Chapter 8: If we were to go to jail, I would share my cell with you.

I looked out the car window and saw how I was moving away from Avenida Don Tulio. The music from the nightclub and the adrenaline from the dance we had shared lingered in my memory. Feeling her next to me was a warm and inexplicable embrace at the same time. The car turned, and her hand took mine. I looked at her intently, but in her eyes, there was only deep seriousness; she was worried, but I felt strangely secure in her presence. I felt her other hand glide over my waist, not in a sexual or invasive way, but caressing my waist as if by holding me, it reminded her that she was not alone, that I was by her side, while she leaned toward me and our bodies sensed the closeness, side by side, as a warmth filled with intimacy grew between us with her eyes fixed on me. I blinked and looked at her curiously.

“Are you okay?” she asked me intently.

I nodded silently, breathing uneasily. I wasn’t afraid; I knew I hadn’t committed any illegal act, and Everth was in his last year of law school; I knew I was protected—nothing bad could happen to me, and I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to my stranger.

“You shouldn’t have said that; you got yourself into trouble for no reason. Emma and Francheska were about to start a fight, and the police were after them,” she said indignantly, sighing as I observed two lines of concern on her forehead. “They didn’t know I had drugs, and you’re not involved at all; you don’t even smoke cigarettes,” she added curtly.

“Well, I didn’t want you to get hit; that’s why I asked the police to stop the fight,” I explained, shrugging.

“Do you have drugs?” she asked softly. I fell silent, looking at her state—her short brown hair slightly sweaty, her skin glistening. She looked like an ordinary girl who had been having fun dancing. She didn’t look high, not in my opinion. I looked at her in the dark from inside the car, and the headlights illuminating the city highlighted her features for a few seconds, and then I looked at her face lit by the streetlights.

“Okay, I don’t want to talk about that with you,” she added. Her voice sounded sharp, hateful, almost hurtful.

Then a wave of panic overtook me as I felt the emotional distance from my stranger, and I understood that I had to look out for my own safety. I discovered that the car we were in was actually a van used as a police patrol. The car stopped in front of a police module, and the driver opened the door, walking toward the back seat where my stranger and I were.

“Both of you out,” said a police officer, opening the van door.

She got out of the car and turned to watch me get out, then took my waist again, and I felt a protective gesture from her as we both walked alongside a pair of police officers. We entered the police module, and a boy in uniform took my information while they led her into a separate room. They left the door open, and I saw my mysterious stranger sit in a chair in front of a desk full of papers, beginning to talk to the police officer.

Another, much younger officer asked for my information and ID number. The officer at the reception area started typing on the computer; his eyes were blue and his face was very young—he probably wasn’t older than 20—and he looked very tired.

“I’m a journalist and a writer. I haven’t done anything wrong, and if you do anything to me, I’m going to write about this,” I said firmly, almost angrily, defending myself before they had time to think of anything that could hurt me.

The blue-eyed officer looked at me intently, his tired and calm eyes meeting mine, which were lively and nervous. In that moment, I knew I had nothing to worry about; I knew I hadn’t consumed drugs, not that I could remember, and not in all my years of life, so I was safe.

“Wait here,” the officer indicated, leaving me sitting in the waiting area. I stepped back and sat in the chair, waiting for about fifteen minutes. I felt sleepy and everything was blurry, but I understood that something had happened at the nightclub. She had been detained because she was high or because she had bought drugs. But I didn’t understand what I was doing in that police station. I tried to remember, but it was like forcing my memory in vain, as if the memory didn’t yet exist in my head. As if I hadn’t lived that yet.

I remembered that I was in the taxi with Everth and Meiby, and suddenly I found myself in the car with her, my stranger; she was scared and holding my waist, and we were both traveling in a police car.

Had I drunk too much alcohol, and did the police notice? I couldn’t clarify my doubts, as every time I asked the blue-eyed officer next to me what I was doing there or said I wanted to leave, he tried to calm me down and told me not to talk. Apparently, he was taking testimony from what my companion was saying, who was in the other room. I watched him type quickly in front of the computer while I listened to her through the wall, as the door to the office she was in was open; her voice was calm and serene.

She said she was at the entrance of the nightclub stopping a fight between her friends. She spoke precisely and only answered what she was asked. I leaned slightly and saw her sitting in the room next door, her brown hair and white blouse, her brown skin, and the dance we had shared anchored me to reality. She moved impatiently in her chair, and her presence exuded an air of confidence that was very attractive, and although she was clearly in a vulnerable situation, she expressed a lot of confidence.

“What am I doing here?” I wanted to know once more, feeling annoyed, when the blue-eyed officer got up for coffee. Then he offered me coffee.

“We’ll do the alcohol test; it will only take a moment,” he said.

I nodded firmly.

“Then you can have coffee.”

“No, thank you,” I said distrustfully.

“It’s just coffee,” he said, and he smiled. I looked at him intently and took the coffee.

“Okay, stand up; I’m going to do the sobriety test,” said the officer.

“I’ll measure your balance, physical condition, and level of attention, or any other factor that helps me determine your level of alertness. If you don’t pass, I’ll call the nurse to take a blood sample.”