Nate

**Before**



“It was supposed to be just a damn hangout. We left in Marcel’s truck, armed with our baseball bats—brought along to protect ourselves from rival crews or anyone who might get too mad at us for vandalizing things and want to beat us up—ready to tag during the early morning hours. We climbed over overpasses, tagged walls, and defaced every piece of shit we knew was wrong. It had been weeks since we last did this, but Ian and Marcel were pressuring the hell out of me, wanting to mess with the Turma’s territory since they’ve been trampling on our tags non-stop.
After Little Sun, I’d been trying to straighten up, wanting to be decent for her. I wanted to be worthy of my girl. But I needed to blow off some steam. My mind was clouded with thoughts of Isabela in that house, and I didn’t have the guts to call Hellen and tell her. I thought, “If I cross the line and go to her grandmother's, maybe I can help her. But it could backfire and drive her away from me forever.”
So I made a damn anonymous report to the Child Protection Agency. I know Isabela thinks her stepdad will get away with everything. But maybe Marcos isn’t as powerful as he seems. I was helping Isabela defend herself from everyone; I needed her to learn how to protect herself from her family too. When I was a kid, I thought my uncle was invincible, that nothing could stop him from hurting me. But when the fire consumed him, I saw that Abel was just another mortal.
Frantic with everything swirling around my mind about Isa, I finally gave in to the boys' insistence. But what really went to hell was when we were finishing up tagging the wall of an overpass, and two cars boxed us in. All I had time to do was grab my bat off the ground and wield it, but down came a whole crew from Turma, their faces covered with bandanas, armed with brass knuckles, sticks, and God knows what else. And let’s be real, how were the three of us supposed to handle ten guys? I took off running, dodging one of the cars and turning down a corner. When I started running, I noticed Marcel and Ian were behind me. I knew I had to run like hell or I’d end up with my face beaten in, maybe even dead.
I didn’t see when Marcel decided to scale a building. I have no idea how it happened; the only thing we heard was the thud. A crash. The sound of something hitting the ground. When my eyes landed on him, it was brutal. Marcel fell from the facade. He tried to climb up to escape the guys, who, when they turned in their cars, realized the mess and sped past. Who wants to be at the scene of a crime?
My friend looked like he was dead. Blood trickled from a wound on the top of his head, staining his bleached hair, running in a thick line down his tattooed face. Ian was there, screaming, crying over his unconscious brother’s body. He hugged Marcel so tightly that his sky-blue tank top was soaked in blood. His curly hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, clinging to his tear-stained cheek.
I called for an ambulance. The wait was hell. With each passing moment, I lost it more, punching the walls on the street to feel something, trying to silence the guilt screaming with every breath I took. When help finally arrived, I called my dad. Ian called his mom, a lawyer who was fed up with her unruly sons, just like Vinicius.
Their mother showed up crying, screaming to know how Marcel was. She was a slim woman, with a long nose, thin lips, and light hair. Poor thing must have been sleeping because she was only wearing a long, pink pajama set. She was hysterical, slapping Ian in the arms, shouting questions: “Why are you like this? What did I do wrong as a mother?” I never really knew why the brothers were such delinquents, but apparently, their mom didn’t know either.
It was a long night at the hospital. Marcel broke some ribs, had a head injury, and dislocated a bone in his leg, but thank God he’s stable now. The damage wasn’t too severe. The doctor said he’d recover in a few weeks.
It was clear we’d never do this again; after all, we could have died, all three of us, if those guys had caught us. The truth is, tagging had become an addiction. For me, it was an escape valve to avoid breaking things or hurting myself. But I’m done with this!
As soon as Vinicius arrived, he grabbed me by my black shirt and pulled me toward the car, shouting that we were leaving Rio, that he was going to get me away from those “little criminals” for good. He didn’t even want to know if my friend was okay or not. Probably scared the police would show up, so he just rushed me out of there.
That’s basically how this cascade of shit led to the current scenario: I have to leave. I feel like crap because Marcel almost died, I’m sad to lose contact with my friends, and I feel powerless because I have to stay away from my girl. There was no talk with my dad. He already bought the plane tickets, had the caretaker prepare everything for our arrival in Canela, Rio Grande do Sul. He even ordered my mom and Bia to pack their bags.
I hate my damn dad. I know I messed up this time, that I chose to screw everything up by giving in to the guys’ pressures, but he doesn’t have to take me away from the only girl I love. I tried to argue in the car when he was taking me home last night, saying I have a girlfriend, that’s why I’ve spent five months staying out of trouble. Vinicius even seemed to think about what I said, consider the argument, but he wasn’t convinced. My dad was inflexible, even threatened to beat me. When we got to the parking lot of our house, I kicked everything I saw along the way. When I locked myself in my room, I heard his voice outside the door: “It’s for your own good, kid.”
I’m in the Toca now, trying to get this shit ready to say goodbye to Isabela. My heart feels heavy, aching as if it’s crumbling to pieces. If I could go back in time, I would have chosen to ignore my friends, like I did in the last few months. If last night had just been another night sleeping, the world wouldn’t have collapsed on my shoulders.
I spread a blue blanket on the floor and put the colorful pillows that Bia bought on top of it. She also lit some candles, brought chocolate, petals, and a bunch of cute crap that, according to her, would make any girl emotional.
Isabela thinks my sister hates her, but Bia is just super jealous of me. She doesn’t dislike my Little Sun. When I told her how much I wanted to throw a nice goodbye, she said she’d make the place more romantic for us. I wasn’t surprised by this behavior because I know my sister can see how much I’m hurting. She knows I love that blonde too much. That being away from her will mess with my head even more.
I lie back on the blanket, resting my head on one arm, staring at the damn ceiling of the space around me. Bianca even lit lavender incense to try to get rid of the musty smell. Damn it! I should have done romantic things before, not now that I’m saying goodbye to my girl.
It’s amazing how I have no control over the shit of my life. I always do everything wrong! Now I’m going to spend a long time away from my love because of the messed-up choices I made. I chose to be a vandal. Now, the price is being away from Isabela.”