Nate

**Today**


Brown hair, blue-gray eyes, a thin and bony face, deep dark circles that even makeup can’t fully cover. Suzana trembles as she adds sweetener to her watermelon juice, probably missing the alcohol in her system. She looks awful, and the vibrant red tones of her jumpsuit mock the paleness of her body.
My mother asked for champagne, but I was happy to frustrate her by refusing. I can’t stand seeing her drunk. As the years pass, she’s been getting worse. She used to only talk about clothes, parties with her rich friends, and other trivial things. But now, I see her becoming more and more detached. Suzana seems to be disconnecting from the world. And I can’t even talk to the asshole that is my father about it. I once spoke with my sister, and we tried to schedule a psychiatrist for our mother, but she was sharp enough to scream that she’d cut us out of her life if we dared call her crazy.
I’ve always blamed my father for my tragedies, given that he chose to do all that to me, kicking me away, abandoning me in a sea of deep, dark waters, alone, without a lifebuoy, waiting for me to drown.
But my mother? I know she has some mental issue. It’s clear how much she constantly seeks escapes from reality, with alcohol, opioids, the parties with gigolos alongside her shameless friends. She thinks we don’t know about the orgies she funds with the rich ladies she hangs out with, or that my father is having an affair with Dulce, his secretary, which is why he’s never home and literally couldn’t care less about my mother and her debauched parties. We know all the crap that goes on behind the scenes of our disaster of a home, because, yes, Bianca and I still live with our parents. Not because we lack the desire to leave, or the opportunities, but because my sister and I are both terrified that if we leave for good, our mother will somehow end up killing herself.
I have feelings for Suzana, a deep urge to care for her, to do something, but she won’t let me. She accuses me of being defective, says I infected her with a demon when she was pregnant with Bia and me. And I know I should hate her with the same intensity I hate my father, but I can’t.
She’s sick. Her mind is crumbling. And I’m powerless to help.
"Have you done your homework, honey?" she asks Bianca, and as she gives my sister a bizarre laugh, I can’t tell if she’s mocking her or just delirious.
"I’m already in college, Mom," my sister replies, popping an aspirin to deal with the hangover from last night’s party.
Bruxinha has a worn-out face, her makeup a complete mess, and the only thing put together is her sky-blue blazer and shorts set. She’s got some strange marks on her neck, but since she hooked up with half the crowd at Bosque last night, I’m unsure if she went to the party with those finger marks on her throat or had a wild fling with some guy while I was at war with Isabela outside.
"I told your father not to sell the college," Suzana says, playing with the fish on her plate, looking even paler as the light streaming through the large windows of the meeting room reflects off the off-white glass tabletop, contrasting with her skin. I lift my gaze from my food and stare at her. "I said the demon inside Nate is going to make my boy suffer. But Vinicius doesn’t want to listen to me."
My eyes flash with irritation, but they’re also filled with the tears I’m fighting to hold back. Bianca leans over the table and strokes my arm. The small gesture brings me comfort, stopping me from standing up and hurling a chair through the window that covers the entire left wall of the room.
Vinicius is a complete bastard!
He put his share of Revolta up for sale.
My father is going to destroy me.
That’s the main reason I’m just making a mess of everything and pouring all the worst parts of me into trying to push Isabela out of my space while it’s still mine. She’s one of the reasons why the bricks of the castle that is my dream are crumbling, one by one, turning to dust.

And, fuck, Isa really got on my nerves yesterday. That bitch has been messing with my head. She triggered the hell out of me after I almost screwed her in her own bed, made a fool out of me in front of the whole college by doing that erotic dance when I made a move to try and push her away for good.
I could simply kick her out. I’m still one of the owners of this shit. But where’s the fun in that? She has to leave humiliated. She needs to acknowledge defeat and pack up her insignificance. Making her the laughingstock at the party seemed like the perfect blow. I thought Little Sun would run, pack her things, and give me the relief of getting the fuck out of my head. Because I go to bed and wake up with a hard-on thinking about her scent, her voice, the sweet, wet, perfect taste of her mouth. If Isabela leaves, I can get my mind straight and figure out how to move on after my father tried to ruin Revolta. But Isa is stubborn as hell and resilient as fuck. It’s going to take a lot to defeat her.
Ian, who works with me managing Bosque, said this tug-of-war between us is a childish game. He reminded me we’re both adults, that I loved her and took a long time to forget her, and he even threw it in my face how I’m screwing everything up. Bianca, on the other hand, said she’s going to end up throwing hands with Isabela when they face off. She’s on fire knowing what Isa did at the meeting with my father or because she caught me hanging off the facade of Revolta spraying graffiti after Isa triggered me. Bruxinha was scared to death I’d fall from up there. And poor "Japa," she’s definitely going to take a beating if she goes up against Little Sun. Isabela is strong as hell. I had to ice my balls for hours after the knee she landed on me.
I lost it when she was touching herself, flashing her damn panties to a bunch of horny bastards on stage last night. Where’s the sweet girl I fell in love with? What kind of slut has taken over her body? Damn, while I watched her dance, all those eyes lusting after her, my dick was screaming to fuck the hell out of that bitch, to see her crying beneath me for her insolence. But jealousy hammered and drove its stakes deep into my chest. And no one in this fucking college is going to touch her. While she’s in my space, Isabela is mine. Only mine! Mine as hell! My face heats up just thinking, just imagining a sliver of the nightmare of someone else touching her, grabbing what’s mine.