Pic: Ramses Madrid
* Music during reading (to feel better the atmosphere of this chapter I recommend this song in the background)
The silence of the streets of Madrid was confirming that the quietest month of the year, August, was coming in the busy city. The rush and bustle of the capital were replaced by a relative calm that reigned almost throughout all Madrid, excepting some places where the enjoyment was never lacking, regardless of the date. The guy and the brunette with whom he had dinner were heading to one of those places.
Ramses * was just a couple of minutes away from the place where they were, in one of the most beautiful and lively squares in Madrid: Plaza de la Independencia, crowned by the splendid Puerta de Alcala and with the Retiro Park as its neighbour.
Between of exclusive terraces along the roundabout, there was their landmark; A win-win place for good music and premium drinks lovers, complemented with gastronomic delicacies supervised by the Michelin star family, Arzak, and a glamorous and modern design executed by Philippe Starck.
While the black sports car approached the trendy venue, a simpler one pulled up in front of a building hidden between neoclassical facades, across the Alcala street. A young woman got out of the car, thanking the driver, replacing the keys in her bag with a small crumpled paper. As soon as she entered her flat, she jumped on the bed staring at the ceiling: A feeling between confusion and euphoria filled her.
A glass of champagne, a whiskey on the rocks and a divine woman eating her baked brioche with vanilla and brandy could be seen through the smoke of the hookah which belonged to the author of that note. Relaxed, but with a distracted mind, he was thinking about that blonde girl he had seen during the dinner. Accustomed to achieving everything he wants, he was looking at his phone, waiting for that message which would change the course of his night.
‘‘She will text to you,’’ the brunette said.
‘‘I know,’’ he replied.
‘‘I remember when you were a child, you liked a girl in kindergarten, and you destroyed mom’s garden to give her flowers, even knowing that mom was going to scold you. I think that tactic would be more successful with a woman whose value is not only estimated in euros. I understand that you are young and that you want to have fun, but you cannot treat women like one of your cars. Actually, I think that you give your cars much more affection,’’ she laughed. ‘‘That wasn’t the way we were educated. I know you still hurt for what happened three years ago, but you have to turn the page, to be yourself again, ’’ she stared at him and took his hand.
‘‘…you cannot treat women like one of your cars. Actually, I think that you give your cars much more affection…’’
He had a high wall of apparent coldness and indifference that he has been carrying for years, and which hid the most human part of a person — the heart. Sometimes, fearing the vulnerability, we choose not to feel, fighting with ourselves with the conviction that we win, when in fact we lose the only cause and true motive of life.
‘‘Sometimes, fearing the vulnerability, we choose not to feel, fighting with ourselves with the conviction that we win, when in fact we lose the only cause and true motive of life.’’
His sister was the only person he really listened to, trusted and with whom he could be himself. The only one he loved with all his heart.
He took a sip of whisky and got up to get inside the place, making sure that the classics never die. And so it was. Ramses was still in all its glory. The atmosphere inside came alive to the rhythm of the tunes of one of the best DJs in the city. He remembered that place perfectly: The several private events he visited while he was living in Madrid, the dinners with his friends and famous Sunday brunch parties; But even though the music was inviting the most timid to dance, it didn’t seduce his mind.
The clock strikes 1:44 AM*, while the sports car went up the main road, where the young man’s sister lived with her family. The cell phone kept ringing, but no notification was the long-awaited message from the unknown blonde. The car stopped in front of a modern house.
‘‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay tonight?’’
‘‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I will rest better in the hotel.’’
‘‘What time is your flight?’’
‘‘Okay, we talk tomorrow. I love you so much.’’
She hugged him, knowing that it was what he needs now, even if he tried to not let her notice it, and despite no getting a response, she felt that inside, he said the same thing, even louder and stronger.
On his way to the hotel, the guy’s head kept spinning about what his sister told him. He knew she was right, but the hardest fight is the fight with yourself. When you get used to running away from something, it becomes an invisible habit that you don’t even realize; You start an automatic routine in which the results are predictable.
‘‘When you get used to running away from something, it becomes an invisible habit that you don’t even realize; You start an automatic routine in which the results are predictable.’’
Sitting on the bed, she decided that it was time to go to sleep. It has been hours since she started looking for that note with a phone number and a name. She checked every corner and every step from the moment she put it in her bag, but it seems completely disappeared. Surrendered, between the white sheets and without thinking too much, she closed her eyes and fell into the hands of the fate.
* Due to the measures taken in relation to COVID-19, the schedule and access to some spaces may change.
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