Scratch

I look at Daniel looking at Abril and know that he will never see me like that, with those eyes. I see him from now, from here, from Facebook in my computer. They are at a wedding—¿is it two, three years ago? ¿last year, two months ago— and they look at each other. He is in love with her, she with him.

And now she is not here, or not for now. Daniel told her he no longer wanted her and she got involved with another guy. Then Daniel tells me on the computer that his back hurts for sleeping on the floor.

—And why don’t you break up?

—Because at first there was so much love.

Abril is in Chihuahua and he takes my clothes in the living room, tells me that that he has been thinking about my ass for four years, he invites me —begs me— to go to his bed.

His cat, he says, loves me. It comes by, does not scratch me, plays with me and I ask Daniel to close the door to the bedroom because I am allergic.

He kisses, caresses, pleads with me, asks me if I know how sexy I am, and form above now and again he stops to tell me I am stunning.

The cat outside mews to be let in, but my eyes are misty and it isn’t possible.

On the pone —every day, three or for hours— we talk and he scolds the cat and I am so moved that I know I could marry him.

I kiss the long scratch he has on his stomach through which they took bits and pieces of his pancreas, and the angry cat starts scratching the couch. I look at him from above, stupidly in love, and know that no matter how much he wants me now he will never look at me like he did Abril when he was in love.