Building My Life

Chapter 46 - Running Away (2)

Pamela was running like a madwoman down the main street of Happiness Slum. It was ironic; the name of the favela rarely matched the reality of its residents.

She was breathless, her hair a bird’s nest, and her clothes rumpled. There was a jagged tear in the gray blouse she was wearing: the same blouse that had caught Fabrício’s eye just hours ago. She had gone to a cafeteria with him, glowing with ambition. Now, she was sprinting in a blur of pure desperation.

Where was the red Gol? Where was Fabrício? And why was she running as if she were trying to outpace an avalanche?

A few attentive neighbors watched her pass, making silent conjectures. But no one moved to stop her, and no one dared to ask what had ignited such raw terror in her eyes.

When Pamela turned onto her street, she tried to push her legs even faster, desperate to avoid being seen by the Campos family. But right in front of Melissa’s house, her foot caught on a stray brick. She pitched forward, slamming into the dirt, scraping her knees and arms raw.

Lying in the middle of the street, she cursed God and the world, sobbing in a cocktail of pain and hysteria. She had wanted to go unnoticed, but now she had the attention of the entire block.

Among those watching was William Campos, Melissa’s fifteen-year-old brother. He looked out the living room window and saw his sister’s best friend sprawled on the ground, disheveled and bleeding.

William stepped out of the house and appeared at the front door. He was wearing only white shorts, sporting a physique that was surprisingly muscular for his age.

“Pamela? What happened?” he asked with his voice full of worry.

Pamela looked up at him. The sight of William standing there shirtless, his youthful body on display, seemed to trigger a fresh wave of panic. Her eyes went wide with a localized horror. She scrambled to her feet as best she could and bolted toward her own house, screaming like someone possessed.

Once inside, Pamela slammed the door and turned the key twice. She tried to turn it a third time, nearly snapping the metal in the lock.

She scanned the living room; there was no sign of her parents or her older sister. Seizing the moment, she scrambled up to the second floor and locked herself in her bedroom, again twisting the key until it groaned.

Her face was a mask of agony as she fought for air, gasping as if the very atmosphere of the planet had vanished. She caught her reflection in the mirror and felt a wave of nausea. She looked filthy: hair matted, a bloody gash on her knee, tear-streaked face, and that glaring rip in her blouse.

Pamela collapsed onto the bed, punching the mattress and the pillow as she dissolved into a fit of sobbing and screaming. The “dirt” she felt wasn’t the kind you could wash off with soap and water.

Downstairs, the landline began to ring. Pamela bolted upright, seized by a fresh panic attack. Who was calling? If it were up to her, she would never answer a phone again for the rest of her life.

A light knock on her bedroom door made her blood run cold.

“Pamela?” her mother’s sweet voice drifted through the wood. “The call is for you.”

“I don’t want to answer any damn calls!” Pamela screamed at the top of her lungs. “Tell them I’m not here! Tell them I’m dead!”

“Too late, daughter. I had already told them you were home,” Mrs. Chaves replied, unbothered. She was used to Pamela’s temper tantrums; her daughter had always been high-strung and hot-headed.

“Tell them to go to hell!” Pamela shoved a pillow over her head, trying to vanish.

Mrs. Chaves tried the doorknob, but realizing it was locked, she gave up and headed back downstairs.

On the other end of the line, Melissa hung up the phone, her brow furrowed with worry. On the sofa nearby, William was still watching television in his white shorts. Melissa shot him a look of annoyance; she felt her brother was old enough to know better than to lounge around half-naked in front of her.

“She didn’t pick up?” William asked, turning toward her.

“No. Her mother said she wouldn’t leave the room.” Melissa’s concern deepened. “Her mom said Pamela went out and didn’t even come back for lunch, then suddenly showed up looking like... well, like you described.”

Melissa walked over to the wall mirror to check her own appearance.

“Are you going over there?” William asked.

“Of course. Do you think I’m just going to sit here while my best friend is falling apart? I know something is wrong. You said she was sprawled on the floor.”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t just a simple trip,” William said, putting a hand to his chin as he recalled the scene. “She was desperate before she even fell. The fall just broke whatever was left of her.”

“Tell Mom I went over there. And put on a shirt before you catch a cold!” Melissa tapped him on the shoulder and hurried out the door.

William just chuckled and stayed exactly as he was. After all, their father is used to be shirtless at home all the time. Why couldn’t he? He was a man, too.