Chapter 30 Beyond the Line - Chapter 1
Lia
Coming home has always stirred a cocktail of comfort and unease within me. Comfort, because everything there still carried the scent of my childhood: the dark wooden furniture, the familiar creak of the old gate, the whiff of lavender on the pillow that my mother insisted on leaving in my room. Unease... because he would be there.
Henry.
And maybe because of that, it was difficult to pinpoint when the feelings shifted.
Or, more accurately... when I stopped turning a blind eye to it.
I disembarked the bus, feeling the oppressive heat of early summer clinging to my skin. The street was deserted, as per usual. I hauled my suitcase along the cobblestone path leading up to the gate, pausing for a moment before pressing the doorbell.
He was the one who responded.
"Lia?" he said, his crooked smile that I remembered so well stretching across his face. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."
"Surprise."
Swiftly returning to meet my eyes. "Come in."
He grabbed my suitcase and held the door open. As I walked past him, I felt his hand brush against my back for a moment, a bit too close to my waistline. It could have been an innocent gesture, perhaps.
My body registered it like a spark.
The house was unchanged, save for the conspicuous absence of our parents. They were away on a trip, as they always seemed to be whenever we were there together. Their excuse was to give us "some peace and quiet." But I had a hunch: my mother knew there was something off between Henry and me, even though she never dared to put it into words.
We sat in the living room like two casual acquaintances. A noticeable distance between us on the couch, the TV droning on with some random show. I feigned interest, but I was too preoccupied observing the contour of his jawline, the way his throat moved when he took a sip of water, the exposure of his forearm with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He seemed stronger. Or perhaps I had just become too accustomed to the presence of average men.
"I broke up with Julia," he announced out of nowhere, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
Maybe it's because, deep down, none of them was him.
Henry got up, grabbed another beer from the fridge, and tossed one to me. I caught it mid-air and burst into laughter.
"You still remember I prefer the craft ones?"
"I remember everything, Lia."
Like an unseen current flowing through the space between us.
And then my mind began to deceive me.
Or so I believed. In reality, I paid excessive attention to his broad shoulders, the way the neighborhood girls looked at him. And how he seemed to never care.
It was the jealousy.
That's when I realized there was something wrong with me.
I was snapped back to the present by the feel of his fingers on my thigh.
"Lia? You seem a bit distant."
But it sent chills down my spine in a way that left me feeling embarrassed.
"Just tired," I smiled. "Long trip."
"Do you want to sleep in your old room?"
"Yes." I stood up. "Is it still the same?"
"But if you need anything, if you feel too warm, the air in here isn't the best. My room has a powerful fan. You're welcome to use it."
The underlying message cut through me like a knife.
"I doubt I'll need it."
The heaviness of his stare on my bare legs beneath the dress. The echo of my footsteps on the wooden floor. The deafening silence that ensued as I shut the bedroom door behind me.
The same floral-patterned pillowcase on the same pillow.
Or is he not anymore?
I slipped out of my dress, leaving only my underwear and t-shirt on. I left the window cracked open for a breeze, but it never came. Only the sounds of the night — and then, the soft noise of the door next door opening.
I sat on the bed, my feet planted on the floor. For a moment, I almost rose. To go to his room.
To come up with some excuse — that I was thirsty, frightened, wanted to chat. Anything.
But I didn't go. Not yet.
Instead, I picked up my phone and composed a message:
I waited. Twenty seconds. Then a minute.
Henrique: "I don't believe so. I think my perception of you would have been different."
I gulped nervously. The screen's glow illuminated my face in the darkness, casting it in an almost confessional light. My hands trembled.
"And now? How do you perceive me?"
Silence.
For a few minutes. Until the brief vibration:
Henry: "In a manner I shouldn't."
I flung myself onto the bed, my heart pounding. That statement was an open door. Or a precipice.
And I was uncertain whether I wanted to retreat or leap.