Nikko dragged his hands through his hair, wiped the abundant traces of blood from his mouth, and struggled to his feet, trying to hide how much pain he was in and how dizzy Maël had left him. "WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!" None of us answered the concierge, nor did we bother to watch him arrive or enter. Our breaths were in unison, our gazes locked in a challenge to see who would lower their guard first. Apparently, the landlord understood the situation because he said nothing more. "Do you want us to stop fighting?" Nikko asked me in his rough voice, his face still twisted. After so many injuries, I didn’t understand how he still had the strength to speak. "If you want us to stop, tell your boyfriend to explain how we got here. Tell him. Take advantage of the fact that you're the one holding the baton now." I scowled but didn’t trust him. "If there’s something I need to know, I’ll find out sooner or later. But you’re leaving." I raised the pipe as high as I could. "Get out now!"
I pressed myself into a corner, trembling with terror, my breathing ragged. My tears now flowed freely. He grabbed my face, and I shuddered. He squeezed my cheeks, pulling me close, and I noticed something horrifying: this man didn’t smell of alcohol—only cologne. His breath was clean, hot. The realization made me nauseous. Nikko wasn’t drunk. He was driven by pure, unfiltered rage. Fear surged through me like never before. His lucidity terrified me—there was no other way to describe it. "Let me go," I hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into my skin as tears streamed down my face. He narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, bit his lip, and from that suffocating closeness, raked his gaze over my body. "Get away from me, Nikko! Enough—get away!" I thrashed, twisting my head until I broke free. He wedged the pipe between his legs, pressing the tip against mine. My chest heaved as he untied my robe. "Nikko, no, please!" His fingers fumbled at the fabric. "The concier
Nikko took a step forward, and I took a sharp step back. I didn’t let go of the door handle. "Let me in." His voice… it sounded like someone else, completely different from the one that had just spoken to me on the phone minutes ago, assuring me he was miles away. I looked at his arms. He held his posture with his hands hidden behind the walls framing the door. His right palm was lower than his left—he was holding something in it, and that certainty made my skin crawl. I lifted my gaze to his smiling face, but this time, I locked onto his eyes, realizing he carried a deranged confidence. I’d never seen eyes so sharp and alert before. "How did you get here? How did you get into the building?" My voice trembled, trying and failing to sound firm. He deepened that wolfish smile, driving me to desperation. "It wasn’t hard to follow you, and even easier to get inside. Now, are you going to let me in? You were never rude." Something told me not to move. "What are you holding
At home, everything is better—it’s always better. Or so I thought. I could attend any event, shout my relationship with Maël to the world, but being in our home meant tranquility, serenity, peace, comfort, and companionship—the last being the best of all. Thinking about that, the day after meeting with my parents and walking Torto around the neighborhood, I headed to the apartment to wait for Maël. On the way, I bought everything to prepare a surprise dinner for him. I got everything from food to lingerie because I wanted to see that sexy, stunned look on his face again—the one he had when he found me lying on the kitchen counter. But of course, since we’d agreed to meet at 6:00 PM on the 22nd, I had to turn dinner into a late lunch instead. I cleaned, tidied up the living room, placed candles in different corners of our apartment to light them closer to his arrival, turned up the heating a little, and closed the blinds on the big window to give the place a more intimate feel. I s
If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be sitting at that table celebrating the Spirit of Christmas with my parents, my brother, and my boyfriend, I would’ve believed it. But if they’d told me my partner would be Maël Saravia, I would’ve laughed hysterically. Dad and Mom couldn’t stop staring at him, and Danilo wasn’t helping with that half-smile threatening to burst. Meanwhile, I kept chatting with Maël about anything—the taste of the food, taking the dog for a walk, waiting for the upcoming reviews of the play in the media—anything to fill the awkward silence. "So, Maël, are you studying?" He nodded at Dad’s question. "Yes, sir. Business Administration. Just one more year until graduation."*ñ "Wow," Mom chimed in this time. "Graduating at twenty is quite a feat. Well, Danilo was the same, though he finished at twenty-two because of his degree." "Medicine always takes longer than other majors, Mom," my brother added. "And we’re proud of you," Dad said. "Carlos and Anto
Dad and Mom still hadn’t gotten out of bed, assuming that since it was Saturday and such a special date, they’d sleep in a little longer. I left a couple of large boxes containing colorful garlands for the Christmas tree on the living room coffee table and walked to the backyard to greet the dog. Torto came out of the thick-walled doghouse Dad had built for him to withstand the cold and greeted me with that special innocence that lifts anyone’s spirits. "Hey, buddy, good to see you." I let him hug me with his big paws. I went up to my old room to wash my hands and see what else I could take with me. A knock at the door. "Delu?" I got up from the bed and turned the knob. "Come in, Dad." I stepped aside to let him in. There he was—that simple, tall, black-haired man I adore so much. "When did you get here?" "A little while ago. Is Mom up yet?" "Yeah, she’s in the kitchen.""Perfect." Just as I was about to leave, Dad stopped me. "Sweetheart. I want to apologiz