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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about a slightly odd man who becomes obsessed with a Brazilian Model after he spots her in the streets of Barcelona. After that, he stops at nothing to make her his.

Submitted: September 14, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 14, 2012




I’m finally alone. It may be outside the comfort of my apartment, but this’ll do just fine. This large, white, cushioned room. It’s beautiful actually; it makes me feel, narcissistic, yes, quite special. There aren’t any windows in here I see; there’s a door, but it’s bolted shut. This room isn’t very expressive to say the least. But at least here, I can think about Selena. God she’s been on my mind for as long as I can remember. That silky black hair, those smooth cheek bones, those lips, ah, her lips. You remember them, don’t you? I could only wonder where she was now, or what she was doing. The last time I saw her was two weeks ago, but the memories from that day are enough to last a lifetime.

There is nothing more, or as beautiful as her. When I first saw her, I couldn’t help but stare; I was mesmerized by her appearance, I don’t know what else to say. I was standing on the balcony of my three story apartment, smoking a cigarette just before the Moon cast its shadow over Barcelona. It was strange how I hadn’t looked down into the streets for over an hour, but the moment she walked by, I decided to look down at the sidewalks. It was a sign, it had to be. I almost flew over the railing when I saw her, my heart beat faster than it ever had before, I couldn’t contain myself; I had to have her.

The next day, I wandered the streets, looking around for the unnamed woman, but she was nowhere to be found. I asked around, describing her appearance and telling people that she was my sister, although my complexion was a pasty white, opposed to her dark tan skin. When all hope seemed to be out of reach, a man who ran a small market down the street said he had seen her. He actually said, “a girl like that? Who could possibly miss her?” I liked that he said that, because it was true. He told me that she had gone on a date with a boy who worked in his market; a Federico Rodriguez. I was smiling before he said that, but now, I was thinking. Thinking about how this boy was on a date with a girl who was most likely too good for him. I argued with myself as the owner of the market boasted about how one of his employees was on a date with a model from Brazil.

“Where are they?” I asked, trying to raise my voice over the bragging and the cheering of everyone in the store.

“Huh? Eh, they went to ‘La Rambla’,” he replied, “you know of it yes?”

I twisted a toothpick around with my tongue as I smiled, “of course I do. Muchas Gracias.”

I knew that in a place like that, it’d be hard to find her, but not impossible. I didn’t want to cause any suspicion regarding my reasons for being here, so I bought a few apples and headed out to look for the young Brazilian model. I knew that I would have her soon.

As I walked down the street, I asked myself questions, then gave myself answers. I think I already knew that I wasn’t completely sane, but at the same time, I was well aware of what I was doing. The question now became, what would I do when I got to her? I thought about it, harder than I usually thought about anything. Let’s see-

Scenario one: I’d see her from afar. I’d walk close, but not close enough to be noticed. I’d listen to what her and the bag boy were talking about. I’d observe her, just as I did on the balcony. She’d get up to use the bathroom and I’d approach Federico, posing absolutely no threat, none at all, but to talk.

“You like her, don’t you?”

He’d reply, confused of course, not knowing who I was, or what my motives were.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

He’d look around, wondering if this was some sort of joke. I would feel my time running short; my conscience would tell me that the model was getting closer, she was coming back.

“Well stay away from her you hear me? Don’t ever talk to her again.”

Would he be intimidated? I’ve never seen him before; he could be a lot larger than me. I can’t just talk big, I have to actually pose a threat. Okay, I’d pretend that I have a weapon. An old trick, but no less valuable. After that, at his young age, he’d realize that she isn’t worth it and leave.

Scenario two: I would stay close to them, but again, not too close. I would wait, watching the various sights and attractions at La Rambla. I would wait for Federico to go home when their date was over. She would have to walk home, right? That’ll be my chance. I can’t directly go up to her, no. I would have to have an excuse to talk to her.

I didn’t decide what I was going to do yet. My mind was flustered and congested, but as I got closer to the busy street, I slowly started figuring what I’d do once I got there. I noticed the sun submerging into the ocean and with it the sky and everything under it becoming a mango orange color. Soon I wouldn’t be able to spot the Brazilian Model in a crowd of people. I hurried, perhaps too nervously to coordinate all of my actions. As the night rose like the sun would do several hours from now, I found myself in the midst of a small crowd. The street attractions and possible diversions were gone; now it was me, the individuals, and her, sitting on a curb near a small market.

I could still see fortunately. The street lights surrounded the area where she was sitting, but shadowed the bag boy that sat next to her. He wasn’t too close; this was their first date I assumed, so he sat about 4 to 5 inches away from her. From what I could see, he wasn’t convulsive at all. Very lanky with a gaunt face and dark hair. My attention languished from him, but awoke again when I fixed my sights onto her. I sat down on the opposite curb, positioning myself directly across from her. Our shoulders were square to each other’s. If she were to look completely ahead of herself, we would make direct eye contact. That was the exciting part.

After twenty minutes of sitting and observing their seemingly dry and unappealing conversation, Federico gave her a gentle hug then walked in my direction.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but can I ask you something?” I asked as he got close enough to hear my voice and see me.

“Sure, what’s up?” He replied kindly.

“That female you were with, what is her name?”

“Do you know her?”

“I’m helping a friend look for his daughter and I want to know if that’s her. I can’t see very well from here.”

“Oh, do you want me to go tell her that her dad is looking for her?”

“No, please, I don’t want her to stray any further,” I said with a sincere look, “her name?”


“Selena,” I paused, “so elegant.”

He gave me a strange look now, a look that asked many questions, but questions never to be verbalized.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” I said as I walked past him.

I crossed the street and stood in front of the market. I looked as far as I could down the street to the left of La Rambla. I saw her walking with a friend; it was a female with a similar body figure to hers. I sprinted in her direction, trying to keep my footsteps light and quiet. After I got close enough to hear what she was saying, I followed silently. I stalked politely without interruption into her conversation until her friend left. Until she was completely alone.

Now it was dark. She began to walk faster, and I began to walk slower because I was thinking. My next moves would have to be important and cautious. I didn’t find out where she was just to follow her home and not do anything. I didn’t learn her name just to go home after she did. I did all of those things, I took all of those steps, to have her. To keep her. But how would I make her mine under these conditions? She wouldn’t be able to see my face, nor would she have any interest in conversing since the setting is so----shady. If a normal approach was out of the question, that left me the option of taking her by force. By force, kidnapping, abducting? Could I? Even if I could, would I?

As I thought vigorously about the possible outcome of this night, I heard the sound of keys. I looked up and saw that she had a pair of keys in her hand, meaning that she was close to her home. I had to confirm my previous thoughts; I had to ask myself if I was really going to capture her, and if I did, what I would do after I had her in my possession.

She turned down a walkway leading to a house. The nerves in my body tensed up as my head started to ache at the indecision it was facing. She was predictably ten steps away from her porch; I was probably thirty steps away. As her footsteps closed it, I ran. I breathed heavily and deeply, trying to refrain from passing out. The unsettling idea of kidnapping this beautiful girl started to set. But they began too late. She was already on the floor; her face into the pavement and my hand on the back of her head. I turned her over and looked into her scared, unaware eyes as a trail of scarlet ran down her forehead and onto her nose.

“Selena,” I paused with an unsure smile, “so elegant.”

One Week Later

Selena wasn’t just a chapter in my life. She was a story, one that I have yet you finish telling. Was it strange that I remembered every detail about her? Every crevasse in her skin, every beauty mark visible to the eye? That silky black hair, those bold cheekbones with her soft lips. Not at all; she was my gem. She was my infatuation, my desire, my lust. What I did to her-

How I harmed her; I can’t see myself ever doing that to her again. If I could tell her why I did it, why I brutally led her face to the pavement, would she understand? I sit here in a dimly lit room, watching the aroma of a stubby cigarette empty into the violet sky. I thought about her, and about the questions I’ve been asking myself for this past week. And it became quite clear to me that the only way to answer these questions and to have Selena again would require me to go find her. This time, with a more,

subtle approach.

I had a lot of thinking to do. A lot of planning and a lot of solving. What happened that night was branded into my brain like the skin of a cattle. So well in fact, that if someone were to ask me what happened that night, I’d almost be able to reenact it precisely. I didn’t have her with me at this point. At the time, when I chased her up the pathway to her safety, my thoughts chanted, “kidnap her! Make her yours! Keep her forever!”. But I abstained. I only had the will to hurt her. Not to capture her for my satisfaction, nor the willpower or desire to kill her. No. Which only meant one thing.


But I need her. The question now becomes, where do I begin? I walked out onto the balcony where I had spotted her for the first time. The wind brushed against my bare chest as I leaned over the railing. I resisted pulling out a cigarette. It was a nasty habit that I honestly had no desire to continue. I’d have to look and feel my best if I am to appeal to Selena. That was my plan, did I mention? This time, I would approach her. Friendly. Calm. Collective. A shell you could say because deep inside I’d be craving. Resisting. Yearning. Would she notice? No. But would she remember my face? No, no, it was too dark; she would only be able to see my eyes. I’ll take a chance on that assumption.

I knew that the most reasonable place to start looking for her, was coincidentally the place I began before. The small market just outside of my apartment where the bag boy worked. I could only hope that Selena told him about the event that she experienced; that I caused. He’d have to know where she is. He better.

© Copyright 2018 Antonio Rivera. All rights reserved.

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