I promise you, you’ll never touch your arm, your foot, your hand again and kiss again. Because there are no more tears for her and for me there is no more fear: I can’t imagine anything worse than the life you gave us with your poisoned love. I’m no longer that little girl you locked in a room to let go of screams and unload the frustrations that arose from the ghosts that existed in you, and that with the drink grew bigger.
He only stopped when his forces were exhausted for the time being, or when he struck so hard that he feared that the neighbors would begin to suspect what it was, because yes, from the door there was a whole man. I’ve even heard you say a few times that you’re not like the ones on TV and that you washed your dirty laundry at home. What no one knew was what you were really talking about.
- At first you would get up in the morning and ask for forgiveness.
- When you went out you were the one who wasn’t afraid of anything.
- You stopped being a werewolf to be Joo in fear.
- I would raise the table and the chairs.
- We’re going to go down to the fruit and make juice for a fucking drink.
- Wake up my mother with a kiss and look for words that lead to the path of faith.
Did you say love, want, feel, you prayed, you thought, you didn’t come back? He clenched his fists, turned anger, squeezed his hands, as if the act of separating the air he was breathing really covered his words. Softening my mother’s heart, I hated you. He went from one emotion to another, until he left the room and did not return until sunset.
In the first few months my mother believed in you: she saved me from under the bed and told me with sweet words what you had said to her in heartbreaking and restless words; some acted, many pretended, then got up and had breakfast with you, set the table, made more juice to take it, touched his shoulder and called me, when you came in you would cover your face with the paper, because in my son’s eyes I did not recognize the faith that my mother still had.
There was a day when the fruitman didn’t open, Mom stopped believing, didn’t lift me off the floor, but I was crying when you came out of the door, there was another day when you decided that the theater was no longer worth spending the effort on doing nothing, so at night you came angry and in the morning you left angrier. Night.
I remember it a lot, but especially the first day I touched my face and saw the blood, then I realized that my fate was beginning to be linked to that of the table or that of the chairs, soon I would soon also need repairs: bandages, bandages, patches, false pretensions. Awkward questions in high school, more vaccines for my bad grades, less friendly for the days I spent at home.
One night, Mom decided we were going to sleep at a friend’s house, it was the night of the first complaint. And it wasn’t my mother who did it, but your friend, because you trashed the house when you came to pick us up. That night you made a great effort to repeat, in a melancholy and hoarse voice, the words of the first. Morning. You spent the night in the dungeon, you were released the next day. Mom spent the night crying, tears that turned into wet paper to deliver you. The police arrived in the morning and closed the door in their noses.
You came back with your head down, but after a few days you forgot about the hours you spent in the dungeon, I don’t want to know what the next step is, I’m tired of seeing the future on television and in the newspapers. When you are outside you think that you are exaggerating to sell in search of the morbid, when you are inside, you think it is little. That’s why I want you to take this letter with you today when you are arrested.
A letter in which I ask you that if there has ever been a spark of love in your words, if you have any humanity left, do not return, all these years I was unknown to you, now I tell you that I do not know what I am able to do to protect you. That’s what I want most, understand this.
Signed: the girl you’ve never cheated on in your teddy bear pajamas.