Scene: Climax

Late May in Madrid is probably universally known as one of the most beautiful times in this city. Primavera/Verano or Spring/Summer is what the natives call it. As the season came around so had Sevillano and it seemed that everything was finally falling into place. I had got a beautiful, quaint one bedroom apartment in a complex near school. It had its own garden, pool and overlooked a park where we all hung out and smoked joints. We named the spot “little Retiro” as an homage to El Retiro(Madrid's equivalent to New York's Central Park). The apartment had a beach house feel to it, with huge sliding windows, white walls,a small bar and a cool open concept kitchen.

Suddenly everything was perfect. He moved in with me. We not only made love but also dined on my mini enclosed terrace and watched the view of the sun setting over a huge pine tree outside the window. We talked. It was the first time in two years that we had ever truly spoken. We discussed people at school, physics, music and just about everything that tickled the intellect of two curious college students. He was not only brilliant when it came to engineering and music, but unlike most who are talented in that field, he was extremely socially savvy and knew how to give the perfectly likable opinion about every topic.

I didn't understand why suddenly he was calling, wanting me, spending time with me and practically living in my home, but this time I chose not to question it. I was so happy with this perfect domestic life that we had built that I just went with it, knowing that the consequences would be a stark contrast to the present euphoric high that I was on.

And just like that, as quickly as he came, one day he disappeared. I called. He didn't pick up. When he finally did I could hear Blondie and a bunch of her friends in the background. Damn, she got me again. I needed to be the last one to have him, kind of like getting the last word in an argument, and I could feel him slipping away. He came by and told me he was going to do El Camino de Santiago with both blondies and some guy friends. My jaw dropped, that sneaky bastard, I told him about that trip, I wanted to do it with him. But I was afraid that if I protested, I would lose in the end and blondie would win him back. I gave him my backpack, bit my lip, swallowed whatever pride I had left and sent him on his way.

The two weeks he spent away were a blur to me. Suddenly I went from domestic bliss, surrounded by the man I had always wanted, engulfed in his brilliance, his warmth, affection and friendship, to absolutely nothing. I was alone in a cold one bedroom. Every night I stayed up staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to come back. I became completely sleep deprived and turned to sleeping pills, which I abused. They didn't work, I still couldn't sleep and instead they turned me into a drowsy red-eyed zombie by day.

I also remedied the new found emptiness in my life by going on a psychotic shopping spree. I bought the stupidest stuff, like entire seasons of Desperate Housewives, which I could have easily borrowed or downloaded. I just needed anything to distract me from the pain, layered by the numbness of sedatives, which would eventually wear off.

Finally, he came back. I had prepared a plan of revenge. I bought this beautiful dark pink silky dress, which draped in pieces, giving me an ethereal fairy-like appearance. I would wear it, perfect my hair and makeup and see him at this supposed “goodbye” party that we had planned for him and everyone else that was transferring next semester.

He would approach me, unable to resist me and my killer outfit and I would finally indignantly shoot him down and get my pride back. There he was, surrounded by girls who were chuckling stupidly at just about anything that came out of his mouth. The nerve of that guy, leading me to believe he wanted to live with me and become all that I have ever wanted, then disappearing without a trace. Finally, I would have the moment I always wanted and send him packing. He would go home blue balled and spend the rest of his summer thinking about the one that got away: Me!

As he was coming over I plainly maintained my back to him, pretending that he was of no importance and that whatever the guy to my left was saying was funny as hell.

But instead of returning the sting of rejection that I had gotten completely buried by over that last two years, he just grabbed my arm briskly and whispered in a hoarse,masculine,sexy voice:

“What are you doing attracting all that attention in that dress?”

I froze like a dumbfounded dear in the headlights.

“....”

“I'll come by tomorrow and say goodbye” he continued.

Before I could get a word in, he was gone. I just could not believe that he got me again. I felt completely powerless against him. I couldn't resist his touch, or his masculine deep voice, in fact his entire physical stature dominated me. My only final chance to reject him would come the next day, it was now or never and I had to take it.

He came by in the early afternoon and I was still stone faced and numb from my evening dose of Mr.Sandman pills. I asked him to explain how he could so outrightly betray me and do camino with two girls that he wanted.

He went into a large detailed beat around the bush explanation. Arms were flailing, topics were constantly digressed from, answers were left opened; it was kind of like watching a politician explain where all the money went. But inside the mind of a sleep deprived, zombified, heart wrenched self, it just looked like a cloud of stupidity which masked the fact that despite what little pride and dignity, I was going to sleep with him anyways.There was no denying I was beyond desperate for my last fix. This must have been what hitting rock bottom looked like.

He took me to the bedroom and did his business as usual, handling me like a rag doll. This wasn't the sensual magic we had on our first night, but rather a masturbation he performed inside of me. When it was over I got a phone call,

“ Madame Bebawi” said a woman with a french accent

“Yes, this is she” I answered.

“Eh this is Madame Morache from UBS Suisse, you called to enquire earlier about your credit card being declined?”

“Yes thats correct,” I answered, now sweating and feeling the extreme contrast between the numb drowsiness of sedatives meeting the intense anxiety and fear which would come from her following words.

“Well, it seems that you are currently at minus 1,500 swiss francs in your bank account.”

“You mean my credit card?”

“No madame, you are in debt in your checking account.”

“But thats impossible!”

“I am sorry madame,” she replied in her snide swiss way, “have a nice day.”

The sex, the pills, the betrayal and now this. I was completely dumbfounded, but I returned to the bedroom pretending that everything was ok, because at least he was here and would provide some sort of comfort. God forbid, it was better than being alone.

When I laid back down I turned to him, looking for the soft nook on his armpit to rest my head on. But before my head touched his chest, he swiftly turned away.

“I gotta go!” he exclaimed to the open air, assuming absolutely no care or responsibility for the other human being in the room.

He quickly rolled his jeans on, tightened his belt, slipped his shrunken t-shirt on and walked over to the bedroom door. The room was pitch black except for the sliver of light which slipped through the crack of the door. The panel of light laid on half of my face as I slowly curled into the fetal position.

He looked over from the doorway, he was now just a large, dark and daunting, shadow.

After a dramatic pause he spoke his last words, which were, just as he: pretentious, careless and degrading. This was a moment which would later stay ingrained in my body, continually manifesting itself year after year as the defeat which axed at my inner self. He spoke a sentence that I would never forget.