and hope.” She wipes a tear that escaped from her eyes. “Don’t be afraid to love who’s worthy of loving. You deserve to love and be loved.”

I smile at her, touched by her words. I think about Rafa but shake my head, trying to shake his handsome figure off my find.

“Thank you, Clara. I’ll take everything you said under consideration. Maybe life will prove me wrong, right?

I smile and tell good-bye, so I can get ready to go out.

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