Monday, February 23, 2015
Coming back from Búzios was like waking up from a good dream, the kind you beg to keep going, just five more minutes. But there was no snooze this time. Reality yanked me back with no mercy or pity.
Classes started up again and the weeks dragged by, one after another, gray and predictable. And Diego… Diego just went on with his life like normal. Went back to his girlfriend like nothing had happened between us, like those intense days had never existed. But for me it was a tsunami that flipped me inside out.
I was stuck replaying everything on loop in my head, unable to shut it off. Remembering the talks, the way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole, the “accidental” touches that gave me goosebumps. Our bodies pressed together when we played in the ocean and that kiss that never happened. It all kept coming back, like a movie stuck on repeat, eating at me and leaving me wet in the middle of class, squeezing my thighs under the desk.
It wasn’t just desire—it was this hot, dangerous mess that consumed me. I felt seen, wanted in a way I’d never felt before—almost possessed by that stare of his that seemed to know every one of my cravings. At the same time, guilt crushed my chest. He was my cousin. There was that wrong, forbidden thing about it, and that’s exactly why it was so fucking irresistible.
I touched myself at night thinking about him, imagining what would’ve happened if we’d taken it one step further. Diego wasn’t just some vacation crush. He’d lit something inside me I didn’t know how to put out.
And deep down, I didn’t want to put it out. I wanted it to burn hotter.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Hey Diary,
I know, I know… lately it feels like there’s only one thing on my mind: Diego. I swear I try not to think about him, but how the hell am I supposed to manage that when we run into each other every damn day?
And the worst part is this stupid way my body reacts to him. I go all dumb, speechless, frozen. My heart races, my stomach does flips, my hands get cold and I hate feeling like this.
Today the heat was unbearable. I got home from school with Carol just wanting to jump in the pool and forget the world. And of course, who was already there? Him.
I swear, Diary, I tried not to stare. We walked past the pool area and went straight to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, grabbed a freezing cold Coke and just stood there, all casual, pretending everything was normal until I heard that voice:
— Carol, bring me a soda!
Just his voice already wrecked me. Carol, being her usual smartass self, yelled back:
— Come get it yourself, lazy!
He came walking over slow, like it was in slow motion. Just in his speedo, barefoot, hair wet and messy, water dripping down his ripped abs. I should’ve been used to seeing him like that by now, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. My heart took off, my breathing got short and the temperature felt like it jumped five degrees just from him being there.
He walked into the kitchen all wet, leaned against the counter with that ridiculous ease and drank the soda straight from the bottle. I tried to look away and pretend I was messing with my phone, but I couldn’t help it. A drop of water slid slowly down his chest, ran over his defined muscles and disappeared right at the waistband of his speedo. I followed every inch of that drop like a total idiot.
When I looked up, he was staring at me. That little smirk, knowing exactly where I’d been looking. I went red, embarrassed as hell, dying of shame. I’m pretty sure he thought I was checking out the bulge in his speedo.
— What’s up, princess? — he said, in that voice that completely undid me.
God, I love when he calls me princess.
— What’s up, it’s really hot, huh? — I managed to answer, trying not to stutter.
That’s when Carol said she was going upstairs to put on her bikini. That was my cue to get out of that awkward mess:
— Carol, wait, I’m coming with you!
I followed her upstairs already knowing exactly which bikini I was putting on: the red string one, the one I bought in Búzios and purposely left at her house. Pure strategy.
Ever since we got back from Carnival, I’d been doing everything I could to get his attention. Super short, tight shorts that barely covered half my ass, bolder necklines, and of course the red bikini as my secret weapon. I wanted to provoke him. I wanted him to look. I wanted to mess with his head the same way he was messing with mine.
I put it on, checked myself in the mirror and went back down to the pool.
He gave me that look. Head to toe, no hiding it. No comment, just the stare. My face burned and my heart raced, but I’ll admit it: it felt fucking good knowing I was getting to him.
And deep down I knew it: I was playing with fire.
But at that age, I just wanted to feel it. Thinking could come later.
Let the games begin!