by Ky Crossfire
— What in the world?! — I can barely believe what he has the guts to say.
— Tell me how many times have I tried to make you work out and eat properly, what can I do if I don’t feel attracted to you anymore.
— Oh, of course Jorge. Now that you have explained it with those words, everything is much clearer. You’ve been fucking another chick because I am FAT! Thus all the years you spent with me were braced solely by the physical attraction we had in the beginning. All your care and respect were only because of the size of my ass and my stomach, is that right?
— Isa, stop, calm down and don’t make a scene. — He sighs, throwing his head back — The neighbors are going to call the police soon, this neighborhood loves a feud. You need to calm down.
I launch the picture frame, hitting him in the chest, and he groans.
— Goddamn Isa, that hurt! — he cries.
— I don’t give a shit about your pain, Jorge. I hope the pink lipstick whore is as shallow as you. When you get older and that muscled six-pack of yours change into a round, fat belly, we’re gonna see who will desire you. — I leave with loud steps and go to our room.
I lock myself there with my heart still beating hard against my chest, I didn’t want to let his words mess with, but truth is, it hurt. We weren’t married or anything, but we lived as husband and wife ever since I came to Rio to chase my dream of being a confectioner. I lived in a rented kitchenette and sold pastries at the university he went to. Tall, handsome and sweet-talking, I thought we had a future together, I even gave my dreams up to help him pay for his studies. Screw him. He didn’t deserve one single drop of my sweat, even less one of my tears.
I grabbed my clothes and shoes and put all of it in my suitcase. With my hands still shaking, I called Rico.
— You’re calling me this early in the morning? — He answers with a sleepy tone.
It wasn’t even nine A.M yet, and my life was ruined. Not that there was a right time for that but… you got it.
— Rico, come and get me. I’m at Jorge’s place.
I hang up and put my phone in my jeans’ pocket. I heard knocks on the door, followed by the abandoned mutt puppy voice he alway had after we argued
— Open up, Isa. I wanna talk.
— Just die, Jorge. Die, so I’m not obliged to hear your fucking voice. My brother’s coming over.
— Fuck, Isa, you know your brother hates me ever since we started going out, did you have to go to him? — complains.
— He hates you because he can sniff fuckboys!
I grab another suitcase and put all my books inside it, as I would never let Mr. Grey, Maddox and Gideon Cross by themselves. I drag each bag on one hand and stop at the door. I take a deep breath and unlock it.
I open the door slowly, and Jorge looks at my packed bags.
— Where are you going?
— To hell. Want to tag along? — I growl, raging, and follow though the living room with my chin up. I get Little Carol’s keys and stick them in my other pocket. I put my bag’s strap on my shoulder and go back to dragging my bags without looking back.
Little Carol was a truck that was falling to pieces, older than me, drank gasoline like an alcoholic, but almost never left me down. Almost. My father gave her to me as a gift for my eighteenth birthday and told me to care for her greatly, since it was all because of her that he and my mother had their first kiss, hence the nickname Little Carol.
I threw my bags in the dusty back of the truck, and stayed there, waiting for Rico. In little less than half an hour, there was he, sitting next to me, listening to everything that happened.
— I’m gonna beat that fucking bastard up. — he growls furiously.
I hold his arm. Even if we were born in the same day, the only thing that showed we were siblings were our unpredictable raging tempers. I was five feet seven, he was 6 feet 4; he was muscled and the size of an wardrobe, and I, as Jorge made sure I was aware of, was fat, slightly overweight, really, my 176 pounds didn’t bother me, at least not until today.
— You ain’t gonna do shit. — I curse. — I just wanted to tell you about it.
— What are you going to do now? — He takes his wallet out of his pocket and, from inside of it, a checkbook.
— Don’t you dare. — I threat.
Rico ignores me and searches for a pen in his glove box. He finds a blue one and props the check in his tight so he can write.
Soon as he finishes it, he gives it to me.
— That will be enough for to you keep up for around two months.
I rip up the check and throw it at him.
— Pick up the pieces and shove it up you-know-where.
He rolls his eyes and huffs, upset.
— Stop being a jackass, Isa.
We stay silent for a good while until he finally says.
— Follow me.
Rico gets off the truck, slams the door and mounts the bike parked in front of Little Carol.
After driving for some time, he stops the bike right in front of a mirrored building with so many floors you could lose yourself. I park right behind him. For about half an hour, I stay there, waiting.
When he returns, I am already waiting for him with crossed arms and my patience marker on minus ten.
— Isa, get up there, Nick wants to see you.
— No. — I shake my head, skeptical. — You didn’t go and beg to Nicolas.
— Beg what? — he gets offended — You think I am the type of man who begs? Now, take your pride and go hear what the dude has to say. — He lets his guard down. — Do it for me, I don’t want to see my little sister on the street and day and living in a dump. Please.
I huff and shake my head, giving up.
— Tell me in which floor his office is.
— It’s a rooftop office — he answers. — Now, change that scowl into a smile and go show that, sometimes, you can also be a dear.
— Fuck you, Rico. — I curse and give him a middle finger, before walking towards the wolf’s den. A huge, muscled, hairy wolf. A wolf that’d make any other “Little red riding hood” beg to be eaten. But what Nicholas did not know was that I wasn’t like the others, not at all.
Chapter 2
Isa Oliveira Brandão
As the mirrored elevator takes me to the rooftop, I behold my reflection lost in the memories meeting with Nick again after all this time has brought up, and I realize I hadn’t even brushed my hair. Don’t even start it...because if you found out the guy you spent a good part of your life with had been cheating on you since Lord knows when* I can guarantee you would go out with a bedhead too… I huff, combing my fingers through my dark hair, I run my hand over my loose tank tops that exposes a strip of skin, a tiny piece of my stomach.
“Look at that picture, Isa. We aren’t that couple anymore, you are not the same majestic girl who had the sexiest body in the whole university.” Jorge’s voice echoes in my mind.
— Shove it up your ass, Jorge — I growl, I thought I was pretty, now, if he took me for granted, that was his own damn problem, I won’t run after a bus, imagine running after the leftovers of a player like Jorge.
The elevator’s metallic doors are opened and I feel a chill down my back when I see Nicolas sitting on his armchair, scolding someone through the phone.
— I’ll talk to you later, Diana — His voice is strong and imposing, it matches him.
He hangs up and faces me, his features still tense, heaven knows why, but it takes me back right to the day que met, nineteen years ago.
Corumbá, Mato Grosso do Sul
Nineteen years before....
— Wake up, Isa. — Rico shakes my arm violently, trying to draw me out from the bed.
— Get out of here or I’m getting daddy here.
— Then you’re screwed, sis. In case you have forgotten, today is Holy Saturday.
Those words are enough for me, and I jump off the bed like a rocket, gaping eyes and ears alert. If you are not aware of it,
Holy Saturday is the day parents “beat the holy off” their children, which means, the discipline we didn’t receive all year were all given in one single day. Don’t even ask me why. I only knew I had to run, because today was that day, the day of getting caned by reeds.
— Dad’s already up. — He rushed me. — Run, cause I ain’t getting hit for your sloppiness.
— Fuck you, Rico! — I curse before yawning. — If you don’t shut up, you chatterbox, he’ll hear you!
He helps me open my bedroom window, and we run barefooted to the barn. It’s already dawn, and each of takes a horse.
— Come back here you little brats — he screams standing in front of the wood cabin, already holding the stick on his right hand.
We waited for a few hours, lying down in the wood shack out father had built for our mother.
— I’m already hungry — I moan, feeling my stomach growl.
— Eat a mango then.
— I’m not hungry for fruit, you bonehead. I want something savory. Even cause it’s almost time for lunch.
Slightly grouchy, Rico gives in, and we return home.
Uncle Matt and uncle Heitor were chatting in the porch already when we dismounted the horses and tied their ropes in the fence. This time, they didn’t come alone. A light-haired boy is sitting in the steps in front of our house.
— Who is him? — I whisper to rico while being overtaken by curiosity.
— How am I supposed to know? Ask him.
I look at filthy feet, holy fuck, I am still in my nightdress! I decide to walk around the house and get in stealthily through the window. I just need to get through unnoticed.
— Look, they’re here, my mom screams and I feel the eyes of our guests on us, including the boys who wouldn’t look away from his phone. He was looking at me now!
Goddamnit, mom, all the times I jumped cracks to save from breaking your back… and that’s how you thank me!
Poker face on, I walked like I wasn’t the trashiest of trash, Rico came with a smarty smirk, cheering the arrival of our guests, our father had given up on the canning.
— Booty, what are you feeding these kids? Leavening? — Uncle Matt gets closer and hugs me
— Hi, uncle — I mumble, embarrassed — Hi, uncle Heitor…
With a grumpy face on, the boy gets up. Damn! He’s way bigger than me. The only boy bigger than me was Rico! He faces me looking snotty and nods.
What a snobby prep! Gorgeous, bu stuck up. I think to myself and run to the bathroom.
After lunch, Rico seemed to have forgotten what we had settled, and our plans of hitting glass bottles with slings had been replaced by showing the farm around to Mr. Nicolas!
I walk alongside him, Rico takes his chance to run faster than us. Without me noticing, Nicolas places his foot so I trip, but before I crash on the ground like a mango, he holds me against his body, like that “clumsy” move was almost rehearsed.
His arms enwrap me, and he smiles, looking at my mouth.
— You know, after a shower and wearing that dress, you actually look cute.
What?!
He hauls me back to my feet, but doesn’t let me go. The shade of his light-blue eyes is as bright as the blue sky hovering our heads.
— Go fuck yourself, you prick! — I push him away and stomp his sneaker — Maybe, if you cut that sissy-ass hair, you’d also look cute.
I run away so I can stay close to my brother, because if I keep being around this idiot, I will beat him up, and then not even the Lord will be able to help me escape from momma’s flip-flop hits.
— Come back, honeybun, I’m just kidding, crazy chick!
— Your ass I’ll come back! — I curse without looking back, but I keep my middle finger up to that insufferable Nick!
Nicolas Santoro Reis
Present day...
The doors of my private elevator open and there she was, fierce and sporting that wild, uneasy look only she had.
— Nick, I have delayed the meeting with the investors for an hour already. It’s ungraceful and anti… — But I won’t let my associate go on with complaints I know damn well she capables of handling.
— I’ll talk to you later, Diana — I end the call and hang up.
It’s useless to try not to look at the clothes she’s wearing, the loose top tracing her lavish breasts, her hips and thick tights filling up the jeans.
— What? Anything wrong with my outfit?
I clear my throat and straight myself up on my armchair.
— No, of course not — I answer. — Why won’t you sit so we can have a little talk?
Her dark eyes, barely black, won’t leave mine for one second even.
— Look, Nicolas, I don’t know what my chatterbox of a brother told you, but I wanna keep it very clear that I am here to work. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t been so insistent about it.
— Of course, why else would you be here?
In my head, I imagine myself tearing he white top apart, mouthing her lavish, round breasts, sucking her really good until she begged to be fucked right there.
She crosses her legs and arches an eyebrow.
— I don’t know. But our past is not much of a good example.
I smile and fish a hair tie out of my suit’s pocket, pull my hair back and do a high bun.
— I am the one who should worry. I still remember your bites and how hard you can knee someone. — I laugh.
— For fuck’s sake Nicolas, take those trashy jokes and shove them up your ass, okay?! — Isa gets up. — I don’t even know why I came here.
She turns around I leaves while angrily mumbling. Of course this is not going to work.
I hold her by the arm, feel the softness of her warm skin in my hand and stop her.
— You still got that same foul mouth — I mention.
— And you’re still the same stuck-up asshole as alway, the only difference is that you got beefy!
— Let’s start over — I say. — Forget about what I said about bites and I will pretend you didn’t tell me to shove it up my ass.
She rolls her eyes and huffs, annoyed.
My eyes focus on her plump, nicely drawn lips, she was biting her lower lip, no, Isa wasn’t trying to be sexy for me, probably, she holding herself as to not scream away a streak of curses.
My finger relax the hold on her wrist, and I let her go slowly.
I pull the chair so she can sit and, still annoyed, she does so. I go back to armchair and open my appointment book.
— Tell me about your professional background. — I ask, still not able to stop looking at her tasty, rampant mouth.
She fixes the purse she carried on her shoulder, putting it in front of her body. She looks to the ceiling, trying to reach in her memory, before discoursing about her previous professional experiences.
— I graduated from high school back in Corumbá. Came to Rio nine years ago, and met that Jorge prick. — She pauses and tries hard to control her nerves. — Well, I have done a bit of everything, I’ve sold cell phone numbers on the street, fake jewelry, worked in department stores, commerce is like a mob, you know. If you work with it once even.. it seems like they tattoo a sign on you head. Damn! They paycheck was good even, but what I really wanted to do was working with what I like, thus, I went back to baking my sweets and treats and went around walking up and down until I sold all of them.
She become quiet, looking down, and chews on a nail quickly, but stops when she realizes I was watching every thing she did.
I fall back into my armchair and open two buttons of my blazer. She wets her lips while following my movements.
— That’s basically it— she says. — I’m not afraid of any job.
— I’ll need someone to take care of my son when I am at work, he comes back home every two weeks.
— How old his he? Cause if I have to change diapers… all that yellow shitness… And not to mention the vomit, cause babies puke all the time, right.
— He’s eight years old Isa, he can go to the bathroom by himself for a long while.
— Hum… — Her face softens. — I didn’t know you had a son that old already.
— The job is not too hard, keeping the house clean and neat, cook three main meals. No more.
Isa twists her mouth, a bit wary.
— Maid, cook and nanny? And what will you pay me?
I write down how much I used to pay the team of women in charge of cleaning and organizing my house up to a few hours ago. I hand her the small yellow Post-It, and he eyes become wide.
— I can do that. — And when her face raises, shea has a big smile on it. — Little Carol’s gas hasn’t been considered here, or has it?
— Little Carol?
— Don’t play like you have forgotten — she scolds me. — I doubt you forgot Little Carol, my father’s pickup truck that is mine now.
I smile, surprised.
— That wagon still rides, huh?
— Watch your mouth before talking about her. Little Carol is a bit loony… sometimes she works… sometimes se doesn’t… sometimes she breaks down mid-way, but she’s been in the family for decades.
— The gasoline won’t be necessary, once you’ll be the whole week in my house.
Because this way, it’ll all be much easier...
— What the heck?! I don’t intend on living with you. — She raises her voice again, back to being uptight.
— I ain’t inviting you to live with me. You’re going to work for me, nothing more than that.
The words that leave my mouth do not match the imagery going through my head, I, fucking her in the pool, in the jacuzzi in the backyard, in open air.
She glances at the paper again and turns her attention to the picture frame holding the picture of Susan and my son, Nick, when he turned three.
— Your wife. Isn’t it better to talk to her first?
— Don’t stress about that. — I get up and walk towards Isa, before stopping next to her. — Shall we go?
— Go where? — Isa gets up too and fixes a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear.