And then I hear the "sons of bitches" and suffer deja v ú ... that I've lived before.
arrive I see no s é few tequilas over, my mother fight with é l in the courtyard and the past is when I paste a bomberazo : my father is drowned. The
s why é Dej this house at 18 become dormant.
All this changed, my brother tries to get her father to force and I like everything evil spy watch everything from the window. The dogs bark, my mother cries and only wish is to run to the other house, which was my home, I had to leave for a week, which was away from all the drunken of everyday Ceballos .
I'm in a house where they stopped the years, where the bread on Sundays is the father drunk and fighting in whispers. Where panoramic view is exquisite and the desserts are cooked in the oven, where the rice pudding, the laughter of the nephews, the to trees cradling the air, dogs barking, the cycles of the washing machine, tumble a father who already had gone and now back ... almost at the same time as the daughter returns with a baby é in the womb.
I've been here before and even before left running.
He enters, hugs me and leaves all his breath on my cheek touches my belly, his hand trembling, I leave, I can not even deny it is not my home, I do not want to do the esc Scandal m large ore , in this moment I am s as a guest or sleeping in the guest room . It was my fourth, yes, but it was during adolescence, when the blue carpet was recently fantastic and just built closet.
l é kiss me ... I keep silent.
My brother is gone, my mother and father take coffee in the room, é l has bathed . I hear them talking but my ear fails to hear what they say. S nly hear the "sons of bitches re mad."
hate, really hate D Thursday 15 April 2010. I hate that coffee not found at midnight, the rain, the white car, this ... everything.
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