Here’s the translation of the text into English:

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**(DONOVAN)**

The dawn is dense, heavy, and dark.

I know I need to sleep, but it's nearly impossible. After what I saw and felt, it was extremely unlikely that I would relax and fall asleep. And I was absolutely sure that if by chance or miracle I did manage to sleep, I would probably be tormented by horrible nightmares.

Whippings. Burns inflicted by cigarette butts.

Amanda had been in an endless hell, falling deeper and deeper until death seemed like the only possible escape.

As I touched her marks, feeling the rough and hardened texture of each cruel line, I could perfectly imagine how each wound was inflicted. I could clearly see where the lash had struck, the intensity of the blow, the directions. Amanda had been struck multiple times in the same place; the concentration of damaged skin was on the left side, just below the lung. Like roots on a tree, other thinner and smaller lines branched out from there, spreading across the rest of her back.

Just as it was possible to imagine the scene of the beating itself, it was terrifyingly easy to hear the screams, roars, and cries coming from her throat at that fateful hour. I visualized how she must have begged for them to stop, to the point where her vocal cords gave out and there was nothing more to say or do.

Gavin didn’t like that I asked about the scar on her neck, and now I understand why. Indeed, I was rude and might have triggered a more serious reaction from the girl. At that moment, though, I needed to know if all the injuries that were clearly not self-inflicted were the work of one person or several.

The cigarette burns were equally cruel and distributed in an almost rhythmic pattern. I noticed that the wounds were not like the whip marks, which aimed to hurt one side of the back more than the other. The circular burns were placed on both sides of her torso; the first ones were almost under the armpits. I also realized that some of these marks were more intense than others. In other words, at specific times, the lit cigarette tip remained on her skin for longer.

I needed to piece this together and assign blame to the true perpetrator, or perpetrators.

It would make things much easier when the time came.

Because I would go after that person or those people. And the price to be paid would have extremely abusive interest.

I sit on the bed, completely sleepless and lost in thought.

Her eyes were dead while we talked in the apartment. Showing those scars to us embarrassed and diminished her. It seemed to be one of the deepest wounds she hid, but she also seemed resigned when she exposed herself, almost as if she had admitted to herself that she couldn’t hide it for much longer.

No one at the hospital said anything to me or Gavin. No nurse, not even Dr. Solloman mentioned the horrific scars that had destroyed her back. Why?

I would speak to my former psychiatrist when I had the time. Now there was another issue to resolve.

I was decided. I would spend three days away from Urus. And I would spend those three days with Amanda.

More importantly, she would sleep with me. And I would only refuse to go forward with this idea if she did.

I descend the stairs to the ground floor and go straight to the kitchen. I open the fridge and grab a jug of mango juice, and instead of getting a glass, I drink directly from the spout. Being polite at work had its price; I turned into a complete wild animal when I was at home.

When I last fell in love, I was also like this. I worried about every little thing, every small detail that could make a difference down the line. I tried to be as careful as possible, taking deep breaths to calm myself when nerves threatened to flare up. I gave gifts, said beautiful things, and gave her all my support when needed. I helped her through difficulties and celebrated her victories. But I made a terrible mistake, and it cost me everything.

Blind trust.

Aurora.

That was the name of the girl my heart beat faster for.

Aurora was tall, almost as tall as me, very meticulous and sensual. She had a way with words; she always seemed to know what to say and do, and she often gave me tips to overcome my traumas faster. Her smile was radiant like a comet’s tail, and her well-manicured nails were constantly painted ruby red. She was five years older than me, and it was evident that she was satisfied with me by her side.

To be completely fair, I don’t think Aurora was a bad person. I also made gaffes and misfortunes that hurt her, which may have triggered everything to begin with. Our story had everything to work out, but that wasn’t what happened. She returned to Canada, her home country, and never came back or gave any news. It was as if she had disappeared from the Earth. Her social media was deactivated, or so I thought, but it was actually just blocked. I think it was for the best.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I get lost in memories. Aurora was a great passion, and while we were together, I thought she was the love of my life and the person I was meant to be with. Yes, I really thought that way. I guess it was Gavin’s influence. I met her shortly before Alexandra entered my friend’s life, and while they were getting engaged, I saw my relationship breaking into three hundred thousand pieces of glass.

I held no grudge. I accepted things as they were: two people unprepared to live together hurting each other. If one of us hadn’t jumped ship, there was a real chance of us ending up in an abusive relationship, and thankfully, that didn’t happen.

And now I was in love again, but with someone completely different. A much younger girl, with a delicate complexion and apparent fragility, but with an unimaginable history of strength after enduring equally unimaginable things.

What I felt for Amanda, however, was different.

For starters, I wasn’t walking on eggshells around the owner of my heart. It was quite easy to talk to her, who was always receptive to listen to me. I wasn’t afraid of her judgments or criticisms, because they simply didn’t exist. Even when she disagreed with something, she was polite, sweet, and very gentle in her explanations. She never raised her voice for anything, and she presented her opinions with detail.

Besides being very attractive, Amanda had an admirable intelligence. Just with small gestures, glances, and casual remarks, I knew she was perfectly capable of understanding a situation or solving a problem. You could see in her expressions when she was probing, calculating something. It was the mark of a survivor; I know because Dr. Solloman told me about it in one of my sessions. People who go through recurring trauma develop an impressive sense of defense. The problem is when this system becomes deregulated, causing paranoia and extreme fear.

And Amanda was not just a survivor in an abstract way. No, she truly wasn’t.

I stare at the kitchen wall, the silence my only companion on this rainy morning.

Amanda had been abused. Most likely more than once.

Amanda had been whipped, many, many times.

Amanda suffered multiple burns on her skin, for extended periods.

She lost her voice almost permanently, and her recovery was entirely dependent on the exercises, intensive therapy, and care that both Gavin and I provided.

All of this pointed in only one direction, and the fingers holding the jug begin to feel limp like jelly. I feel the air leaving as I reach the terrible conclusion that she was probably tortured.

This actually explained the cigarette marks near her armpits and exclusively on her ribs. They were probably inflicted when Amanda had both her hands tied above her, likely bound.

The only thing still unanswered was the horizontal line marking her neck.

When I questioned this, Amanda categorically said that this wound was not inflicted by the same person who whipped her and probably burned her.

So who?

How many people hurt Amanda? How many people wanted to see her dead or suffering mercilessly? And why?

The waves of Botafogo beach come back to my mind. The slim and small silhouette, with clothes too loose that could fit two Amandas simultaneously, such was her thinness, appears right after. Bare feet, tangled hair. A picture of misery and the fragments of a girl who could no longer bear the weight of her own existence.

If Gavin hadn’t stopped at the beach... If I hadn’t started to get a hint of cruelty while we were driving like mad through the southern streets of Rio...

When she looked at us, she was afraid of the unexpected intervention, but her lethargy was evident. Her reaction time was completely altered, much slower than it should have been. The cold of that night should have made her shiver, but despite the pallor and cracked blue lips, her arms remained swaying from weakness; not showing the continuous spasms expected.

I wished so much that she were here.

I wanted to hold her in my arms, shower her with kisses, and gently touch each scar. Not as a reason for pain and misery, but as a trophy. The memory of survival and strength that even I wouldn’t have, if I had gone through something like that.

One day I would tell her my own story. But only if and when we were together and in an appropriate place, under favorable circumstances. I wanted her so much. I knew I could take care of her with all my dedication, with all the respect. She wouldn’t need to fear anything by my side, because I would destroy every insolent worm that dared to come near to harm her.

When we kissed, it was impossible not to want to take her to bed. It was there that I could express exactly what I felt, what I was willing to do for her

, and how happy I wanted us to be. The sound I would hear coming from her throat when she reached the peak once, twice, however many times, would be proof that I had achieved my goal.

My little one.

I return to the bedroom. As soon as dawn breaks, I will call Rebecca and inform her of my prolonged absence.

I close my eyes. Sleep takes a long time to come.

. . . . . . . . . . .

**(GAVIN)**

Amanda and I couldn’t sleep. All the sleep we were feeling simply disappeared. Feeling the soft skin of her belly on my tongue was a true test of fire for me. I controlled myself as much as possible not to undo the last four buttons of her shirt, letting her breasts show.

If I had them in my hands or mouth, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. And I know she wasn’t ready. It was too soon.

We are now lying in each other’s arms; her pajamas are properly arranged. The sounds coming from her throat would never be forgotten by me. I did that to make her happy, satisfied, and to purge any bad feelings or memories that might scare her during this night. The rain outside is strong again, and some thunder rumbles above us.

I kiss Amanda on the cheek. She smiles.

— Don’t you want to sleep? — she asks. Her voice is soft like the jingling of little bells.

— I can’t. Not now — I reply. — How are you feeling?

She stretches slightly, rumpling some of the sheets.

— I’m... — her eyes shine like stars. — Very well.

I feel an immense sense of satisfaction upon hearing this, and I hug her tightly right after.

— You’re amazing — I declare, giving her a peck on the lips.

Her expression is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It’s so good to see her this way instead of the look from earlier, something terrible, like fear, shame, and hatred all at once.

I wanted to protect her, take care of her, and give her all the affection she deserved. If we went further, if I took off her clothes and showed her exactly how I felt, there would be no turning back. I would be hers, and she would be mine. There was no discussion or detail that could change that. And I was sure that once that was established, Donovan and I would have serious problems...

I know they probably hadn’t taken that step, hadn’t crossed that line; but I’m not stupid. I know my friend wants the same thing, and that he also yearns for the moment he can have Amanda for himself.

That... That hit me in a way I could barely put into words.

I would never tell Amanda what to do; never. All decisions she made, and would make from then on, would come entirely from her own will. I know her empathy was present in her conclusions, but it was never my intention to intervene, even indirectly, in the things she did or didn’t do.

And, of course, her feelings for Donovan should work the same way. She thought about him, how it would affect him if she did X or Y. On second thought, Amanda should feel quite guilty for being in that situation, balancing a complicated relationship between two people she was truly in love with. In the end, she would have to choose between one and the other. While Donovan and I fought for her heart, the girl struggled not to hurt anyone’s feelings.

I kiss Amanda on the mouth, this time with tongue. She responds slowly, timid and affectionate. Her two hands hold my cheeks, and I feel almost as if a halo is illuminating us both. Despite going through a period full of shadows, there was light in her heart. A true fairy-tale princess, but more, so much more.

After the kiss, we look at each other, awestruck and in love. We seem like two teenagers who have just discovered how the world works, the power that such a feeling can have on our lives. Then she breaks the silence, speaking softly.

— Thank you for helping me.

— Amanda...

— Ssssh — she says, placing her finger gently on my lips. — I need to thank you, yes. I know you do it from the heart, but that doesn’t mean I can be ungrateful.

— Your greatest gratitude is staying alive, little flower.

— Little flower? — Her eyes blink repeatedly.

— Yes — I kiss her hand in a flirtatious manner. — You look like a field flower.

Amanda laughs, nervously.

— I’m far from a flower.

— Won’t you accept my compliment?

— I will, but...

— No “buts,” little flower — I pretend irritation and frown, but then I smile and shower her with kisses.

Little flower, or rather, Amanda and I spend more time awake. After kisses, caresses, and lots of affection, accompanied by the sound of rain hitting the windowpane, we finally fall into a well-deserved sleep.

And this is the night when everything changes.

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