Nate
**Today**
"It doesn't matter that days have passed; the cat still has her damn scent, the girl who returned to my life with the force of a tsunami, taking the last bits of mental health I had. The light grape perfume exudes from her soft fur, even if now it's a bit weaker than when she arrived.
She’s a sweet, affectionate little creature, yet at the same time, scared. I tried not to like her, to remind myself that she belongs to Isabela, but it was impossible. Pretinha just curls up against my body to sleep, meows sadly when I’m about to leave, or runs and rubs against my leg every time I come back to the room. There are moments when she reminds me of her owner, especially when she wakes me up with paws in my face because she wants food, or deliberately knocks my funkos off the shelf, then runs and hides under the bed. I can’t even get mad at her. In fact, the little cat has managed to tame me. I’m in love with her, and I’m sure I’ll miss her when I return her.
It’s been a bit complicated balancing work, studies, and her care schedule, but I always come home from the office at the right times to feed Pretinha. I’m trying to strictly follow the recommendations that her owner’s dog sent to my phone. In fact, Isabela sent a long message that would surely fill an A4 page on my WhatsApp, with precise instructions on how to take care of Belladonna, when to brush her fur, change the litter, play with the laser so she can burn off energy, the whole feeding schedule, change the water daily and wash the bowl, and a thousand other things. Since I don’t want anything to go wrong while Pretinha is here, I’m following the orders of the “sergeant.” Despite all the things I like to destroy, animals aren’t on that list. I’m literally a softy when it comes to little heart-stealers like Belladonna.
The truth is I’m getting a bit fed up with Isabela. Every time I move a piece on the board to try to get rid of her, that little brat manages to sidestep and checkmate me. It was like that at the club when she got into my head and made me go crazy with jealousy, watching that bunch of vultures desire her, while she flaunted herself in a way that made my dick hard to the point it felt like it would explode. Man, I lost it.
She promised she’d be mine forever, so how dare she offer what was mine to another man on that stage? When Isabela said she was dancing for someone else to choose, that was the end of the line; I went insane.
It’s so frustrating still desiring her like this, feeling that she’s mine, that she shouldn’t have given that damn dance to anyone but me, and at the same time feeling like the worst kind of fool on the face of the Earth. Why do I feel things for her, even though she made me end up in a reform school? I defended her, fought for her, to save her. And no, I will never believe the version she gave me that day. I know she squealed out of spite, that she spread that crap because I was leaving. And it wasn’t any misunderstanding; Isabela knows it wasn’t.
What the hell! Isa won’t get out of my head. She’s stuck in my neurons with much more power than any blunt I’ve ever smoked in my life. And I can’t take seeing her walk around campus in those provocative clothes, short skirts, stockings that drive my imagination wild, tops that leave much of her belly exposed or outline her breasts.
I shove a pack of cigarettes in my jeans pocket, thinking my lungs are going to crash any day now because, now that I have a devil haunting my mind, I can’t go more than an hour without smoking. I open my black wallet to check for condoms because I don’t want to be caught off guard and miss out on sex because of it.
I’ve already flopped twice trying to hook up with another woman after having jerked off to Isabela in her room. It’s tough, man. I start to make out with a girl, and then out of nowhere my mind brings up a flash of Little Sun, and when I look at the woman riding me, it’s not that damn Isa, the one girl I can’t want, but who I desire so hungrily that it feels like I’ll collapse if I don’t get her.
But I’m going to carry that damn condom in my wallet, even if I’m terrified Isabela has put some spell on me so that my dick only gets hard for her. I don’t know! What kind of magic is this? I’ve never flopped, much less with a hot girl riding me.
I have to figure out a decent way to relieve this shit in my body. This damn desire that haunts me, that makes my dick hurt, my balls feel heavy, and seem full all the time. I even jerked off a few times, which wasn’t effective but was boring every time. And I swear to God that if I flop again, I’m going to have to go after Isabela. She’s going to have to fix this mess.
Look what this bitch does to me!
Why do I give her so much power?"
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