I will devour her until all of this is gone.
I will consume her until we are all that's left.
I push inside her and let my hunger take over.
I let my hunger take us to a better place. Hot, slow, and fleeting.
Fleeting.
When we wake up the next morning, tangled in each other’s arms, the sun shining through the windows, it feels like we only have each other and that’s all that is left.
Maybe it has always been that way.
I throw myself into my work. I get to the stadium early, and I leave late but it doesn’t do anything to discourage the photographers who are sometimes waiting by the road just for a glimpse of me. I can’t understand it, why even a photo of me getting into a car means something to them, and after a while I stop trying.
Vera keeps busy too, filling out all the paperwork for school and laying low. Several times Claudia has called or come by, and while they have fun drinking and dancing around the living room, I’m starting to feel like a parent who has grounded a kid. She even forgoes her Spanish class, and I teach her instead. As much as I don’t like it when Vera goes out, I realize that she needs to let loose and have fun. She’s too free of a spirit to be cooped up, even when there’s plenty of sex to distract her.
When Wednesday morning rolls around, I pick up Chloe Ann from her day camp. Vera stays at home—this time with no objection—and I head over there with a plan in mind. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to talk to these mothers at the camp to set them straight.
When I walk into the school building where the camp is held, I’m immediately met with hostile eyes. Every single woman is staring right at me with the same expression: pursed lips, a single raised brow, a discerning glance.
Chloe Ann runs right to me.
“Papa!” she cries out, throwing her arms around my leg. “You came.”
“Lucky thing,” one woman with terribly dark lip liner whispers to another. “She doesn’t have to be traumatized by that puta again.”
I eye the woman sharply. “Excuse me?” I say loud enough for everyone to hear.
The woman doesn’t look afraid. She pastes on a fake smile that looks like a chalk outline. “How are you, Mateo? We missed you last week. At least, your daughter seemed to.”
“Papa,” Chloe Ann cries out, pulling on my trousers. “Can we go, please?”
I place a kind hand on the top of her head. “Just a minute, darling,” I tell her, then turn my attention back to the woman. “You know, I and I’m sure any parent here, would appreciate if you didn’t use such words in front of the children.”
The daycare teacher, Mrs. Caro, looks up from putting toys away in a box. She’s the only woman who looks concerned. All the other women are still staring at me with utter hatred in their eyes. It’s only now that I realize the look has always been there, I’ve just never noticed. Of course they hate the man that screwed over one of their own, and of course they hate Vera, whom they consider the whore—the other woman.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the lip liner woman says haughtily. “If anyone is saying bad words around your daughter, it’s not me. Perhaps you should go ask your teenage girlfriend what she’s been saying. Maybe she needs her mouth washed out with soap.”
The woman elapses into a fit of giggles, leaning against her friend while all the children are oblivious. She’s oblivious too, to that fact that out of everyone, she’s the one who is acting like a teenager.
I can’t stoop to her level. I won’t give her a reaction.
I stand tall and grab Chloe Ann’s hand and lead her away. The woman calls out behind me, “Give my regards to Isabel. Tell her we miss her.”
I suck in my breath but keep going. We are in the parking lot, almost at the car, when the mullet-headed photographer appears out of nowhere and starts taking pictures, the bulbs flashing.
I immediately step in front of Chloe Ann, shielding her from the lights, from the lens, and I can hear her whimper in fright behind me.
“Get out of my face,” I sneer at the photographer, putting my arm out in front of me. I want nothing more than to let loose a string of expletives, but considering what I had just said earlier, it would make me hypocritical.
Still, this situation calls for it more than anything else.
“Is your daughter being abused, Mr. Casalles?”
The question catches me so off-guard that my mouth drops open, and I can only blink until a flashbulb blinds me again.
“I beg your fucking pardon?” So much for not swearing.
“Your daughter,” the man continues. Click, click, click. “She was crying, distressed when I last saw her. Your girlfriend, is she abusing her?”
“What the fuck?” I yell, fist raised, and Chloe Ann cries. I quickly grab her, unlock the car, place her inside, and shut the door, the tinted windows protecting her from the scene.
I whirl around to face him like I’m facing an attacker. “Now, please, what the fuck are you talking about? No one is abusing anyone. My girlfriend picked up my daughter from day camp. They had ice cream. My daughter was upset about something or other as little girls do, and you, asshole, decided that was a great fucking time to take the damn picture. If anyone is abusing anyone around here, it’s you. Stalking me every fucking place I go, terrorizing me, my girlfriend, my daughter. You’re disgusting.” I turn around to put my hand on the door handle. “And if I see your face again, I’m going to rip your head right off.”
The photographer stops shooting for a moment, and the pause is enough that I turn around to look at him. He’s staring at me with a strange smile on his face. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Casalles?” he asks. “I think you might be. Mr. Casalles threatens local journalist as he stands on the brink of another mid-life crisis. Why don’t you make things easier for me and tell me what pussy you’re going to trade your current model in for?”
I don’t think. I barely feel. I just throw the punch.
I manage to bypass the camera and hit him square in the nose. I was always good at getting it in the goal. He yelps in pain, and his camera goes smashing to the ground. I don’t think anything has ever felt so satisfying, but the feeling only lasts a moment until I hear Chloe Ann crying from the car.
I’ve really screwed up this time. I can hear voices behind me, and some of the mothers from the day camp have seen the whole thing. I hope they got everything that led up to the hit too, but knowing their single-minded vindictiveness, it probably wouldn’t make a difference.