Isabela Part 2

I’m feeling so destabilized with all these chaotic thoughts that I abandon the keyboard, throw myself onto the bed, and stare at the ceiling. I have a class in half an hour, but I still feel my body weighed down with all the heavy remnants of his touch, his words, his presence.
I’m surprised by Belladonna, who hops onto the bed and tries to soften the mattress beneath her with her front paws. I lie on my side and watch her. I don’t raise my hand to touch her, even though I desperately want to seek comfort in grabbing her, knowing she’ll run away. The cat turns towards my nightstand, sits gracefully on it, and holds my gaze as if provoking me, raising her paw in the air. When I realize what she’s doing, it’s already too late. She uses her pudgy paw to knock my red-framed picture down onto the floor.
“Little delinquent!” I curse under my breath, sitting up with a start.
The little furball disappears from sight, running off to some hiding spot, startled by my outburst. I exhale deeply and begin to pick up the shards of glass from the broken frame. When I grasp the photo in my fingers, my whole body shakes with the loud sob that erupts from my throat.
I lost my best friend Bernardo two weeks ago. Just like Ana and Josiah, I met him in school. He was in a coma for nearly two years and ended up passing away. I try to shield myself from the pain by avoiding thoughts of him, but this photo of him smiling in his army uniform brings back so many memories... We were such good friends that I trusted him to touch me, to see me half-naked, to share my secrets, to unload my traumas. He made me smile. Ber was a safe harbor, and he left in such a heavy, cruel way.
And as I always do, I shut myself off. I’d rather block the memories; it works with my dad. I’ll erase the date of his death from my mind, avoid thinking about it, and probably, at some point, I’ll muster the courage to hide this photo away where I rarely come across it. I know these feelings will scratch at my head now and then, but trying to block them is a shield against the pain, against the longing.
This place, Revolta, should be a cure. A new beginning. But from what I’m seeing, it’s just another shot from the loaded gun aimed to kill me. I didn’t even have the courage to tell Ana on the phone about Nate when she called as soon as I woke up. I dodged my sobs to tell her I was fine. I lied. I told her I didn’t go to the initiation party because I know how she is; she’d find a way to come here and hunt the bastard down until she clawed his face off to get revenge.
Unlike the jerk I was for not staying by her side when she ended her relationship in the past, she would defend me like she does for the people she loves. I don’t want to ruin the good time she’s having with her family. Bringing my problems to her now isn’t an option, so I chose to lie.
I remove all the glass shards from the room, jot down a reminder to buy a new picture frame on my phone, and allow myself to finish getting ready for class. Belladonna only emerges from the wardrobe when she sees me toss my tote bag over my shoulder. She walks with an air of grandeur and indifference to my bed, then curls up on the pillow, turning her back to me.
“I’ll be back later, venomous!” I announce, pretending that, besides the fact that the cat can understand me, she also cares about what time I return.
The hot, absurd steam sweeping through the city— in the middle of winter— hits me as soon as I step out of the dorm. I’ve tied my hair up in a ponytail to combat the heat, and I’m sweating like crazy. As I pass in front of the façade of my building, a flashback of Nate’s enormous body dominating me, with me on my knees, invades my head, leaving me unsure if I feel more ashamed for having humiliated myself or for having gotten wet while saying he’d fuck me in the most sordid ways.
But he’s wrong! He’ll never have sex with me again! Or kiss me!
“Woof woof!” A skinny little man says as he looks at me with widely spaced eyes, laughing with two odd friends as they walk past.
I furrow my brows as I continue on my way. I’m not going to create paranoia that he meant to call me a bitch or that he saw Nate treating me like one during dinner. Maybe the guy wasn’t even talking to me… So I shake my head, as if I could disperse my thoughts, and head to class.
My legs are sweating, even though I’m wearing a short pair of black denim shorts. These shorts are a bit loose on my thighs, and even the thick dark fabric belt with a double buckle isn’t holding them in place very well. I’m only wearing this cropped black top because my chest is dripping with sweat. It’s ridiculously hot!
I lower my head to stare at my sore knees while I walk. They make me look like a kid, all scraped up. I don’t even want to think about what the perverts staring at me while whispering under a tree are thinking.
The idea of wearing a collar had sounded like a fun joke when I was getting ready for the dinner with Nate. I didn’t know his father, only his mother, a spacey woman who seemed only concerned with the labels of her clothes or trendy haircuts. Bianca took after her perfectly, two superficial cows...
And just as the jerk was taking my outfit way too seriously for the stupid dinner, I decided to show up in the most “slutty” way I could manage. It was gratifying to see how he lowered his head in disbelief when he saw me. And I believe the damned collar completed the farce of the dinner.
I just didn’t imagine Nate would find a use for my mocking accessory. Now I’m covered in purple welts, in addition to superficial cuts on my neck, that hurt so much I couldn’t even put on makeup to try to cover them up like I did with my chin.