Chapter 5. My Father’s

Mistress By Camila

I wake up in the middle of the night—as I always do when I stay up late studying. I’m tired, but it’s worth the effort. Tomorrow I have a final exam at 2 p.m. I’d already got it almost done; I just need to mentally review a few points in the morning, and that’s it. I hope it’s another passed course.

I feel uncomfortable—I don’t usually sleep in a bra—so, still half-asleep, I finish undressing. As I settle in, the book falls. I realize I’m on the couch and sit up to go to bed, and then I see him—in the dim light, staring at me. I try to scream, but no sound comes out.

He approaches quickly, kisses me, and touches me—it felt like he had ten hands. I

don’t understand what’s wrong with him.

I beg him to stop, but he doesn’t; he keeps treating me like just anyone. I cry and plead with him.

A thousand times I’d dreamed of making love to him—how he’d kiss me, how he’d touch me, the loving words that would come out of his mouth.

Nothing is like that; I feel his contempt and his hatred, as well as his desire.

I panicked; he seems like a stranger—or is that just how he is?

He stands up to pull down his pants and boxers; I see his penis—hard, big—and even though I’d never seen one in person before, I know it’s big.

I cover my eyes and run to the bathroom; on the way, I fall and get up as fast as I can. Luckily, I made it to the bathroom and was able to lock the door.

Why does he think that way about me? He’s a monster.

He’s winning; I think I’m giving up.

I can’t take it anymore, and I can’t tell Don Antonio what his son did—he probably wouldn’t believe me, and even if he did, it would hurt him deeply.

I cried all night; in the morning, I overslept and came downstairs with dark circles and puffy eyes.

Tony, upon seeing me, comes out of his office.—

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says as he hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. “Look at that face! Are you sick?”—

“No, I have a tough final today and I stayed up studying.”

I feel a gaze burning into my back; I know it’s him, but I don’t even turn around.—

“You’re going to get sick with all that work and studying.”

he says as he slips his arm around my shoulders.

I leaned into him—I needed his affection—but I couldn’t say anything either; I didn’t want him to confront his brother.

But his tenderness comforts me.—“Enough

of this fooling around during work hours!

” Javier shouts, furious.—“What

did you say, you idiot?

” Tony snaps back.—“Exactly

what you heard!!

” Tony let go of me and shoved him into his office. My assistant was watching me; I was red with embarrassment.

I locked myself in my office, and once again my eyes felt like a fountain.

Because of Javier—“What

the hell do you have against Camila?

”—“What do I have?” “She sleeps with Dad, lives off him, takes his money—she must have even paid for her boobs—and you’re just another idiot who’s crazy about her and can’t even stand to be in a bed with her. You’re banging her in the office!

” Tony looks at me, stunned, speechless.—“Since

when have you been doing drugs?” he asks

me.

I don’t get why he’s asking me that—it’s obvious I don’t do drugs.—What

?

—Since when have you been doing drugs?

He pressed.—What

the hell are you talking about?

—A normal guy wouldn’t spout so much bullshit.—

You’re trying to cover it up and change the subject. Don’t you want to keep it from the old man that you’re sleeping with her too? Then you’d better be more discreet.

I told him, furious.

He lunged at me, landed a punch on me, and I punched him back; we couldn’t pull apart. It had been… I don’t know… easily ten years since we’d last gotten into a fistfight, and the first punch had always been mine, but not this time—of course not; I was defending the queen, the queen of the innocent little girls.

The door swung open and she came in, screaming and crying.

My brother stopped short; I raised my fist to land one last solid punch on him, but she stepped right in between us, and my fist hit her shoulder—because when I saw her, I tried to lower it, but it was too late; I still hit her.

Camila flew through the air and landed two meters ahead on the floor, like a sack of potatoes.

She lay motionless; my brother and I were scared—she looked like she’d fainted. The two of us, in silence, approached her. “Cami

, sweetheart, please say something,

” Tony said. I’d never heard him speak to anyone so gently.

Camila barely moved. “It

hurts so much, and I have a final exam today—I can’t miss it,

” she said, thinking only of college.

“Try to move—if you can, I’ll help you.”

She sat up slowly; my brother took her in his arms and carefully sat her down on the couch.

I would have liked to lift her up myself and speak to her with the same tenderness that existed between them.

“Cami, I… forgive me. You just happened to be in the way… I swear I didn’t mean to hit you,” I told

her.

“God, I have to learn to control myself.” “You won

,” she said between sobs. “Give me a few months and I’ll leave, but during these months, let me work, study, and live in peace—without insulting me or barging into my apartment trying to…”

She fell silent suddenly; she realized Tony was there.—“What

did you do—what?” my brother

asked, furious.—“Tony

, take me to college, please. I’m running late, and I can’t drive with my shoulder like this.”—“Yes

, sweetheart, but you should see a doctor.”

Tony replies.—“I just

want to go to school. If it keeps hurting, I promise I’ll go to the doctor,

” she says, coaxing him.

He strokes her cheek.

I boil over again with rage and… jealousy? Still, I lower my head and don’t even flinch.

The three of us head out, since we were in my brother’s office.

We left a bunch of stuff scattered on the floor, including two chairs.

They left together, and I was left with a nasty, bitter taste in my mouth.

At 2:30, Tony came back, calmer; I was calmer too. He sat down across from my desk.—

Tell me why I shouldn’t tell Dad about how you’ve been acting.

“I hit her by accident—the punch was meant for you.” “I’m not

talking about the punch, and you know it. Ever since you took over as president, you haven’t stopped insulting her—you call her a whore—and I want you to explain to me, very clearly, what happened last night at her apartment.” “Speak up, because time is running out and I have to go pick her up from college.”

“That’s exactly what I mean—she can take a taxi.” “You just knocked her

to the floor with a punch; one more and she’d be suing you, and I’d be the witness.” “Yeah

, but it’s always her—and more often than not, it’s her! With that angelic little face of hers—she’s such a little viper!” “I

don’t know why you call her that.” She does an impeccable job, she’s decent…

I didn’t let him finish.—Decent

? She sleeps with you and Dad!

—Where the hell did you get that nonsense?

—Did you hear yourself talking to her?

—I love her like a sister, and I’d never find a better friend than her. She deserves that treatment and more; you don’t know her and you have no idea what her life was like or how she ended up here.—Let’s

say I accept that she doesn’t sleep with you—she’s still Dad’s mistress.—You’re

sick! She doesn’t sleep with Dad; they’re close, but she sees him as a father figure, like her guardian angel, and he loves her like a daughter—she keeps him company more and listens to him more than we do.—I don’t

get why they love each other so much!

—I swear Camila knows more about Mom than we do; she mentions her thousands of times, making references I have no clue about.

I felt a lump in my throat.

What if my brother was right? What if he just loved her like a daughter?

I’d already been wrong when I thought she was selling our information, and it was true that she was going to college.

She was going to finish her degree before I did, even while working all day.

Because by now I know she works hard—really, really hard—and she’s very good at her job.

“I’m going to go find her,” my brother says as he gets up to leave. “And she’d better not leave, because neither Dad nor I are going to forgive you for this.”

He finally walks out.

Could it be that I’ve messed up?

I went over every event in my mind since I first met her.

It was about three years ago. She was in my dad’s office, wearing a lilac sundress with little yellow flowers. She caught my attention so much because I was annoyed by the tingling sensation I felt when she stood up and I saw her body, and I was even more annoyed by the affectionate tone she used with my dad—and he responded in the same way. He didn’t even look at me.

I stormed out of my dad’s office—on top of that, he’d scolded me over some photos of me, drunk, leaving a nightclub with two models, one on each arm.

If I could be with two models at the same time, why was this young girl ignoring me?

What happened that day always bothered me, which is why I remember it so clearly.

After that, every time I saw her, she seemed to hide from me, as if she were hiding something.

It wasn’t like that with my brother—I know they’ve gone to our house in Punta del Este together. Is it because they’re friends?

Anyway, she didn’t ask again what happened last night.

I know I went too far.

Was I really going to rape her?

It’s one thing to annoy her and another to abuse her.

Ever since last night, I haven’t stopped being a terrible person.

Well, ever since I took over as president, to be exact.

I can’t get her crying and begging me not to do anything to her out of my mind—and me taking off my pants, standing naked in front of her, while she… covered her eyes. Did she cover her eyes? Had she never seen a penis before? She was 21 years old; she couldn’t have been a virgin. So why was she crying like that?

Was she acting?

On Sunday, when I leave early—like every Sunday—I’m going to find out what she’s up to, or rather, what they’re up to, because I know she’s meeting up with my dad.

It can’t be that I, Javier Terrazzi, could have been so wrong.