Chapter 4

I understand perfectly that I lost my mother long before her passing. In fact, perhaps her departure was the culmination of our relationship—or rather, the lack of one. It marked the end of both her suffering and mine. And as painful as it was, I kept reassuring myself that, at last, I could live free from the constant stress that had dominated my life for so many years.

Nevertheless, during that time, one question plagued me every day. Well, there were actually several: Why did she leave? Who are these people I should avoid? And what is this place that I should never enter? But no matter how much I tried to calm myself, to deceive myself into believing it would all make sense, there remained so many questions with no answers—questions I was too afraid to ask, either of myself or anyone else.

The fear of being exposed for something I hadn't done. The fear of ending up in a place of utter uncertainty. All of it was wrapped in the thick fog of a deep, endless night.

Yes, sometimes ignorance is bliss, but for me, it became a torment that followed me, haunting me for many years.

I had to live with that fear, accept the loss, remain wary of the future, and continue fighting for my place in the world.

Of course, not every moment in my life was drenched in darkness. Over time, my life, once dull and gray, began to take on faint hues of rainbows, and sometimes—bright colors. Despite all the hardships I'd faced in my short life, the thirteen-year-old boy remained a thirteen-year-old boy. And the blow I suffered couldn't break me.

I still had something to hold on to, and that was what kept me from falling into the abyss. All those people, those events, their influence—those who were by my side, and those who came into my life later—became a part of my story, a part of my broken life and shattered heart. They were both my salvation and my undoing.

In my early years, it was Uncle Em, Uncle David, and of course, my neighbor and friend, Raul.

Raul held a special place in my life. He became a catalyst for what would later happen, shaping me into the person I am today. When I think back to those days, Raul is one of the first people who comes to mind. He was the only one among my peers who could come to my house at any time, who knew the full truth of my life, who saw all of me.

Raul was a really good guy—always there for me, offering advice, sometimes letting me wear his clothes, and doing many other things I'll tell you about later. But to me, as a child, that bond was like the oxygen I needed to breathe, like a compass leading me to safety.

Yes, we weren't the closest of friends, but he was always there for me in difficult times. He was simply there when I needed him. Though, despite it all, he never got too close—he always kept me at arm's length. I always sensed that chill, but I told myself it was just my imagination.

Raul lived next door, and we went to the same school. There was a three-year age gap between us, but our connection began long before any of these events.

I still remember when my father was still alive, Raul's parents would often come to visit us. One day, Raul came with them. We laughed a lot, played games, and had a great time, despite the fact that he was older than me. After all, even a one-year age difference feels like a lot when you're young, let alone three.

After my father passed away, I hardly saw Raul, and it wasn't until several years later that we reconnected.

One day, Raul saw me walking home, head down, oblivious to my surroundings, lost in dark thoughts. I wasn't working yet, and my mother was drinking heavily. I must have been about nine. I think his curiosity made him follow me. I'm not sure what prompted him to do so—I never asked him. But, nevertheless, he followed me.

When I got home, my mother was having another breakdown. She was yelling at me, cursing me, demanding I buy her vodka. And I just sat in the corner of the room, silently watching her—too exhausted to fight back. I couldn't change anything.

I remember, at that moment, Raul came into the apartment. My mother continued screaming at me. He came over, took my hands, led me outside, and hugged me tightly.

No one had hugged me like that in years. He was still just a kid himself, but he seemed so grown-up and so understanding. Even Uncle David had never done that.

When he saw the scene, his blue eyes darkened, but he didn't run away in fear. He stayed and tried to save me. And in that moment, he did.

We spent the rest of the day together. He took me to a café, bought me food. I think that scene with my mother, and what happened afterward, stayed with him forever, just as it did with me.

After that, he sometimes took me along with him. Yes, it was probably out of pity for me, but I didn't care. At that moment, I wasn't alone.

Eventually, my mother stopped drinking. I don't know how she managed it. Maybe it was because she remembered that moment. Maybe that act stirred something in her, something that became her salvation. Honestly, I don't know.

But I was glad she got rid of that habit. Yes, it didn't bring us closer, but we lived together for the next four years.

Looking back on those times, I can say that Raul was a real star—everyone loved him. The school loved him, the neighbors loved him, and I loved him. He was my hero. The one I looked up to.

After my mother left, we grew even closer and began seeing each other more often. Sometimes I'd visit him, and he'd visit me.

Besides giving me his clothes, he was a great advisor—especially when it came to school. His moral support kept me going, and I didn't feel like a complete loser, like I had when I was younger.

I wasn't so alone anymore. Having a friend your own age is something else entirely. He became my first real friend.

At least, that's how I wanted to see our relationship. That's what I wanted to believe.

Of course, he couldn't control my life completely, but whenever possible, he supported me in whatever way he could.

I didn't know how to thank him. And so, I came up with a way to make it up to him.

At the time, he had a girlfriend—sometimes even more than one at once. And I offered him a place where he could meet with them—my apartment.

I thought, I'm hardly ever home. Why let the place stay empty? At least this way, I could do something good.

Maybe there was also fear behind my actions. Fear of being exposed.

I was terrified that he—or anyone—might accidentally reveal my secret.

But despite that, I was glad for any kind of connection. I wanted to fit in with them. Although I always knew: I was an outsider among my own.

But it was worth a try.