The Turning Point

CHAPTER THIRTY- MY WEAKNESS

William

I'm simple. Straightforward. No beating around the bush. I don't care about stories or promises, much less about the expectations they put on me. I'm not the kind of man who listens to dreams, fears, or asks how the day was. For me, all that is noise. What I want is physical, immediate. No complications, no feelings.
I observe, choose, and go straight to the point. The words that come out of my mouth are calculated, sharp, designed to break down any resistance. Everything I do... it's all part of the game. Because in the end, I expect nothing more than what we both know we're there to do.
When I touch, it's not with delicacy. It's not with tenderness. It's with firmness, with a clear purpose. My goal is not to build anything—it's to consume. I want to feel the heat, the smell, the taste. I want to hear the heavy breathing, the whispers, the moans. I want the instant, the moment when everything explodes.
And then? Then I get up, get dressed, and move on. No lingering looks, no affectionate goodbyes. Because that's what it is. An exchange, nothing more. There's no room for feelings, no time for regrets or for building something I know will crumble.
If they think I'm cold, so be it. I see no problem in being exactly what I am: someone who prefers the simplicity of desire to the confusion of feelings. It's easier that way. Safer. Because love, attachment, dependence... those things only bring weakness. And weakness is something I don't accept. That was left behind when I was a weak boy.
But something was different.
Patsy was there, in the hotel bed. At one point, her warm skin was under my fingers, her lips seeking mine. It was exactly the kind of moment I always controlled. But for the first time, nothing made sense.
Empty touches, tasteless kisses. My mind wasn't there.
I pushed her away several times. Patsy had drunk more whiskey on the way to the hotel, and I couldn't take advantage of a drunk woman. But that wasn't all. I didn't want her either.
I managed to push her away, and she finally fell asleep.
I got out of bed. Patsy mumbled something, turned to the side, and went back to sleep. I covered her and left. She didn't even notice when I left the room.
I drove back to the farm, the empty road reflecting my inner self.
Heloyse took over my mind.
And somehow, everything I had always believed began to crumble.
I tried to ignore it. I tried to stifle it, to push away any thought that led me to her. I tried to convince myself that it was just desire, that it was just the need to have something that seemed out of my reach.
What's wrong with me?
The way seemed longer than usual. The dark road, the sound of the engine, the cold wind... everything only increased the weight in my chest.
And then came the thought I had been trying to avoid all night.
Heloyse and Johnson.
I didn't know what bothered me more: the possibility that she could really reciprocate him or the fact that, deep down, he could be, for her, a much better man than me.
I didn't feel jealous. I didn't get attached.
So why, damn it, did I feel like something was being torn from me?