Clementine had become a wild child. Born in America but raised abroad, she now had little regard for the expectations of high society. But her reckless ways eventually catch up with her when she is kicked out of college in New York City and forced t...
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As they sat on some steps in the street by a plaza, eating an ice cream, Clementine looked at Zico and couldn't help but wonder how many hearts he'd broken.
"What's your favourite food?" He asked her.
It was strange she thought, that they still didn't know such mundane details about each other. That their attraction could be attributed to something bigger.
"I don't know," Clementine paused to think how she has been fed professional al her life and it was never something she got to choose. "Well, actually, I guess I picked up a like for international food. I love to learn about a culture like that. Italian food in Italy, Moroccan in Morocco..." She reflected on where she'd been, and it seemed hard to believe that she's been everywhere like that to now be in a tiny caffe in Rio didn't seem so farfetched.
"You're lucky," he said. "I've never left Brazil."
"Its no big deal," Clementine shrugged. "What about you?" She asked.
"Well, since I haven't left Brazil, I'd have to say there's nothing like a home cooked Brazilian meal. Lot's of meat, I think, is our staple.
Clementine felt a pang that even though it was home cooked that she was eating, it wasn't really, being made by chefs at the home instead.
"Ok my turn," he said. As if they were playing a questions game, "why did you leave New York?" He suddenly asked.
Clementine was afraid she'd have to talk about that sooner or later and now that the moment was here, she was still at a loss for words
"Things got...heavy. But people change and realign, I think all their lives. Change is inevitable,"
Clementine thought this explanation would have to do for now.
Zico nodded, but she saw there was some apprehension behind his eyes. Maybe they weren't as similar as she thought. But maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
"That's how we grow," Clementine said finally.
When they went back into the apartment, it was quiet and empty.
"I'm going to go take a shower," he said.
"Okay," Clementine was tired from the walking and sat on the couch, "I could probably use one too,"
"Do you want to join me?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.
Clementine looked at him for a moment and smiled, about to accept the invitation, "but would a lady do that?"
"I don't know," he said, "but you know where to find me."
Clementine stayed on the couch until she heard the water run. She counted to 10 and then went in.
First, finding him through the curtain slowly, then taking off her dress, she pushed the curtain aside and stepped inside.
"Finally," he said.
They soaped and lathered each others bodies, washing away the day's dust. Then, they ended up running a bath, and Clementine then sat on top of him, washing his hair.
It was strange to her, how tender this action felt. It was like peeling away at a deeper layer of the petals in a flower, and she couldn't' help but wonder how many petals were left.
