I’m the queen of relationship advice, but I’m not living it. Quite the opposite, actually. I remember a time where I always said: if a man doesn’t accept you for who you are, then that doesn’t make them a good partner.
In my defense, I was never talking about my dark side or the demons of the person I was giving advice to. It’s not like I’m proud of it, but it’s my family. They’re all I know, and that life was part of me for so many years. I don’t live in it, nor will I ever. But I do love my brother and even my father, despite their business dealings.
I just can’t get my head out of my ass.
It’s all a mindfuck, the incentive being one that I can’t understand.
I know I’m complicated, and sometimes I contradict myself. But being a bad bitch is a mentality, and I plan to harness that when I do eventually tell him.
Meaning, maybe in four years. Preferably never.
He’s going to want to meet my family one day, and he’s going to stumble around a corner and see a room full of drugs, weapons, or maybe even someone being tortured. It wouldn’t be the best environment for our kids, but at least then I would have something to keep us together.
Ale, you’re so fucked up.
Relationships aren’t built on lies, and I know that. I would never want him to lie to me, but that would make me a hypocrite if I didn’t tell him.
Polanco is the place I call home. I’m walking around the streets days before my home Grand Prix, hand in hand with Luca. It’s summer and the sun is blazing, meaning that we’re both wearing sunglasses and baseball caps. Hoping that we’re going around incognito. I don’t know if it’s working. If anyone were to hear the conversation I’m planning on having with him, not only would the government be after me, but my own blood would probably kill me.
It’s depressing if you think about it. It’s not like my dad has any feelings in his poor little black heart. He did kill my mother. I’m a part of her, and in his mind, that will justify murdering my ass.
You need to stop thinking too much and enjoy the next moments in which you and Luca are happy. Because they’re about to come to an end in a few hours.
“Where are we going?” Luca questions.
“The castle here in Mexico, it’s called El Castillo de Chapultepec. It’s on a mountain so that you can see all the way from Polanco to La Condesa. When Mexico was invaded by the Spanish, a lot of European settlers came and conquered. When the Spanish were weakened here in Mexico, an Austrian archduke was placed as emperor. He took control of the castle and made it extremely European.” He nods when we enter the forest-like park. The uphill climb is a few miles away. I can see it in the distance.
“Remember when I told you I would get you back for making me walk up the Spanish steps?” He looks at me, nodding, and I smile.
“This is payback.” Motioning at the slant, he gives me a look.
“And?” He doesn’t know what he’s in for.
“You’ll just have to experience its greatness. The view is beautiful.” I’m trying to make him not realize that there’s going to be a full walking experience that most people can’t get through. It’s about a forty-minute uphill climb.
“I can promise you,ragazza, this is going to be nothing like you going up minor steps and losing your breath as if you were going to have a heart attack.”
“It’s so much worse.” I walk past him and start walking. He follows behind.
“You know I would have never taken Mexico for having a castle.”
“The first time we met, I defended my country. I thought you would have taken the impression that we have everything.”
“I doubt it.”
“Don’t offend your girl’s country, embrace it.” He goes quiet. Did I go too far with the “your girl” thing? Maybe I’m taking this way too seriously and nothing is really happening. Way to give me a panic attack on top of the one I’m already having.
We continue walking with our arms swinging and legs bending due to the incline. I see people running past me. They’re obviously doing some type of workout; their attire alludes to it. “Why would people give themselves the pain of running up this?”
“We are professional athletes, and you say that.” I quirk my eyebrow.
“Ex-professional athlete,ragazza. And I have the image of you dying while walking up a few steps in Italy ingrained in my head.” I look at him, offended. “A few steps? Are you serious? I walked up a marathon’s worth of stairs. Don’t question my stamina.” He laughs when I point a finger at him.
“I’m not questioning your stamina, baby. There have been many occasions where your stamina was stronger than mine.” He winks and gives me a knowing expression.
Pervert.
I keep walking, not feeling like responding to his comment about our sex life. He should be happy about it. I can keep up with his man-whore personality. What a great line, I should have said that to him. It would have been the perfect comeback.