Zania: The Forgetful

chapter one

The thing about time is that it does not heal anything. It just lessens the sting. Just helps you forget little things. It seems like a kindness to forget your lover's smell or to be allowed to watch their fingerprints fade from the inside of your thighs. The sound of their laugh no longer plays in the background of your world. But these are not acts of kindness. How could it be when with the simplest tug of the thread everything falls apart?

They both knew deep down they would see each other again. Their city was just big enough to keep their distance but small enough that they would pass each other's buildings while on public transport. She fantasized about him recognizing her the moment he got on the bus. That he would debate over whether to make his presence known as she stared out the window or casually played on her phone. He would ponder so long that it would be too late when he finally made his move.

That they would only have a few seconds before she got off for her stop. That she would notice him only after he said her name, but she would not stay on for him so that they could catch up. She would not make herself late for him. She would not put herself second again for him, and he would learn that day that she was a different person. No longer a girl but a woman. She would imagine the emotional floodgates opening and all the texts he would send. The same way he did every time he found himself staying up with thoughts of her.

He, too, had fantasized about seeing her again. He imagined it at a party or a bar somewhere. He knew she didn't drink now, but when he knew her, she did. When he knew her she was twenty-two and living in her youth. When he knew her she only drank whiskey and cola because it was the only drink she could say in Castilian. When he knew her, she took women home and savored them more than he ever did. So that's how he thought he would see her. In a red dress, like the October they met and had coffee.

It would show off her curves. Curves he had been searching for in other women ever since. She looked so good in red. It was his second favorite to see her in but nothing beat seeing her in yellow. He wondered if she still wore that mustard dress he bought her. It was the last thing he saw her in. Anyway, sometimes he would imagine they would be at a party hosted by their mutual friend, Laura, who tried to get the three of them together every time she was in town.

This time she would accept because she is going through her routine phase of making up for all the times she had ignored her friends to draw into herself. She would probably bring her boyfriend along to protect her from Laura. Because Laura is obsessed with having her lick her pink c*nt, and she is lustful enough to do it. That's how he would see her. All horned up sitting on the sofa alone with her ankles crossed pretending to be innocent and of class. She would be alone because her boyfriend works too much and had to leave early.

He would not care if he was there anyway. She was his, too. She was too jealous to share, but he wasn't. She was too much woman for just one person anyway. She wouldn't say his name. She would call him daddy like she always did because that was his title. She was his baby girl. He only liked that shit with her. He would f*ck her that night, of course, and every night after. He would pretend that he did not hate her personality, just as she would pretend he did not make her cry all the f*cking time.

"Thank you for coming with me to pick up my fabrics."

Macie said, reminding him that he was fantasizing about an old hookup while with his new one. He had met Macie when he ran away to London. He was there to drown himself in whatever he could find, and she was there to spend her parents money. She moved to Spain on the premise of reconnecting with her roots. She had spent her entire life in the States and was happy to have him help her adjust.

"No pasa nada (Don't worry). Your school is next to your piso (flat). Not like I am doing another extra."

"Tienes razón. (You are right)."