My boyfriend, the -delinquent- surgeon

“It’s here,” I say as soon as I see my house.

“I know, remember?” he asks, amused.

I just nod nervously. The fact that he’s been following me and sent someone to gather information about me is still something that I find unsettling.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny. Forgive me,” he apologizes, stopping and allowing me to get off the bike.

“It was funny, I just can’t appreciate it right now,” I justify, once again seeing him as a man with whom to have a romance.

He gets off the bike and takes it to the side as we walk towards the door. I can’t help but gaze at him, every gesture, every small movement he makes, catches my attention. It’s as if he’s wearing a perfume with some gypsy spell.

I try to avert my eyes from his lips, as all it does is make me want to kiss him, and I look ahead just in time to avoid colliding with Nicolás.

“Hi, Emma!” he greets cheerfully before his expression changes when he notices that this time I’m not alone.

“Hello! Do you have anything else for me?” I ask, wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible.

“Uh? Umm, yes, sorry. I have a letter. Give me a minute,” he requests, starting to check his backpack. “I kept it thinking you weren’t here.”

“No problem,” I reply, although impatience is eating away at me.

“Here it is” he says, handing me an envelope.

“Thank you very much, Nicolás!” I exclaim, ending the encounter.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, Emma. Goodbye,” he responds, starting to walk away. “Oh, and goodbye to your friend too,” he adds a few steps later.

“Boyfriend,” Dante clarifies, practically growling.

I look at him dumbfounded, unable to hide my surprise.

“Sorry, what?” Nicolás asks.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Dante insists, looking at him as if he wants to rip a piece of his neck with his teeth.

“Whatever,” Nicolás replies, not taking this seriously.

He waves cheerfully and leaves, shaking his head in disbelief at what just happened. I look at Dante, waiting for an explanation for his outburst.

“I take care of what’s mine,” he simply says.

“And when did you ask me to be your girlfriend?”

“Last night, but I think you were moaning, maybe that’s why you didn’t hear me,” he says, unable to keep a straight face.

“My boyfriend, the delinquent,” I point out, opening the door.

He leaves the bike aside, approaches me, and looks into my eyes as he responds, “Your boyfriend, the surgeon of delinquents, you mean,” before kissing me.

The heat that runs through my body every time his lips caress mine is something I’ve never felt before. It surpasses the sting of lust by far. It’s something deeper, as if my soul is in those kisses.

Unfortunately, they never last long enough to delve deeper into what lies beneath them. He pulls away, leaving me with my eyes closed, wishing for one more second of contact. He enters my home and starts walking around, as if he has every right to snoop wherever he pleases.

“Everything seems relatively calm,” he says after a while.

“Shouldn’t it be?” I ask more out of reflex than anything else, because the truth is, I don’t want to know the answer.

“Of course it should, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he apologizes as he notices the fear on my face. “Now, everything seems to be normal here, but maybe it’s not the same in your room,” he comments teasingly. “You’ll have to show me everything, even what’s in your lingerie drawer.”

“Of course, don’t want the bad guys to have taken my garters,” I reply sarcastically.

“Maybe if I saw you wearing them, I could identify them if it ever happened,” he assures, getting closer to me again, taking me by the waist and reminding me with kisses how lost I am.

“It’s over here,” I whisper, taking his hand and leading him straight to the bed.

҉

I breathe heavily as I stretch under the sheets, adjusting my body and snuggling up to him. I had never brought anyone here before. After everything ended with Matias, I decided it was time to have a place to call home where no man could ever kick me out. It was hard to leave the apartment I rented. After all, I spent all of my twenties and most of my thirties there, but I couldn’t stand the sight of the place anymore. Even though I got rid of the bed where I found him with her, I just couldn’t do it. It was everything: the door, the floor, the walls... Everything was permeated with the memory of his betrayal. So I closed my eyes and, after getting a loan, bought this house. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t bring anyone here again, that I wouldn’t create memories that could force me to run away again, but I just broke that promise.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing that something’s not right.

“I didn’t think I’d bring anyone home again,” I say, hoping he won’t take it the wrong way.

“Don’t worry, I felt the exact same way. Although, to be honest, hearing that you feel like I do is kind of comforting. Although I can’t help but wonder what led you to want to give up on love.”