Rude
1071 Words
Catarina’s POV
My thoughts drifted painfully to Lara and my grandmother; I missed them more than words could say. Lara was like a sister. I grew up with her and had always been my anchor through childhood storms. Now, distance and time stretch between us, and the ache feels sharper than ever. Three long years of school and work weighed heavily on me. Being burned once leaves scars, and Alexandro is a storm of anger; I knew that anger, consuming.
#4 Angry
He won’t heal until he faces himself. I read online about his public fall. Caught on camera at the club, his speech slurred and movements clumsy as he tripped on the marble steps under the glare of a dozen flashing cameras. The video went viral within hours, with commentators mocking him and his name trending for all the wrong reasons. Old friends distanced themselves, and invitations stopped arriving. Yes, he’s still wealthy, but it wounded his pride deeper than any injury could. Inside, everything still feels raw; his heart is bleeding, and he can’t close the wound.
After stepping inside, I headed straight to the bedroom. Once there, I took a shower and, as I dressed, reached for my phone to call grandma.
Granny, I miss you. How are you?
Daniela, come home. Forget work if it’s too hard. Stay until you find something you like.
I reassured her, "I like this job, and this Sunday I will come over, it's a promise." While we spoke, Cleo jumped onto the bed beside me. Suddenly, I turned to see Alexandro staring at me from the doorway.
Without a word, I walked over and firmly shut the door in his face.
#5 Rude
"Granny, I have to go, but I will see you soon. Muah." After hanging up, I opened the door and glanced around, but noticed Alexandro was no longer in his room.
I walked into the kitchen to see him making an espresso.
I’d appreciate some privacy.
It’s my house. I can go anywhere I want, he said smugly.
Check the contract. It’s in there. I sliced tomatoes and feta, added basil and olive oil, and ate them in front of him.
Where’s my breakfast? He asked, confused.
I left half and handed it to him. Hope you like it.
He sat on the chair at the kitchen island, turning on the TV and asking for something he could actually eat.
I made him a breakfast burrito with eggs and bacon, added cut fruit, and poured another coffee. Deliberately, I placed his cane by the door.
He finished his breakfast, then looked up. "Catarina, I need the cane." "No, you don’t. It’s time to start walking, Alessandro. Come on, you can do it," I encouraged as I approached him. My heart thudded as I said it, a tightness twisting low in my stomach.
Was I pushing him too hard? Was I doing this for his sake or for mine, to prove I could help? For a moment, I doubted myself, but pushed on, hoping my faith would be enough for both of us. He hesitated, putting weight on his leg; I watched, recognizing it was fear, not pain, that held him back. I wanted to reach out, but forced myself to wait, not steal the moment from him.
Three steps in, he lost his balance, so I quickly grabbed him by the middle, pulling him back to me. The suddenness scared me a little. I felt the icy rush of what could have gone wrong, mingled with relief and an aching hope that maybe, just maybe, he would let me help him.
You can let go now, he said.
I looked up; he smirked.
Unless you like it...
Remember what I said yesterday? He ran his hand over the face.
I take my chances... I pulled away and kept walking.
He got angry. You can’t possibly be serious. I almost fell…
Because you balance like a toddler, now walk.
He cursed, walked to the cane. I noted his lack of cooperation and anger issues. Everything was entered and logged daily.
The doorbell rang. I answered—a woman in her fifties, impeccably dressed, with perfect hair. Hello, I smiled.
Hi, she said, taking a step, and I moved over to let her inside. I’m Alexandro’s mother, Manuela. Where is he?
He’s in the living room. I’ll give you privacy, then I'll start to walk away.
Excuse me, maid, she said. What is your name…
Oh, I’m not a maid. I’m his physical therapist, Catarina. He had fired the maid and everyone else.
Sorry, honey, I didn’t know. Can you make me a coffee?
Of course. She thanked me and entered the living room. I heard them fighting. When I came with the tray, they were yelling. He kicked the tray off the table.
Alexandro, stop the tantrums. Do as I say.
Mom, get out. Let me be—Por favor.
She left crying. I cleaned up, cut myself, but stayed quiet.
Get out, he shouted at me, too. Then he slammed the cane down. I stared at him, sadness twisting in my chest. Watching him, I felt the ache of wanting him to see that his life hadn’t ended with the accident. More than anything, I wished he would realize that he is still capable of finding happiness and connection.
I wanted him to believe that he is not broken forever, and that accepting help could be his first step to reclaiming himself. He couldn’t feel the hope I saw.
He was trapped inside that empty void, unable to see light or the way out. He was slipping away from himself, and I was powerless, reaching for him and finding nothing.
Needing to tend to my cut, I walked into the kitchen and looked for a cloth. As I wrapped my hand, Cleo jumped into my lap. I stroked him and whispered, "Hey, he needs you more than I do right now. Give him some love."
Cleo meowed, so I lifted him and walked into the dark living room, placing him gently in Alexandro’s lap. Unexpectedly, he grabbed my wrist tightly.
Did you cut yourself? I nodded.
I’ll show you the first aid kit. He stood, cane in hand, and limped to the kitchen. How does he switch off anger so fast?
We’re making progress. I’ll compromise, and he shows, through small kindness, that he wants this to work.
- Writer
