Holding that hand, I spun a few times, getting dizzy, grabbed a taxi, drank whiskey, skated down a street plastered with dog shit, scrambled over chunks of sidewalk, and arrived at the door of a little house on a dead-end street. Pasaje H—hawk, hole, horror. Then I calmly studied his eyes anew. Eyes that didn’t avoid anything, not even that which didn’t interest them or didn’t seem the least bit useful. His eyes traveled over everything. And while that fearless gaze roved over the disorder of the world, it discharged sparks that impregnated the air and objects with an almost shameless tenderness. I stood there, between the wall and door, shivering, my arms twisted, freezing to death. He started undressing me while opening the door to the garage, then the metal door, then the wooden door, and he was pushing me toward the humid, warm interior into which I placidly slid, a little worried I was still bleeding. When we got inside, my pants and underwear were already around my calves. He didn’t turn on the light, he just kissed my nipples and kissed my thighs and savored my bleeding vagina and with that blood he returned to my mouth and kept kissing me with a smoothness I’d never experienced before—damned tenderness that swallows what’s left of me: shame about my bones and skinny legs. I expected penetration, but we kept kissing in the darkness while the tail of something that felt like a cat, plush and repulsive, brushed our legs. He took off his clothes and lit a few candles with matches he pulled from his jacket pocket while I studied his body, his shapely ass sidling down an immense hallway. I stood there, half naked, wearing roller skates, feeling the icy air piercing through everything again. Helplessness like a white mist permeating my ass and the effects of the ecstasy that, like waves, returned to my chest asking, again, please, where is the rest of the body—bone, flesh, blood. I tried to follow him but slipped. I took off my skates and felt the damp floor like wet clay between the toes of my bare feet. I sunk my soles in, imagining mud, my toes embossing the earth and leaving behind a delicious imprint, painted by the flesh of my injured heel. I felt another trickle of blood. Walking slowly, following the dim light and smearing the blood on my thighs, I found him, his long, tangled hair. Naked, in the middle of an immense mattress taking up the entire room. I lay down at his side and felt his stiff cock, and he started kissing me again and the desire to feel him inside me became liquid that warmly oozed onto my inner thigh, over the dried red. He kept going, all his attention on my mouth, kissing it with an unusual delicacy. We didn’t make love that night. That night his cock pushed against my pussy, squeezed between my thighs, rubbed between my butt cheeks several times, but didn’t enter me. I fell asleep with my vagina sweating red and the ecstasy returning, no longer like waves but like soft ants that became an army, swarming, and I couldn’t hold anything back.