Chapter Text
The Perfect Fit: The Center of the Circle
Patricia was lying face down on the bed, her elbows bent on the mattress and her chin resting in the space between her hands, while she drummed her feet on the pillow piled up next to the headboard.
«Why can't I stay away from you?»
She shrugs and gives him a little smile over her shoulder. «Brilliant personality? Good in bed? Ass that never gives up?»
He chuckles and lets his index finger slide down her spine, caressing the seraphic skin of her back. «Something like that.»
«Uh, uh,» she nods, popping a grape into her mouth as she turns her attention back to the television screen, where the Little Mermaid has just emerged from the sea, wrapped in the white fabric of a sail, tied together with ropes.
Néstor shifts his gaze to the screen and then lets it drift back down, smiling at the image in front of him: a half-naked Patricia, wrapped in white silk sheets with her hair loose, like waves on her shoulders.
The comparison is immediate.
She looked like a Little Mermaid.
His Little Mermaid.
He bends his legs, bringing them close to his chest, and pivoting on his hands, slides backwards, leaning his back against the headboard. He smirks amusedly when he notices that with his movement, the sheet, which hugged her slender figure, has pulled slightly, revealing the black lace covering her hip.
His gaze lingered for a few moments on the fabric peeking out from the white folds, bringing to his mind a very clear image of the Patricia who had welcomed him into her home that evening, lying on the sofa wearing his white coat and nothing else but those knickers.
If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the hardness of the floor beneath his knees when he bent down; the softness of the lace between his fingers as it slid over her skin until it lay in a colourful heap on the floor; the incredible scent that had enveloped his senses as soon as he bent down between her legs.
Joder, at that thought, his body reacts instinctively, pulling slightly against the crotch of his cotton trousers. He clears his throat, trying to adjust his trousers, overcome by a sudden sense of modesty, covering himself with the free part of the sheet.
Patricia, who appeared to be focused on the cartoon, did not miss the movement behind her, because she turned around and gave him a provocative look: «Are you enjoying the view?»
«The ass that just won't let up?» He smiles knowingly. «Immensely,» he says, staring at her ass, poorly concealed by the sheet tangled around her waist. He runs a hand over his pants, trying once again to ease the increasingly uncomfortable pressure of the fabric. Then he slaps his free hand on the mattress, in the space between her long bare legs stretched out beside him and his own legs. «Sit here close to me.»
«Promise we'll just watch the cartoon?» she says, biting her lower lip.
Nestor's attention immediately shifts from her eyes to her lips. «Are you sure that's what you want?» Patricia frees the pad of her lips from the grip of her teeth and, continuing to stare at him, grabs another grape that slowly disappears between her red lips. «I don't know why, but I would have said the opposite.»
«No, you’re wrong.»
«If you say so…» he sighs, licking his lips in turn. «I promise I won't touch you until we've finished watching…» He shifts his gaze from the lips that had captivated his attention to the TV screen, trying to remember the name of the red-haired girl singing on top of the rock. «What’s her name? Um... Arabella?»
Patricia's eyes widen, her lips curling into a surprised pout, utterly adorable.
«I would say no…» he smiles amusedly. «A-Arielle?»
Now her initial disbelief has turned to a scowl. «Ariel,» she teases him, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
How could you not know the Little Mermaid?
«Yes, well, that's what I said: Ariel.»
«Actually, you said Arielle,» she replies, emphasising the last letters of the name.
«It’s a matter of semantics,» Néstor stares at her, smiling.
«It’s a matter of distraction,» she remains silent at first, then curls her lips into a sarcastic smile: «Or maybe... cognitive overload.»
Néstor blinks repeatedly, completely stunned by the answer, and after a moment of silence, he leans forward, bringing his hand to his chin. «Cognitive overload?» he repeats. «Who are you? And what have you done with Patricia?»
Patricia puts her hand to her mouth, trying to suppress a smile. «What can I say? When you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.»
She reaches down to place the bowl of grapes on the floor, puts both hands down and, pivoting on her fingers, pushes herself up, returning her back to an upright position and then sitting on her knees. Néstor's gaze follows her every move.
Patricia pretends not to notice that intrusive gaze, even though her heart is beating faster in her chest, and feigning a confidence she does not possess, she lifts her bottom off her heels and walks on her knees towards the opposite edge of the bed.
The sheet, like a garment, slips off her body after her first few steps, leaving her completely naked under his gaze.
A mischievous smile plays on her lips.
Néstor does not miss that detail.
Seen from this position, she looked like the actor in that film they had watched together a few nights earlier. He had never seen Ghost, while Patricia knew every line by heart.
And now, as the bluish light from the screen illuminated the outline of her body like a halo, he thought of the absurd similarity between Patricia and a ghost, or an angel.
When their eyes met again, Patricia smiled knowingly, well aware of the effect her body had on him.
That body, which had disappointed and hurt her so many times over the last year, had blossomed like a phoenix from the ashes under Néstor's careful hands.
Over the past year, she had experienced firsthand that cancer is a blind and emotionless alien. A small lump that makes its way inside you and grows and replicates day after day. Like a force that wants to become mass. Like a stalactite, which, drop by drop, wants to invade the entire cave.
And it had almost succeeded.
Almost.
Months and months of treatment had weakened her faith and extinguished the light of hope. And as her arms turned blue from the IVs, her blood became infected, her stomach closed up and she no longer had the strength to do anything; he arrived, like a beam of light illuminating every dark corner of her mind.
It took time to regain the confidence that had always characterized her. The breast surgery she had undergone a few months earlier had certainly helped her regain her confidence and make her feel like a woman again. The strong, confident woman she had always been.
For months and months she had felt ugly, inadequate, a vessel without identity, but now, with Néstor's eyes on her, she felt alive again.
She felt like herself again.
With Néstor by her side, she had stopped thinking about percentages, probabilities, the hammering fear of dying. The fear of not making it.
With Néstor by her side, she had started living again.
The alien would not win.
«Right now, I think I'm seriously overloaded,» Néstor's voice brings her back to reality. The desire that colours his pupils makes her cheeks flush.
«Do you like what you see?» she says, clenching her lower lip between her teeth again. An unconditional reflex that seems to occur every time she is with him.
«You have no idea,» he crosses his arms behind his head and lets his eyes wander over her body again, covered only by those skimpy knickers. The sinuous movement of her thighs as she moves across the bed drives him crazy. He shakes his head slightly as he looks down at the sheets and bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a moan. The pressure in his groin is now unbearable. «It’s going to be hard to keep my promise,» he whispers in a voice so low that if she hadn't been so close, she wouldn't have heard him. «Very hard.»
Patricia smiles, curling her lips into an adorable pout, then leans forward to give him a light kiss on the lips. «I promise you that if you succeed, it will be worth it,» she murmurs, winking at him.
It was an uneven match, completely unfair, and she knew it.
She knew it very well.
But challenging him was an irresistible temptation. She loved teasing him and pushing him to his limits.
Néstor closed his eyes. Patricia's warm breath still on his lips.
He opened his eyes and smiled knowingly at her before leaning forward, closing the distance between them. If she wanted to play, he would play her game.
In an instant, he closes the distance between their faces and captures her lips, licking them with the tip of his tongue. Then, once he has traced the entire perimeter of her lower lip, he bites it gently, sucking it between his teeth.
After a few seconds in which Patricia remained motionless, passively accepting his attack, she awakens from her emotional trance and actively responds to the kiss. What began as just a game, a challenge without too many pretensions, quickly evolves into something much deeper.
She places one hand at the base of his neck and runs her fingers upwards, tangling them in his hair, gathering the unruly curls in her fist. The low grunt that escapes Néstor's lips is the signal she has been waiting for before pushing their bodies together.
From this position, it is impossible to hide from her the effect her naked body has on him.
Patricia smirks coquettishly, feeling him press against her centre. She leans back, moving her hips against him. Then she pushes forward, and that is the beginning of her end.
She has just made a mistake.
A serious, very serious mistake.
She realises too late the mistake she has just made.
He wastes no time and accompanies her movements, pushing his pelvis upwards, making their sexes fit together perfectly, now separated only by a thin layer of fabric.
The friction is painful.
It burns their bodies at the slightest touch, and like a flame, the heat spreads from the point where their thighs meet to the innermost part of their bodies. A core of fire that burns relentlessly.
She closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation of their bodies rubbing against each other indecently. As if they were two high school students experiencing their first sexual encounters, they rub against each other shamelessly. Their bodies rub together in a pale imitation of what will happen shortly.
With a restrained sigh, she lets her head fall back, knowing that in a moment he will hold her on his fingertips, yearning for a relief that only he can give her.
The way he pushes against her knickers is driving her crazy.
She sighs in frustration as she fights against her own desire.
She has pushed herself too far and is falling victim to her own game.
Losing has never felt so good.
Néstor's lips stretch into a victorious smile.
She pushes forward and recaptures his lips, grabbing them with her teeth, sighing again, this time more slowly, before slowly rotating her pelvis on his hips.
If she had to lose the battle, she would force him to raise the white flag first.
Then she moves away, resting her hands on his broad shoulders. Their lips are little more than a breath apart.
«Néstor», she whispers on his lips. «You’re not keeping your promise.»
«Neither do you,» he murmurs hoarsely. «You’re terrible,» he says quietly, as he runs his hands up her bare thighs. «But remember, it takes two to tango,» and with that, he grabs her ass and slides his hands down, moving the lace covering her entrance. He pushes forward, sliding the tip of his erection, still covered by the fabric of his boxers, over her bare skin. A slight wet spot forms where the cotton touches her body.
The moan escapes her lips without warning. She leans forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder, her body following the movement.
Her face is red. Her rapid breathing catches in her throat every time she feels him closer.
Her mind is a dense cloud of disjointed thoughts.
«Do you still want me to keep my promise?» A hint of a smile plays on his lips and his eyes sparkle with irony.
Since when did he have this power over her?
Damn bastard.
«I always keep my promises, but what about you, Dr Moa?» she shrugs her shoulders, letting her head fall to one side.
In response, Néstor pushes his hips upwards again, forcing her to hold her breath.
He watches with amusement as the blush spreads from her neck to her cheeks, a map of red dots and specks colouring her skin. She can deny it all she wants, but her skin doesn't lie, betraying her in the most obvious way.
He sits up, pulling her with him, as he caresses her cheek, brushing her with his fingers down to her chin, which he takes between his thumb and forefinger. When their faces are at the same height, he leans forward, planting a quick kiss on her lips, leaving her stunned by this sudden, tender gesture and with her gut on fire.
Patricia parts her lips to speak, but Néstor doesn't give her time to utter a word. He pushes forward, pinning her back against the sheets.
He grabs her arms by the wrists, pinning them just above her head. He kisses the corner of her mouth and slides down, brushing his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck, where he stops to gently bite the exact spot he knows will drive her crazy. Just behind her ear.
He blows softly on one breast, while his hand travels to the other, and with his thumb he slowly touches the tip of her nipple, then pinches it. The reaction is immediate. Her back arches forward as another moan escapes her lips.
Néstor repeats the movement of his hands while his tongue circles the areola before grasping the nipple between his lips and sucking it.
A delicious shock runs through her to her loins.
The heat that quickly spreads between her legs should make her feel ashamed. Oh, please, she begs inwardly, clutching the sheet she had grabbed in her fist even tighter at the exact moment Néstor's attention shifted from her lips to her breasts.
«Are you still sure you want to keep watching the cartoon?» he murmurs, continuing his slow assault.
«Oh, shut up!» she whispers angrily, bringing both hands into his hair, plunging them into his unruly curls.
She pushes him down with her hands and he complies, letting her move him, kissing and licking every part of her body that trembles under his attention.
He moves her knickers down with his mouth and leaves a wet kiss on her skin.
A curse escapes her lips: «God». Her breathing quickens, her eyes close and her head pushes against the pillow.
Néstor looks up smiling, a perverse thought glinting in his eyes.
Patricia's heart beats faster.
He continues to descend over her body as he traces an abstract path between her thighs with his fingertips. He caresses her, pinches her, kisses her. Her skin burns with every touch, as if fire and ice had passed through her together. He spreads her legs even wider and positions himself between them. Then, with a cheeky smile she knows all too well, he tears away the lace barrier between his lips and her pleasure.
«Hey, those were expensive» she protests.
«I’ll buy you a new pair,» he says, then bends down again, covering her thigh with kisses. He leaves a trail of saliva from her knee to the top of her thigh; and then he repeats the same movements on her other leg. He licks and sucks until he returns between her legs again. At that point, he brushes her sex with his nose, with a gentle, almost delicate touch.
Patricia stretches out one leg, kicking the cushion that was in her way with her foot.
«Joder», she repeats, shaking her head as Néstor grabs her leg again to pull her back into place. He bends it and spreads it again, leaving her completely exposed to his hungry gaze.
At that point, he stops, waiting for her to calm down. Patricia's face is terribly red, her breathing is irregular, her chest rises and falls rhythmically. She opens and closes her hands into fists, clenching the sheets between her fingers in a movement that she hopes will help her to regain her composure. Then she raises her head to look at him, breathless and mouth open.
«You know, you smell wonderful, Presidenta,» he murmurs, and without taking his eyes off hers, he buries his nose between her legs.
That nickname, which in the past would have made her furious, now sends a shiver down her spine. Her cheeks tingle with heat, her eyelashes flutter.
How many things have changed in such a short time. When they met, she was the president to fight against, now she is the one to mix her skin with.
Néstor presses a soft kiss a few centimeters from where she is so desperate to feel him, and she involuntarily pushes her hips forward to get closer to his lips.
«A little more to the left,» she whispers, swaying her hips in time with the movement of his lips. Néstor pulls his lips away from her skin again, using his hands to push her hips back onto the mattress. She snorts impatiently, turning her eyes upwards. «Can you just—»
«Hey, here's an idea.» Néstor growls against her thigh, his stubble against her skin giving her goose bumps, and she instinctively puts her hand over her mouth to stop a moan. She wasn't going to let him win so easily. «How about, for once, you stop managing everything and…» he runs a finger over her sex, the contact making her jump and her stomach contract in an involuntary movement. She clenches her teeth on her thumb, which she has placed over her lips in a desperate attempt not to make a sound. «Just enjoy the moment?»
Patricia raises her head again, looking at him annoyed. «Could you just stop moving arou-aaa» The last word turns into a high-pitched falsetto as Néstor bends between her legs again and licks her lengthwise.
«Ah!» she moans again as his tongue slips inside her, sliding from bottom to top.
Her body trembles and arches at the touch of his mouth.
Néstor chuckles with satisfaction, finally managing to silence her.
He continues to trace circles with his tongue, without stopping to torment her. Patricia is losing all control and every atom of her being is focused on the small, powerful power station between her thighs. And when her legs stiffen, he slips a finger inside her, making her moan loudly.
«Oh, baby. I love it when you get so wet for me.»
«Don’t call me,» she says between moans, «baby.»
In response, he describes a wide circle with his fingers, while his tongue mimics his actions, turning in circles. He curls them inside her and reaches that exact spot that he knows will make her give in within seconds.
Months of enthusiastic practice had taught him to play masterfully with Patricia's body.
It's too much. Too strong. Too intense. Too beautiful. Her body craves relief and can no longer avoid it. She didn't want to give in, not after openly challenging him to see who could hold out the longest, but her body and mind are not in sync, and while her mind screams to stop, her body urges her to run towards pleasure and push herself again and again and again until she reaches the highest peak.
Néstor slightly parts his lips, leaving them a few millimeters from her sex, his warm breath caressing her skin. She has reached her limit and she knows it. He smiles with satisfaction before kissing her again, and the moment his lips touch her skin, Patricia lets herself go, forgetting all rational thought as pleasure overwhelms her. She lets out a scream and the world collapses and disappears from her view as the force of her orgasm cancels out everything around her.
She gasps with her mouth open until her moans are muffled by Néstor's wet lips.
When he kisses her, she tastes herself on his tongue.
Their lips brush against each other, savouring each other slowly. He is gentle, delicate, so different from the fiery kisses of a moment ago, when desire clouded all rational thought.
Patricia runs her hands over his muscular back until she reaches the base of his neck and slips her fingers into his slightly damp hair. She pulls it, pushing his head upwards, and a satisfied sigh escapes her lips when she feels Néstor position himself between her legs.
His teeth close around her upper lip, his mouth tightens and won't let her escape.
Patricia closes her eyes and as he slowly penetrates her all the way, her nails dig into his back, leaving a red mark on his skin. He pauses inside her for a moment, giving her time to get used to him before he starts moving.
It is such a sweet and painful sensation, brutal and tender at the same time.
«How do you feel?» he murmurs, always attentive and alert, looking for any sign. He will never be able to completely separate his being a doctor from his being a man.
«Well, I feel good,» she whispers. «Definitely very good,» she adds with a smile.
Néstor lowers his head, his warm breath caressing her skin. Her cheeks are so red that he wonders if she will ever return to her natural pale pink colour.
Her lips are swollen, her eyes glassy.
The rhythm, initially slow, increases appropriately. He moves faster and faster, pushing deeper. In and out, and in and out again, with relentless desire. Moans follow each thrust of his hips, leaving them both breathless.
«Come to me, baby,» he murmurs hoarsely.
Again with that hateful nickname.
Patricia wanted to respond, to slap him, bite him or headbutt him, but Néstor's hand moved downwards and caressed her where their bodies met, silencing any protest.
He moved his fingers in sync with the movements of his pelvis and with one last deep thrust, her body exploded, convulsively clenching around him.
She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and, accompanied by the trembling of her body, he reached climax.
He collapses on top of her and Patricia feels herself sinking into the mattress under his weight.
Both of them are breathing unevenly, as if competing in a breath-holding contest.
Patricia loosens her grip and moves her arms upwards, wrapping them around his neck again.
She remains motionless beneath him until Néstor raises himself up on his elbows and looks at her.
«You’re incredible,» he whispers a few centimeters from her lips.
«I know,» she says with a blissful smile, «and don't you ever dare call me baby again.’
«Why?» He frowns, feigning surprise. «Don’t you like it?»
«No,» she replies curtly, patting him on the shoulder. «You know, I hate it.»
«You don't like me calling you baby-y,» he repeats, drawing out the last vowel. It's a mixture of a moan and a groan. Pushing forward, he pulls out of her and then enters her again with a single decisive thrust. Patricia's body bends with his movement, contracting again. «But it doesn't seem like you dislike it,» he whispers, «am I wrong, or are you contradicting yourself? You politicians have this strange way of saying the exact opposite of what you think.»
Patricia laughs softly, snorting air out of her nose. She tries to move upwards to reduce the friction between the two bodies, but she cannot move an inch.
Néstor fills every space inside and outside her.
«I don't want to be called Patri,» she says, as Néstor leans down to kiss her neck. «Corazón,» she adds, breathless, as the trail of kisses stops just below her ear. «Paula kept calling me like that, every single day of the chemo.» His lips part slightly and then suck on her skin. «No,» she moves her neck in an attempt to pull away from his lips before they leave a visible mark on her skin. «Come on, stop it!» She snorts with laughter as she grabs his shoulders to push him away. «No marks, remember?»
In response, Néstor tries to regain the lost space and bite the tender skin of her neck. He almost succeeds when Patricia moves her hands upwards and closes his mouth with her left palm. «And most of all, I hate being called baby.»
She looks at him, remaining silent for a second, while her lips curl into an adorable pout.
«Pa-Tri-Cia», she says, exaggerating the space between the syllables, «Repeat after me».
Néstor mutters something into his palm and lets out an amused laugh.
«I'm serious, you know?» she says, propping herself up on her elbows. Their faces are at the same height.
Now that there is no longer a barrier over his mouth, he can speak freely.
«Pa-» he leans forward, brushing her nose with his, «Tri-» and then a warm smile pulls at his lips as he leaves the word hanging in the air.
She snorts in exasperation and, placing a hand on his chest, pushes him aside. «Cia,» she adds, frowning at him.
Néstor, caught off guard, loses his balance and lands beside her. He remains lying on his back, turning only his face towards her, who copies his position as if she were in front of a mirror, and repeats the full name with amusement. «Pa-tri-cia».
«You see, it didn't take that much effort,» she whispers weakly, sounding like a purring cat.
Satisfied that she has achieved her goal, she moves closer again, shifting sideways on the bed and intertwining their legs. She curls up beside him, resting her head on his chest.
Néstor lifts the sheets, covering them both with the fabric. The silk feels cool against their heated bodies.
He puts his arm around her shoulders to pull her even closer. They remain in this position for the next twenty minutes, watching the cartoon.
«This is my favourite part,» Patricia says suddenly, moving her legs as if she wants to get even closer, even though their bodies are already perfectly joined. So close that it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. United in that perfect fit. As if nothing in nature had ever truly matched before.
Néstor watches her, captivated by her expression. She is so happy that her eyes seem to smile, and this is certainly one of his three favourite expressions of hers.
Her third favourite expression, to be precise.
The second is when she smiles, pursing her lips in that adorable pout before pulling them back between her teeth.
And the first is when she whispers his name.
She had a way of saying it that gave him goose bumps.
Patricia turns her head slightly and finds his eyes already on her, waiting for her gaze.
«Que?» she asks.
«Nothing.»
Her lips peek out between her teeth. They are still red and swollen. «You’re not paying attention and… you're missing the best part.»
«I’m not paying attention,» he nods, moving his hand to her hip, caressing her soft skin. «But I assure you, I don't miss the best part.»
His sincerity never ceases to amaze her. She should be used to it by now, yet her heart skips a beat before resuming its drumming in her chest.
She swallows the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and lowers her gaze.
I don’t miss the best part. The thought is fleeting, but it still colours her cheeks.
«Okay, I'll give you a quick recap,» she says, propping herself up slightly on her elbow. «Ariel, not Arielle.» she shakes her head, accompanying each word with a hand gesture. Her finger moves through the air to emphasise her point. «Just Ariel.»
Néstor lets out a short laugh. He runs a hand dramatically across his face before replying: «Yes, I understand. Go on.»
«Okay, fine,» she tilts her head to one side, shifting her gaze from his face to the TV screen. «Ariel has to find a way to get kissed by Eric before time runs out, otherwise she’ll turn into ugly seaweed and become part of the sea witch’s harem of seaweed.»
«The seaweed harem?» he asks, frowning.
«Don’t interrupt me, coño.»
«Sorry, sorry,» he raises his hands in surrender. «No more interruptions, I promise.»
«Good,» she replies, running a hand over her forehead and brushing away the stray lock of hair that was peeking out over her face. «What was I saying?»
«The seaweed harem,» he replies, trying to be as serious as possible, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. Suppressed laughter creeps in between words, making him speak in fits and starts.
The grim look he receives in return makes him laugh even more.
«Does it make you laugh that much?»
«A little,» he says, unable to hold back another laugh that seems to come straight from his heart.
Patricia rolls her eyes and shakes her head slightly. Her lips stretch into a smile she cannot hide.
«Do you want to know what happens or not?»
«I’m all ears,» he says, then presses his thumb and index finger together and runs them over his lips, mimicking the action of a zip closing.
With an exaggeratedly dramatic sigh, Patricia resumes speaking.
«Ariel has to get Eric to kiss her, which would be easy since the guy is into her, but... drum roll,» and as she says this, she raises her hands, miming the words with her hands. «Eric is in love with the girl who saved him on the beach,» she moves one hand forward theatrically. «Who is obviously her, but the boy hasn't realised it yet, and she can't tell him, otherwise she would break her pact with the witch of the sea.»
«And he would become seaweed.»
«Very good!» She smiles with satisfaction, pointing a finger forward in his direction.
«I'm beginning to understand a thing or two about why you are the president of the Generalitat.» he says with a cheeky smile.
Patricia rolls her eyes. «A little undisciplined, but you are still a good student, Dr Moa.»
At this moment, the image of Ariel and Eric on the boat flashes across the screen, while Patricia nods her head in mid-air, humming the song softly.
The hand she had placed next to her face moves in a circle, drawing small circles on the hair on Néstor's chest, caressing his skin with her fingertip.
There you see her
Sitting there across the way
She don't got a lot to say
But there's something about her
And you don't know why
But you're dying to try
You wanna kiss the girl
«And then?»
«What?»
«And then what happens?»
Patricia lowers her head back onto his chest. «And then we have to watch it.»
He looks down, running a hand through the golden hair scattered across his skin, his lips curving upwards into a sweet smile at the sound of her voice singing along with the crab.
Sing with me now
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
My oh my
Look like the boy too shy
Ain't gonna kiss the girl
Sha-la-la-la-la-la
Ain't that sad?
Ain't it a shame?
Too bad, he gonna miss the girl
«The Sea King will be furious,» he whispers as Eric and Ariel draw dangerously close.
«Ariel is the princess of the sea, she doesn't have to answer to anyone,’ she nods. ‘And besides, her father will come to terms with it.»
But just before they kiss, when their lips are barely a breath apart, the boat capsizes and the two guys end up in the water.
«Have you ever thought about what it would be like?»
«What?»
«If we made our relationship public, if we stopped arguing on television and pretending to be strangers…»
If we stopped pretending we didn't love each other, that's what he omitted.
She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Always,» she replied, taking him by surprise.
Her sincerity had the power to destroy and create, and at that moment, her words could change the world.
«And?»
«We don't live in the kingdom of the sea, and our life isn't a fucking Disney cartoon,» she replies, pressing her lips together. «Besides, we wouldn't be doing this,» she adds, turning her head towards his neck and caressing his skin with her lips. Her hand slides down, caressing his chest, but just before she slips under the sheets and reaches him, Néstor stops her.
It was always like that with her: when she felt cornered, she found a way to attack before being attacked.
They had been dancing around the issue for weeks and now, as usual, as soon as she realised she was entering into dangerous territory, she used sex as a bargaining chip to distract him, and usually that would have been a good enough excuse to let the matter drop, but not today. This time he wouldn't allow it.
He would pull her head out of the sand, whatever the cost.
She tries to free her wrist from his grip. She rubs her nose under his ear and then leaves a wet kiss in the same spot. Néstor doesn't budge an inch, keeping his hand firmly on her waist.
On her second attempt, she snorts impatiently.
«It’s complicated, you know.»
Complicated.
Her favourite word.
Once again, this term seems to have become the subtitle of their relationship.
Assuming that this constant touch-and-go can be called a relationship.
Everything is always complicated.
Things never go smoothly.
He hates her gloomy assessment.
He knows it's the truth and that the party would kick her out immediately. Even before immediately.
Sleep with the enemy.
What a shame.
What a scandal.
Apparently, you can have terminal cancer that eats away at your life day after day, but you are not allowed to live your life freely.
Cancer yes, unionised doctors no.
What hypocrisy.
They fall silent again and remain seated there, in each other's arms, suspended in the little bubble that protects them from reality.
«Complicated for whom?» He raises his eyebrows in a not-so-silent question. «The commission can't tell me anything more, I'm no longer your doctor.»
«No, you aren't anymore.» He feels her shift beside him as if searching for a less uncomfortable position. But no position would have made her words less uncomfortable. «But that changes nothing. We are not allowed the benefit of the doubt.» She slightly shakes her head as she gets up, turning her back to him. «We barely survived that damn photo that came out during the electoral campaign, imagine if we made our relationship public now.» She raises her arms, running her hands through her hair. «It would be like screaming to all of Valencia that we lied. Deny a photo just over a month ago, only to do what? How…» She lets her arms fall back to her sides, making a dull thud as they hit the mattress. «We can't do it. Not now.»
«Not now, or never?»
Patricia rotates her body, tilting her head to the side. «Néstor…» there is a veiled plea in her words. Please don't do this to me.
«Is it because of my political position?» he asks, and as he does, he also moves, sitting up himself. «If it doesn't matter to you, why should it matter to them?»
«Because I am them, Néstor,» she bursts out, annoyed.
«No, first and foremost, you are a person who has the right to live her life, without restrictions, without constraints, without imposed limits.» She looks at him sideways, the words stuck in her throat like a bitter mouthful. «You know, sometimes I think you don't want to overcome these limits, and all you do is enlarge the circle you're trapped in.»
«That’s not true,» she replies, her voice barely a whisper.
The sarcastic look he gives her speaks louder than a thousand words. It seems to tell her: Prove me wrong.
A heavy silence stretches between them, capturing all the air in the room. The afternoon they had just spent rolling around in bed is now forgotten. A distant memory.
«I don't wanna argue,» Patricia says as she gathers the sheet to cover her chest, suddenly feeling too exposed. Searching the cold sheet for a shield to protect herself with.
«We are not fighting, Patricia,» he stretches his arms forward, placing his hands on his knees. «We are talking. Couples do that, you know?» He raises his eyebrows with an amused look. «They call it communication.»
«Mph,» she chuckles, blowing air out through her nose.
He searches for her gaze, while Patricia, absorbed, keeps staring at the sheet. With her fingers, she strokes the folds, trying to flatten the crumpled texture. «It’s not fighting just because you're not the one holding the reins.»
Néstor takes a deep breath. On his shoulders, the weight of a conversation they have been putting off for too long. He didn't want to force her; he wouldn't be the one to impose more limits on her, but he needed to know they were on the same wavelength and that he wasn't the only one who had jumped on a moving train without looking back.
He raises a hand and strokes her cheek, reclaiming the space that separates them. At the contact, Patricia raises her head, locking their gazes together.
«Choosing means including some things and excluding others…» He holds his breath for a moment, swallowing the doubts and fears that have accompanied him for months. The moment of pause between the words grips her in the gut. «I chose you.»
I chose you.
The words, heavy, float between them for an instant, occupying all the space. They nestle in her mind and then slide between her sternum and shoulder blades, where they find their place.
I chose you.
Her heart fills like her mind empties.
He chose me.
Patricia breathes softly, while her heart pounds loudly. She can do nothing but try to hold back the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
Néstor runs his thumb across her cheek, caressing her, and with the slow movement, he collects with his fingertip a tear that escaped the netting of her lashes. «You don't have to choose now. I'm only asking you to enlarge the circle and leave me space to enter. To truly enter. I don't want to remain sitting on the edge.»
Patricia sniffs, passing a hand over her eyes. She presses her lips together, biting them between her teeth, in an attempt to suppress the myriad of emotions overwhelming her.
She doesn't want to cry, not now, not in front of him. But his words continue to echo in her head and flow like a rushing river breaking its banks, bringing all her repressed emotions to the surface.
Néstor lifts his other hand, cupping her face between his palms, and then moves forward, allowing their noses to touch. «Don’t cry,» he whispers against her lips.
Patricia is about to answer, but a sob escapes instead of words.
«Shhh,» he whispers, «Calm down.»
His hands slide from her face down to the back of her neck; with a slight pressure, he pulls her close, embracing her against his chest.
Patricia surrenders to the hug and to the warmth of his body. In an instant, every barrier she had meticulously erected around herself for years seems to melt away.
«I can wait. I can do it for you. But this conversation is only postponed.» He murmurs softly, kissing her hair. «For now.»
«For now,» she repeats, her eyes still glistening.
They are nestled against each other again, immersed in the blue light of the television which casts its shadows over both of them. Background music accompanies the scenes on the screen.
The spell is broken: Ariel emerges from the water, finally human, wearing a shimmering gown, while King Triton, with a gesture of love and acceptance, has given her legs permanently. The underwater kingdom and the terrestrial one are finally at peace.
An ironic smile surfaces on his lips as he catches the parallel between their situation and The Little Mermaid cartoon; he mocks himself for such an infantile comparison.
But watching the kiss between Eric and Ariel, his heart is gripped by a deep hope: to find that same serenity, one day, and be able to love this woman in the light of day, without having to hide anymore. To find their space, the exact center where they can exist and stop feeling wrong.
He strokes her bare shoulders and sighs thoughtfully. Patricia's breathing is slow and steady, a small warm puff against his skin. He feels the soft curve of her cheek and the silky texture of her hair. The lightness of her sleeping body next to his creates a small, private refuge from the outside world.
A tender smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he can't help but think that Patricia's face resting in the crook of his neck is the missing piece to the disconnected puzzle of his life, the key to everything, the center of the circle.