With You

The terrifying darkness faded again, revealing my bare, bruised body.

My brownish hand trembled as I pushed myself onto my side and gripped my head, the blood discomfortingly rushing.

I felt a droplet of blood tumble from my lip and watched it mix with the dampness around me.

A singular drop of rain plummeted from the sky and crawled through my disheveled, coily hair and to my scalp, signaling December's next rainfall.

The dankness around me contorted into a grey blur as tears flowed to my cheeks.

"Weak," I whispered. "Weak," I repeated, this time with vexation.

So many have had this done to them, I thought. They didn't cry. It's normal for a man to touch you like that.

It's better.

A sob escaped my lips.

Get up, you wretch. How useless can you be, losing the money for tomorrow's dinner.

Pathetic. Why doesn't Mamãe hate you more?

I threw my tears from my face and seized my damaged romper to put back on, along with the coat my mother had allowed me for the rain.

I held my tattered head low as I walked to the market, rain sprinkling gently over me.
I could imagine it washing away my impurities, but my flaws were too great to be forgotten, to be forgiven.

I stopped at the market's door, then stepped back.

I needed someone else, and it would be easier to beg outside.

Glancing about, I located a young man, his hair dark and straight.

He wouldn't have stricken me as odd - as valuable - if it weren't for the gold-framed sunglasses that hid his eyes and the elite shoes he wore. Expensiveness like that didn't belong in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.

My feet erratically waltzed forward to his sitting figure as my mind danced with indecision, until I stood before him and his face angled upwards at me.

"Hello," I timorously greeted.

"Hello," he responded, a subtly accent gracing his tone. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I hope so. I've lost my money, and my family will have nothing for Christmas. Can you please help?"

The man furrowed his brow. "I am Spanish, and my Potuguese is poor. I do not understand."

"Oh," I said. "My family," I carefully enunciated. "We have no food or money."

He slowly nodded.

"Can you help?"

He paused. "I'm sorry, no."

I stared, surprised, before embarrassment and shame took their toll. "I'm sorry to have bothered."
I turned away from him, attempting to halt the accumulating tears in their escape from my eyes.

It had been ages since Mamãe had beaten me, I could hardly remember it. But this warranted punishment beyond the cruel words that forced tears into my eyes and wails from my throat.

It might be better to never return.

Just one ache less.

Just one experience better.

"Aliciana?" I paused at the girl's voice, distinct and familiar.

I looked up to see Lívia, who stood slightly taller than I, adorned with silky, umber tresses. "Hi, Lívia. How's your holiday-"

"Are you okay?" The concern was explicit in the rich, hazel eyes of the most beautiful girl at my school.

I was silent, unable to lie yet unable to admit my reality.

"What's wrong?" she pressed.

"I-I lost all of the money my mom gave me for Christmas dinner."

"How?"

Silence.

"It's okay, I bet you can have dinner with my family. There are less people coming than usual this year."

"Thank you so much," I spoke in astonishment. "But, how can you be so kind? We aren't good friends, our families don't know each-"

She forced my lips to stop, placing a thumb over them. "Why question kindness?" she asked.

My eyes downcastly drifted, and the sky released its rain, allowing it to plop onto our crowns.

"I just want a merry Christmas, with you," Lívia uttered, before placing an ardent kiss on my lips.

La fin.