Why...?
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Ongoing<5 mins
Last published Thu, Mar 5, 2015
My name is Juan Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Nepomuceno de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Martyr Patricio Clito Ruíz Picasso. I know quite a mouthful. George thought it was beautiful and identified me as a human being. George loved me...or so I thought.
When I came to England I was scared and afraid. I had come into the country in the engines of a ferry and somehow the immigration found out and were after me. I ran and I ran and I ran weaving through in and out of streets when I bumped into George. As soon as he looked seductively into my eyes I knew he was the one. I stumbled over my words as I was awestruck by his beauty but he didn't seem to care. I should have stopped there. I wanted to keep running but I was attracted to him like lesbians to a fish market. When I finally was able to force the words "help me" out of my mouth he roughly grabbed me and stuffed me inside his boot. I didn't care where I was going just as long as I was with him and only him. I thought of it as an unplanned adventure only it turned out to be an adventure I never wished I endeavoured on.
Hours trickled by like minutes as I was excited for what was next in my crazy life. He pulled me out and I think he sad we were in a place called Norwich. He grabbed me close to him and I held onto him. As we walked down the road people with webbed feet walked past us congratulating us for some reason and saying I hope you guys are happy. I just smiled and nodded...smile and nodded. I don't think I'll be able to smile properly again.
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They say you can leave a place, but its ghosts follow. I thought I could outrun everything-the pain, fear, and memories clinging to me. Germany was a chapter I was desperate to close, a love turned poison staining every page. At twenty-four, I was a nurse who cared for others while ignoring my own wounds. Leaving wasn't a choice; it was survival. With a suitcase and passport, I fled to a future I couldn't picture. Colombia wasn't part of the plan. I knew nothing of its language or culture, yet Bogotá became my refuge. The early 90s in Colombia were steeped in violence, thick as smoke in the air. But even amidst chaos, the city felt alive, its streets a symphony of car horns, shouting vendors, and music. In that noise, I began to rediscover myself. And then came Javier Peña. A shadowed man, dangerous and magnetic. A DEA agent whose presence shifted everything. I had fled one man's destruction only to orbit another's intensity. But this wasn't Germany, wasn't control or suffocation. It was something else-something raw, unpredictable. Love doesn't wait for readiness. It storms in, consuming and undeniable. Meeting Javier wasn't just chance; it was the beginning of my reckoning, salvation, and undoing. Looking back, I think I always knew.
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