Love, in English

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from me. “You shouldn’t. This was my fault. I wanted to prove I could still do it, that I could still play. You know? I wanted to be…the way I was. And, I suppose, I wanted to impress you very much.”

“Impress me?” A bit of Percocet in his system and suddenly the words were coming out, words I never thought he’d say. “Why would you want to impress me?”

And there went a question I never thought I’d have the nerve to ask. Maybe I was getting a residual high.

Though his eyes were still closed, I could see the corner of his lips quirk up into a soft smile. “Because you are my Estrella.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The way he pronounced “my,” like I truly was his, was making me feel things I didn’t want to be feeling. Something felt like it was changing in the air between us, maybe because he was high on painkillers, or maybe it was just a matter of time. I didn’t know.

He seemed to notice it too because after a moment of silence, he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. There was a wash of sadness in them now. “Can I ask you that question I wanted to ask you?” His voice was low, a little hoarse.

Oh man. That question again. Now I wasn’t drunk but he more or less was.

“Sure,” I said, pretending I wasn’t a livewire of sizzling nerves on the inside. I held my breath, afraid to exhale.

“Are you happy?”

I exhaled. This wasn’t at all what I was expecting. “Am I happy?”

“Yes. Is Vera Miles happy?”

“Right here, right now or…?”

“In your life.”

I had to think about that. It wasn’t a simple question at all. Was I happy? I thought back to my day-to-day, my hopes and dreams—or, perhaps, the lack thereof.

It was hard for me to admit this because I liked to have people think I was happy-go-lucky, that I devoured life, that I got up every day feeling good and excited and hopeful. But I didn’t.

“No,” I told him, my gaze locking on his. “I am not happy.”

“Why?” he asked quietly.

“Because…” I looked down and started tracing the outline of my newest tattoo. “I am lonely.”

I’d never even admitted that to myself before. It felt bizarre. Surreal. Like I was suddenly realizing I wasn’t who I thought I was at all.

“You are lonely, but you say you like to be alone.”

I nodded. “I do. I prefer it. But…it doesn’t mean I don’t want someone to love me.” My eyes stung, as if tears were on their way. I bit my lip, debating if I should say more. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t have a lot of love in me to give someone.”

“Then why don’t you?” he asked keenly.

I shrugged. “It’s easier to not. It’s safer. I had a long-term boyfriend in high school. I know, it’s a long time ago but…I was in love with him, or so I thought. And he cheated on me. A lot. He was emotionally abusive too and made me think I deserved whatever he gave me. It really fucked me up. Fucked me up and broke me up. Bad enough that I had to go on medication.” To my surprise, I had to take in a deep breath. There was still a bit of a pinch with the memories. “I know it was just a right of passage, I guess, like what every girl goes through in high school but…the pain scared me. I’d already felt so alone because of my parents and sister that I put all my trust and heart in the wrong person and that just blew up in my face. It made me think that I’d never be loved and no one would ever want my love in return.”

My words sank into us. I felt completely raw, stripped to the bone. I’d never felt like that before, not even when naked and in a compromising position. I’d never been so honest with myself.

“You are wrong, you know,” Mateo finally said.

“About what?”

“That you will never be loved,” he said, voice slow and measured, “and that no one would want you to love them.”

I felt like there was a brick in my stomach. The charged way he was staring into me, the words he was saying…part of me wanted to run. Part of me wanted to absorb it deep inside, to hug it on nights I felt cold. Instead, I cleared my throat and asked, “Are you happy, Mateo?”

“No,” he gradually said, a delicate smile on his lips. “I am not happy, either.”

I was both surprised and not surprised at this admission. “But you have things. You have a career and a wife and a child. Money.”

“And yet, I am not happy.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And I hope you never will understand.” He sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I love Chloe A

“What?” I whispered, finding myself leaning in closer to him.

His eyes slid to mine. “Create a new universe.” He licked his lips again. “You could do the same.”

My heart stilled. I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again.

“It is scary, isn’t it?” he asked.

I nodded. When I found my voice I said, “I told you. I was scared of deep space.”

He gri

“That’s almost cheesy,” I said, trying to make light of the situation even though it didn’t feel cheesy to me. It felt terrifyingly real.

“Yes. But it is true.” He exhaled. “And now that we’ve managed to make each other depressed, I promise I will ask you no more questions for the rest of our time together.”

For the rest of our time together. I didn’t like the finality of that, the recognition that what we had would end, and soon.

“But I like your questions, even the hard ones.”

I like that you seek me out, that you have an excuse to talk to me, I finished in my head.

“Then perhaps I will surprise you with another someday. For now though, I think I need to take a siesta. Will you take one with me?”

I looked over to the clock on the microwave. “Di

“Then sleep with me until di

I raised my brow. “Do you know how that sounds?”

He nodded. “Of course, it is why I said it.”

But where would I sleep? There was barely any room on the couch. I would be pressed up against him while he was in an extremely vulnerable state. I couldn’t do that, get that close to him. I didn’t trust myself.

I got to my feet. “It’s not the same unless we are under a tree,” I told him. “I need to go do a few things, take a shower and get out of these gross clothes. I’ll come back with di

“Leaving me so soon,” he said dramatically.

I laughed and walked over to the door. “Hasta la vista, baby.”

“No Spanish,” he muttered from the couch.

I stepped outside and closed his apartment door behind me. It was only then that I felt like I could truly breathe. I stood there for a few moments, getting all the air in and out of my chest. I took off for my place, rubbing my hands up and down my arms as if the temperature suddenly dropped. It wasn’t that, of course, but that some of my layers had started to peel away.

Later that night I went back to Mateo with di

A self that might have been a lie.

But I didn’t need to worry about that at all. When I came back with the food, Jerry was in there talking to him, as well as Marty or Mark. Mateo insisted that I stay with him and have di