All Chapters of CROOKED: In love with my cousin's boyfriend: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

I walked away from the store quickly, heading back to Nikko’s house to grab my things. The entire time, a young silhouette followed me. "Delu? Delu!" "Has Nikko already left for work?" I asked Maël without stopping. "What are you going to do? Calm down." "Answer me!" Halfway down the sidewalk, with people walking around us, he stopped in front of me, blocking my path. "Don’t yell at me," he demanded. I rolled my eyes and exhaled in annoyance. "If you’re not going to help, if you won’t even answer me, if you’re just going to cover for your dear cousin again, then you’d better leave me alone!" I pushed past him, heading straight for the house we shared. It wasn’t far. In fact, Catalina’s store was very close to the exit of the housing complex. I reached the house quickly, went inside, and started packing. Maël didn’t disappear—he followed me the whole time, now standing in the doorway of Nikko’s room. As I kept moving, I could see him cross his arms, uncross them, cove

(MAËL 2). (2020, Braga) Remembering was why I asked João to give me some time before meeting him. I demanded patience in waiting to come to my father’s office. I sat on the largest sofa in the waiting area upstairs. I grabbed a beer from my six-pack, opened it, and took a long swig. The offices in the house had finally been rented out, and even if Carlos hadn’t stuck his nose into the space, we would’ve ended up without a place to meet anyway. Remember—I wanted to remember everything, over and over, as if picking at the wound was the best remedy for my pain. I looked around. At night, these offices closed their doors, but thanks to my father’s friendship with Dr. Peñera, I could come in as often as I wanted. The tomb-like silence helped me think about my next steps and, of course, about *her*—about Delu. My rage was so immense, so vile… How could I have let it come to this? I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing her like that. I… I broke that woman. The Sagres six-pack

Still above me, he broke the kiss to look at me. His dark eyes (like the meaning of what was happening) locked onto mine. My body was no longer rigid, nor was I fighting against him. He cradled my head, and one thumb traveled to my cheek. “Why are you crying?” he whispered. I hadn’t even noticed the tears—ones I couldn’t wipe away myself. I was trapped beneath his body, my arms touching his. So, I let him do it. He took his time before speaking as he dried my face: “I don’t want to make you cry…” He left the words hanging, regretting whatever else he had momentarily considered adding. “Delu…” he breathed out reverently, exhaling hot air. He swallowed thickly and shook his head slightly. “You have no idea how long—how many times—I’ve wanted to be like this with you.” After hearing those words—a longing so much like my own—the tears flowed even more freely. All that was missing were sobs, but for some reason, the water ran light, like a sloping river, calm and without so many

I didn’t leave that place with a clear head, nor with my guilt erased. What happened to me was proof of a misguided beginning, but nothing had ever felt more real. I arrived at my parents’ house and entered my room thinking about my future rejections—how they would only fuel the persistence of an anxious boy, how pushing him away would only make him cling to me tighter. I wasn’t foolish, but that didn’t mean I knew everything. In truth, I was new to this, prone to retracting my words and desires. My body held an emotion so vast it drowned out every kind of pain. Despite how divine that night had been, despite all the circumstances and all his words, despite finally succumbing to desire, I still felt the sting of mistake coursing through my veins. Nikko wrote to me twenty more times—texts, emails. He traveled to Braga searching for me in Mafalaia, in Circo, everywhere. My mother told me he spent a long time talking to them, and they noticed nothing strange about him. Still, I muste

"Yeah, it’s a matter of talent, desire, taste, and practice," I added. "I know theater actors who, before getting there, suffered from terrible stage fright. And now they’re the best in the field. Some even work in film. Theater led them to the Seventh Art." He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but his gaze shifted slightly, his mental gears turning. "Do you know famous people?" he asked. I burst out laughing—his tone was… sweet. "Mmm, maybe," I teased, giving him a little nose nudge and a dry kiss on his lips. He liked the gesture but fought not to show it too much. As I listed names from the entertainment world and realized he recognized quite a few, we slowly slipped into our first relaxed, meaningful conversation about our lives. He was a young guy, a little inexperienced in some topics. He asked shyly about some things and with brilliant curiosity about others. But something was starting to fascinate me: he knew his limits and had so much potential to learn whatev