I ran to the bathroom, my heart pounding against my chest as if it wanted to escape. I turned the faucet without waiting for the water to warm and let the jets fall over me, cold, merciless. The impact made me gasp loudly, a shock that spread through my skin, but I didn't step back. I wanted that icy pain. I wanted the current to carry away the fear, the doubt, the cruel voices echoing inside my head.
Soon I realized it wasn't just water sliding down my body. The tears, trapped since the moment I saw Rafael being taken by the police, finally found a way out, and for the first time I didn't try to hold them back. I let them fall freely, as if every drop were a weight abandoned.
When I came out, my body still trembled and my eyes burned, raw from crying disguised beneath the cold water. I tied my damp hair into a careless bun and leaned on the sink for a moment before lifting my face. When I looked into the mirror, I hesitated. The girl staring back seemed different. There was a shadow in her eyes, a weight that hadn't been there yesterday. As if, in just a few hours, I had aged years.
I slid under the blanket and lay on my side, staring into the emptiness of the room. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the knot in my throat… and, unwillingly, the memory of the night before returned whole. I felt again the cold rain dripping across my skin, the shiver that ran down my neck when he leaned in slowly. The warmth of his lips still felt alive, so real that for a second I even pressed my hand to my mouth, as if I could keep that moment only for myself. I also remembered the way his hands wrapped around mine, firm and careful, and how everything else disappeared until it was only us. It was a cruel mix: half of me longed to relive it, while the other half feared it had been nothing but an illusion.
Now and then, my thoughts drifted to the landlord. He had rushed to the station alone, his expression a blend of worry and strength. I had wanted to go with him, but I was afraid of what I might hear if I were there.
"What if all the rumors are true?" I whispered to the empty room. The question pierced me like a knife.
I shook my head hard, trying to shake the thought away. It was like two Helenas fought inside me: one who wanted to believe in him blindly and another who no longer knew what to believe.
I closed my eyes for a moment and asked myself: what was Rafael doing right now?
Suddenly, I realized I couldn't stand another minute eating myself alive in silence. I needed answers. I needed to know the truth—not through words thrown by others, but with my own eyes.
I tossed the blanket aside and jumped to my feet, the cold floor biting at my bare soles. I grabbed the first pair of jeans I saw and pulled on any shirt, not caring what it was. I paced the room, trying to sort my thoughts, but only one idea kept hammering in my chest: I couldn't just wait any longer.
If Rafael had done something wrong, I had to find out with my own eyes. If he hadn't… then I would trust him to the very end.
I took a deep breath, redoing the bun in my still-damp hair. With every twist, it was as if my heart screamed: go, don't stand still.
I was already set to leave when my phone buzzed in my hands. The landlord's name lit up the screen, and I answered immediately.
— Helena… — his voice sounded tired, slightly dazed — I think this will take a while longer. I need you to do me a favor: I left the house in too much of a rush and forgot the door unlocked. The spare key is under the flowerpot by the entrance. Could you lock it for me?
I agreed without hesitation and asked him to keep me informed about what was happening. I asked how Rafael was and told him I was available to help however needed. Then I hung up and rushed down the stairs. I found the key under the pot exactly where he had said, and for a moment I thought only of locking the door and going back upstairs. But my heart pounded too hard, screaming that I couldn't waste that chance.
I opened the downstairs door carefully and stepped inside. The house was quiet, filled with the clear daylight streaming through the curtains. I held the key tight between my fingers, but I didn't use it. I wasn't there only to lock a door. I was there because I needed to discover who Rafael really was—the Rafael everyone judged, and the Rafael I was beginning to know.
My eyes swept the narrow hallway, and I knew exactly which door was his.
I had seen him coming out of there once, hair damp from the shower, the day I barged in without knocking. The memory made me flush, but shame wasn't stronger than need this time. Some part of me screamed for answers. Before reason could stop me, I walked down the hallway and pushed the door open gently.
The room smelled like him. A faint, familiar scent that nearly stole my breath. My eyes scanned the furniture carefully, afraid of being caught invading a forbidden place.
I opened a drawer, saw scattered papers, meaningless notes, and closed it with care, leaving everything as it was. On the shelf, a row of fantasy and superhero books surprised me. I had never imagined Rafael interested in that kind of world.
Among the colorful volumes, one stood out—more serious, closer to the ones I read. My fingers pulled it out almost without thinking, and when I opened it, a photo slipped to the floor. I bent quickly to pick it up and, before putting it back, I couldn't resist: I looked.
It was Rafael, much younger, wearing a school uniform. A wide smile lit his face. Beside him, another boy, in the same clothes, with the same joy stamped across his features. For a moment, I was trapped in that image. Rafael looked different, but at the same time, familiar. I had the vivid impression that I had met that same Rafael the night before, when he laughed with me under the rain—light and unguarded like never before. But who was the boy beside him?
I sighed and slipped the photo back into the book, placing it exactly where it had been on the shelf. That's when my eyes caught a bulky folder, almost hidden among the other books.
I opened it with trembling hands, ignoring the fact that I was intruding on his privacy. I just needed something, anything, to ease my heart. At first, it was blank pages, messy scribbles. But then came drawings. Firm strokes, strangely familiar, stirring a weird sensation in me, as if I had seen them before. I tried to focus, but my mind was chaos—I didn't have the clarity to decipher it right then.
I shut the folder quickly and placed it exactly back where it belonged. My eyes landed on the nightstand. There were the headphones Rafael never let go of, tossed carelessly. The rush in which he had left was clear. My chest tightened, and only then did I realize: I wasn't looking for proof against Rafael—I was looking for any reason to keep believing in him.
My phone buzzed suddenly in my pocket. Startled, I answered with trembling hands.
— Helena — the landlord's voice sounded steadier this time — we're already heading back home. Thanks for locking everything.
My heart jumped. I glanced around nervously and closed the bedroom door with care, as if each gesture could erase my footprints. I hurried through the hallway and out, making sure to turn the key in the lock. I slid it back under the pot, exactly where it had been, and rushed upstairs with the feeling that, any second now, someone would find out what I had done.