Maria Vitória Bocci

The fifth semester finally came to an end, with a major lecture. Dr. Xavier was recognized in the medical field for his skills in complex surgeries, but he stood out for his self-control, something I needed to master. The sixth semester was approaching, and I needed to know more about it.

Even though I was far from home, staying at Aunt Helena’s house, I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother. Neither Aunt Helena nor I understood her reasons. As painful as it was, I kept trying.

My cell phone vibrated somewhere in the house. I went to look for it, foolishly hoping it was my mother. But when I saw “Isis” on the screen, I sighed and brought the phone to my ear while I washed my hands.

“Ugh, friend, I'm so tired of Thiago.”

She didn't wait for me to say hello. I've never had many friends, and maybe that's why I tolerated the repetitive complaints.

“Then break up with him,” I said, without holding back.

“Of course not! I've had enough of him. I want to get away for a while. How about we go away this week?”

It was the perfect opportunity. My shoulders, as tired as my heart, yearned for distance from everything.

“I'm in!” I replied immediately.

That Friday afternoon, I got into Isis' car with a strange sense of relief. For a moment, it felt like I was giving Aunt Lena a break from what I was experiencing.

The mountains were an unknown place to me, but Isis knew the area. Not that it meant much; my trust in her was limited, but at that moment, I didn't have many options.

As soon as I got out of the car, I was enveloped by the cool mountain breeze. The smell of eucalyptus and the grandeur of the mountains embraced me, but couldn't dispel the dark cloud in my chest. I should have felt at peace there, but the burden I was carrying was heavier than any suitcase.

“Thiago wants to take me to visit his family again, girlfriend,” said Isis, showing me the message on her cell phone.

I faked a smile, but I couldn't.

I wasn't really paying attention. My sadness was a bubble that isolated me. I was there, but so distant that I didn’t even know how to respond.

We arrived at the bungalows after a check-in that felt like a dream.

Reality still seemed distant to me. A whirlwind of emotions mixed inside me—the recent distance from my mother, the stubborn hope that Aunt Lena would manage to make her see the truth and reconsider. But there, surrounded by majestic mountains and vibrant green that seemed to breathe with me, something inside me sought peace.

"Damn it!" exclaimed Isis, breaking the silence as she dropped her suitcase with a thud. She raised her phone above her head, as if fighting invisible waves of signal.

"What happened? No signal?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, no signal!" she muttered, stepping away toward the bungalow’s entrance in search of a miraculous connection.

I looked around. The place was cool, immaculate, with a faint woody and floral scent in the air. The bungalow had two single beds, separated by a small table, with wooden headboards that exuded rustic charm. The satin bedding, gleaming under the soft yellow light of the lamp, gave a romantic touch that felt out of place amidst the chaos inside me. While Isis chose the bed closest to the door, I placed my suitcase beside the farthest one.

I sat and stayed silent for a few seconds. My mother's last words still echoed strongly, as if they had been said right there. But I clung to the idea that Lena would make her reconsider. There was still a shred of hope, however faint.

After a refreshing shower, I managed to rest for a few hours. I woke up in the middle of the night, disturbed by a subtle, non-physical, but emotional discomfort. Isis was fast asleep, enveloped in a peaceful slumber. I grabbed my phone: no signal, no messages, no calls. Absolute isolation.

I put the phone aside and went to the bathroom. Stepping out of the bungalow, the chilly morning breeze wrapped around me like a subtle hug. I walked slowly through the garden, trying to tame the thoughts that kept coming back. The tranquility around me contrasted violently with the turmoil inside me.

The sunrise between the mountains was breathtaking. Shades of pink, orange, and gold blended in the sky like a living painting. That beauty seemed to whisper that everything could be different. For a few minutes, I allowed myself to feel... just feel. And, in that moment, something inside me quieted.

But the peace didn’t last. Later, I found myself dragged by Isis on a trail through the vegetation. Born and raised in the city, I had no familiarity with the forest, rocks, insects, or steep climbs. But with my mind in turmoil, I followed her without complaining. Perhaps I even wanted to get lost.

We returned to the bungalow at dusk, exhausted. My body felt as if it had been hit by an avalanche, and my mind wouldn’t stop.

“There’s going to be a forró later. You guys going?” asked Breno, the tour guide, casting a suggestive look my way.

I immediately shook my head. To me, he looked between seventeen and twenty years old, and his attention only made me uncomfortable. Isis’s elbow nudged me, making me look at her.

“We’re going!” she said, excited, completely the opposite of me. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to be looked at by anyone. And even though a small curiosity haunted me, the idea of any involvement seemed absurd.

“We’re not going,” I muttered, quickening my pace. “I’m dead.”

But the idea of being alone in the bungalow didn’t appeal to me either. In the end, I got up, grabbed the first dress I saw, put on my boots, and quickly ran my fingers through my hair.

“Ai, Mavi, at least put on some lipstick!” said Isis, handing me lipstick with a hopeful smile.

I accepted it. I applied it on my lips, and to avoid looking too worn out, I rubbed some on my cheeks as well. I was pushed by her goodwill toward the party area, where other tourists were gathering.

I turned down the first drink offered. I never liked to get drunk, especially with my mind so full.

“If you drink a little, maybe it’ll loosen that face!” Isis joked, giving me a light nudge.

Isis was just a few steps ahead, chatting with some acquaintances from the trail.

Then I saw Thiago.

Isis’s boyfriend appeared, walking hurriedly toward her. Synthetic dreadlocks, a black t-shirt with a sea print, a stern expression. Isis didn’t notice. She was facing away from the entrance, laughing.

“Isis…” I called, already imagining what was coming.

“So this is what you wanted space for?” his voice cut through the room like a blade. Everyone around stopped.

Isis turned pale, the glass trembling in her hand. “What are you…”

But he didn’t let her finish. He grabbed her arm forcefully. “What do you mean, what am I doing here?” he growled, furious.

He dragged her toward the exit, and I, not knowing what to do, followed behind. I’d witnessed ugly arguments between them before. Thiago was jealous, possessive—the kind of man that made me want to stay far away from any relationship.

“Thiago, stop! I just came to relax!”

“Relax? Drinking with a guy is relaxing, you slut?”

I froze.

Where should I intervene? How far should I respect someone’s space who insists that everything is fine? She got on the bike with him, without looking at me, going off to "talk." And I was left there. In the cold. In doubt.

I looked at Isis and Thiago riding off on the motorcycle, filled with insecurities.

Not just for me, but for her. That place was completely unfamiliar. Our guide was a man I spent the whole day with on the trail, but that didn’t mean I trusted him to return.

I waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes. No sign of Isis. The clock read 10:30 PM, and nothing. I blamed myself for coming, for trusting so much. Every motorcycle that passed, every light in the distance, made me hold my breath. None of them were her.

The image of Thiago gripping Isis’s arm too tightly played in a loop. A cycle that she insisted on denying, but that repeated itself more often with each new argument. And now... now she was far, vulnerable, and I couldn’t do anything.

I returned to the hotel with some other guests and the guide, walked toward the bungalow, but as I got closer, faint groans, slaps, and their voices made me look around. They were like animals in heat, surrendering to that moment.

“Isis?” I called.

I turned the doorknob, but the door was locked.

“Isis?” I knocked once, twice, three times.

I pressed my ear to the door.

“Isis?” I tried again.

But the only sounds that came from inside were moans and whispers.

That seemed to have no end, the light rain turned heavier, I looked at all the bungalows around me, knowing some of them had couples, but one caught my attention—it had no one entering or leaving. The cold was becoming unbearable, the exhaustion of the day was cutting through me, and without thinking twice, I walked toward that empty bungalow.

By dawn, I believed no one would come to it. I sneaked in.

I slowly turned the doorknob, the door opened easily. Was this my stroke of luck that night? I wondered, looking around the place.

The luxurious room was completely empty. A king-size bed with high posts, covered with white silk sheets hanging down, dominated the space, and the scent of orange filled the air.

Shivering, I quickly entered, rushing to the bed. The satin sheets weren’t warm, but a white quilted blanket on the armchair caught my attention. I grabbed it quickly, casting a glance around.

The bungalows for couples were better. Much better!

I wrapped myself in the blanket, tearing off the wet dress that chilled my body. I threw it on the floor, and without thinking much, took off my panties, seeking comfort—I truly needed all of this, I thought to myself.

I sank into the soft mattress, which momentarily cushioned me. The sensation of the fabric warming my skin and the softness of the bed seemed to take me to the clouds.

I simply couldn't believe what I was doing. Stealing a night in a couple's bungalow when I'd only paid for a single bed.

Where was I going?

Just then the door opened and the lights came on.

My heart leapt out of my chest.

The light went out again.

I thought it was just a member of staff or a malfunction.

The sound of the key turning in the lock made me hold my breath.

My heart was still pounding.

In the dark, I slowly opened my eyes, trying to calm myself by following my breathing.

“Damn, maybe technology isn't so good when it gets to us.”

A male voice sounded. I frowned, afraid.

“Who's there?” I asked, fear taking over as I tried to feel my way along the ground.

Footsteps approached.

“It's me who's asking. This is bungalow number four. It's reserved for me.”