Chapter Eight

Ricardo

I spent almost the entire Sunday at home. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I still hadn't been able to process everything that had happened. I received several messages and calls from Michel, but besides not answering him, I deleted them all without reading them.

I always thought he was afraid of —coming out— because of his family or societal judgment. But it became clear that the problem was much deeper. He was a homophobic gay man. And that was worse than the betrayal. Clearly, he was ashamed of me. Ashamed of being with a faggot. I might have had my ghosts and paranoias, but I was never ashamed of who I was.

He had demons to face, and I couldn't help him. Nor did I want to. Not after yesterday.

Robson called to check on me, and I told him about the fight with Michel. He congratulated me for not giving in to him. He was just upset that I didn't throw Michel's clothes out the window. I ended up laughing out loud. It was impossible not to remember my friend Marcos. It would be something he would say.

I missed his friendship, but it was better to stay away. Being in love with his brother wasn't good for me.

Deep down, I felt like a fool for always choosing to fall in love with those who didn't deserve it.

**********

But I tried not to get depressed about it. Just tried. In practice, it was another story.

I lived a day full of contradictions. I went from extreme longing to extreme anger.

But at no point did I think about answering the phone or reading the messages. I had already decided to ignore him. Everything I had to say to him had already been said. I confess I was waiting for him to show up at my door again. Just to have the pleasure of ignoring him. But I believe my threats had an effect.

And that hurt too. Knowing that the fear of being discovered was greater than seeking my forgiveness. And there I was again, tormenting myself. Once again, my masochistic instinct was surfacing.

In the end, I spent the weekend eating pizza and watching horror movies from the eighties.

Monday came, and I was still tired. Since I wasn't used to staying up all night, my body was still craving rest. I felt almost like Benjamin Button. An old man in the body of someone younger.

I seriously considered skipping classes, but if I did that, Michel might think I was too shaken to leave the house. And the last thing I wanted was to show any weakness to him. I wouldn't give him the slightest opportunity to take advantage and try to reconnect.

After everything I had seen, I didn't know what he was capable of.

As soon as I arrived at the university, I scanned the entrance and the courtyard for Michel but didn't see him. I thought he might be lying in wait for me. I wasn't sure if I felt frustrated or relieved.

— Stop it right now! — said Robson, startling me.

— Stop what?

— Looking for that unfaithful bastard.

— I was just checking if he wasn't waiting for me.

— Do you really think he'd do that?

I hated how Robson could be insensitive sometimes, even when he was right. Seeing my dejection, he squeezed my shoulder, trying to comfort me.

— I didn't mean it like that, Ric. But let's be realistic, he's never exposed himself before. Why would he now?

— I know. — I lied. — But I wanted to be sure.

— Screw him! If I could, I'd stick a big red letter A right in the middle of his forehead! Then everyone would know he's a damn adulterer.

I ended up laughing at his comment. And imagining Michel walking around with a big red A on his forehead gave me a good mental image.

Classes were tough that day, which I ended up being grateful for. It was an excellent distraction for my restless mind.

During one of the breaks, I was so distracted that I didn't notice a familiar group approaching.

And in the center of it was Michel, with the girl from the club clinging to his arm.

Seeing him shook me, I can't deny it. But worse than that was realizing that nothing had changed.

He was laughing as always, joking and acting like the damn king he thought he was.

Unfortunately, even though I was studying business administration and Michel accounting, some of our classes were in the same building. I knew our encounter was inevitable. But I thought he would at least be a little downcast.

Was all that desperate scene at my house just an act?

Without realizing it, I grabbed Robson's sleeve for support. He understood immediately and started talking about random things to distract me. I couldn't focus on any of them.

When we finally crossed paths in the corridor, he looked at me. Directly into my eyes. And didn't waver for a second. He just turned to the girl and continued laughing. His face still had a small bruise, proving the beating he took was real. But even that didn't shake his self—esteem.

Anger and disappointment rose in my throat. How I wanted to scream at him! I should have vented more during the fight.

— What a jerk! — Robson muttered. — Not even two days ago he was at your place begging for forgiveness! He deserves another twenty beatings like that!

I couldn't disagree. I really wanted that attitude of his to be beaten out of him, inside or outside the ring.

I internally thanked Robson for being there by my side. I don't know if I could have kept my composure if he hadn't supported me.

But I have to confess that I wanted to disappear. To hide in a very deep hole until I forgot about him. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, I felt like trash.

— Come on. I'll buy you a Coke. — Robson said, pulling me towards the vending machine at the end of the corridor. — Nothing a little sugar and caffeine can't fix.

After all this drama, we had another round of much—needed classes.

At lunchtime, Robson and I had a standoff.

I wanted to eat at our usual place, and he wanted to drag me to the cafeteria.

Right into enemy territory.

— I don't know where you got that idea! — Robson complained when I told him. — It's as much our territory as his! You're not in an American movie, Ric! Soon you'll make me eat in the bathroom!

— I don't know if I'm ready to see what goes on there.

— Ric, I understood when you didn't go there when you were together. But that's over. You can't give up going to a place because of him! Enough of giving up everything for Michel's well—being.

— It's not for him. It's for me. I don't feel ready yet.

— At this rate, you'll never be! I know it's been a short time, but you need to show him that you've moved on too.

— But I haven't moved on yet!

— And he doesn't need to know that!

I was torn between protecting myself and seeing what Michel was really up to there.

— Look, we'll go there, and if you feel bad, we'll leave.

— Wouldn't that be even more humiliating?

— It won't be. I'll fake being sick if necessary, okay?

I nodded, letting my masochistic side win.

I walked into the cafeteria with my head held high, fighting the urge to look around for him.

We got our food and sat at the first available table I saw. Only when I was seated did I allow myself to look around the room.

The atmosphere there was pleasant, just as I remembered. I hadn't been there for almost six months. Unlike what movies portray, there weren't predefined cliques. Everyone was mixed together regardless of their style. Well, almost everyone.

As I suspected, the liveliest table with people clearly from the school elite was the one where Michel was.

Again, our eyes met, but I remained firm. Robson was right. I didn't have to hide.

In the end, he felt uncomfortable and looked away from me.

I felt victorious for a few moments. Until a girl who stopped by his side was pulled to sit on his lap. Of course, the gesture was full of laughter and jokes.

I swallowed hard and tried to keep my face as impassive as I could.

I started talking to Robson, trying to distract myself and resist the temptation to look again.

But after a few minutes, I felt eyes on me. I tried to ignore it as much as I could, but it was like needles piercing me.

I gave up fighting and looked at Michel's table, but he was busy talking to one of the guys next to him.

It wasn't him who was staring at me.

I scanned the room and saw a guy staring fixedly at me from the table in front of me.

He was wearing a dark gray shirt and a cap covering most of his face.

His table was also lively, but he didn't seem to care.

— Do you know that guy?

— No idea, Rob. I can't see his face properly.

I don't know if he read our lips or saw the confusion on my face, but he gave a slight smile and took off his cap, adjusting his brown hair.

— Holy shit, Ric! — Robson whispered, shocked. — It's the damn Beast!

And my jaw nearly hit the table.