Nate

**Before**


She's on my lap, with that fucking perfect hair cascading down and touching my face. Mounted on me, her mouth glued to mine, her perfect breasts in my hands, with only a thin layer of fabric getting in the way.
I must be dreaming. She's perfect and mine.
"Calm down, love..." she asks, slyly, letting out a hiss of pain.
"Sorry! I got excited." I comfort her with another kiss, another dose of my saliva rolling down her tongue, easing the tightness in her little breasts, but only because she complained about the force.
Things are getting hot. She comes, mounts me, rubs herself against my cock in those short dresses, showing her panties. I can't expect a different result. I started to put my hand in, but Isabela won't let me touch anything under her clothes. Or kiss an inch below her neck.
"I want to eat you!" — I warn, biting her chin, putting my hand in that hair that I love so much, pulling it back.
" No! I'm too young. — She moans, earning a long lick on her ear, writhing all over, seeming to get goosebumps.
" My balls weigh a ton — I growl. — You're going to drive me crazy.
" Ouch! — She whimpers, because I pull her hair harder and give her a light slap on the face. She laughs, with a naughty and naughty face, her eyes shining with amusement. — You can always touch yourself to empty it...
" I already have calluses on my fingers, Isa. Five whole months of torture, five months that you've been mine, and my body is boiling, with nothing to lower this temperature. — The softness of that skin, that delicious mouth, that perfect smell... Fuck! I'm going crazy. — Then kiss me!
Her lips open immediately as she brings her perfect mouth close to mine, to obey me. I hold her chin, trying to control the possession that makes me want to squeeze her whole. I stop the kiss from happening, locking her head.
Her thin, light eyebrows narrow. That pink dress, which makes her look like a doll, kills me. Isabela is the most beautiful girl in the world. And, damn it, she wants me. When did I become worthy of the prize that is Little Sun?
"Not here." I watch the confusion floating in her eyes. I touch my index finger to her thick lips, then drag it down, then point to my cock. "A kiss down here!"
"Oh, screw you!" she argues, slapping my arm, ending the fun. She stands up, lost between complaining and smiling. "You're a pervert!"
"And you're going to be the one to blame for my cock exploding," I accuse, slapping her ass as she moves away. I take a breath, wiping a layer of sweat from my forehead. Even my body gets hot when this hottie is on top of me. I groan, putting my hands on my head, knowing I'll have to jerk off when I get home.
"I'm only fifteen, kitty. It's not time yet!" he says, rummaging through the barrel of drinks, digging through the ice to grab a can of soda. And every time he leans over, the flesh of his pale, round ass appears. I roll my eyes... He's got to be doing this shit on purpose, to torture me. When he turns around, walking towards me, he says: "We love each other, so it'll happen when the time is right. I'm just not ready." "Argh!" I complain, accepting it when Little Sun sits down next to me on the couch, then downs a few shots from the can of Coke between my lips.
I look like a fucking animal in heat, and the cold liquid seems to ease the heat a little.
"So, let's talk about other things. Enough funny stuff for today!" — Isabela says, after taking an avid sip of her soda. — What do you want to talk about?
" You said you would finally tell me what happened at your house, that made you stay away from school and me for two weeks. Remember?
I raise an eyebrow, looking at her sideways. Isabela swallows hard, her gaze wandering to every other corner of the Den, trying to avoid mine. I open my arms, offering her a hug, because I know, deep down in my soul, that there is something very wrong with Isabela.
" You know you can trust me, right? — I kiss her head, and my heart tightens because I feel it start to tremble. — I can help you.
Since we got together, I haven't had a crisis again. I haven't broken anything, I've barely gone out to hang out and graffiti on the street. I've never been so committed to adhering to my treatment. I take my medication correctly, avoid drinking alcohol and also religiously attend therapy. I'm trying hard to get good grades, save up my allowance to take my girl to nice places to eat, give her presents and make the Den cool, since this has become our place. I replaced the couch with a new one, because the foam escaping through the rips in the old one was poking her legs. And I only had money for this shit because my dad hasn't cut my allowance lately. He loved seeing my report card full of good grades.
Bianca, a loudmouth, gossiped that I'm dating someone — or almost, after all, what Isa and I have is a serious relationship, we just haven't named it. And my dad finally and looked at me with something other than contempt. Not that I was like an idiot, touched by a little bit of appreciation from Vinicius, but it made me calmer.
“Tell me something you don’t have the courage to tell anyone,” she asks in an embarrassed whisper. “That way I think I can feel safer.”
Her voice is such a fragile, trembling thread that I feel sad. I see her shivering with fear sweeping through her body, because she shivers. She seems to seek warmth in me, curling up sideways in my arms.
When it comes to theories about what happens in Isabela’s house, I imagine a thousand and one shitty things, you know? That her mother beats her, or her stepfather, or both are violent with my Little Sun. I always try to push aside the greater suspicion, the threads I connected to the facts, the black and white photos that form the terrible frame of the horror scene set up in my head. The trauma of touching, taking showers at school, rigid schedules that don't even allow her to go out properly, having to date in secret, bruises... What does that look like? I know more than anyone that she resembles a girl who... Fuck! I can't. I can't think about it without wanting to break into her house and commit murder. I try, I pretend to myself that if she were being sexually abused, I would have told her. But I know what it's like... The shame, the fear of judgment, our own mind condemning us. How do you tell someone? Is there any dose of courage in your body capable of driving away the fear, the worry that people will think it's your fault?