LIFE
On a snowy morning, a young boy was simply staring at the falling snowflakes outside his classroom, immersed in scattered thoughts, with a clear sadness on his face.
"Enton!!!" the teacher exclaimed, not even realizing she had mispronounced her student's name.
Anton, in turn, looked directly at her. With a sudden change of expression, he forced a slight, nervous smile. It wasn't surprising—despite being older, her beauty stood out in the eyes of her students. Anton became flustered, struggling with his body's lack of control, as he was going through a late puberty.
One of his classmates noticed an unnatural movement in his body, as if he were trying to hide something between his legs. After a while, murmurs began to spread through the classroom, lasting until the end of the lesson. As Anton walked through the school hallways, he accidentally bumped into a group of girls.
"Eugh!!!" one of the girls expressed her displeasure and disgust toward Anton, unsubtly brushing off her clothes.
"Get out of here, you fat pervert!!!"
Anton just kept his head down. He was certain no one would help him—this wasn't the first time, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. In solitude, he walked alone once more, his mind filled with seemingly scattered thoughts. From the corner of his eye, he glanced at a clothing store, looking directly at the mannequins—those "perfect" bodies. Then he looked at himself and saw a heavy, slightly misshapen body burdened with excess fat. Sadness took over, but alongside it, something else secretly grew—a disturbing feeling.
He continued walking through the bustling, snow-covered streets of Manhattan. His heavy steps led him to a simple yet comfortable apartment—his home, where his "beloved" family awaited. The house had its limitations, but at first glance, it was a welcoming home, adorned with decorations bought at flea markets, garage sales, and so on.
Even at home, he didn't seem very comfortable. Still looking down, he made his way toward his bedroom door. With his left hand, he slowly turned the knob, opening the door with a creak.
The moment it closed behind him, the silence was broken by soft laughter coming from Anton—no longer downcast. His room was a den of questionable and somewhat alarming thoughts.
The walls were covered with photos, cutouts, and posters of some of the world's most "desired" women—Sue Storm, Natasha Romanoff, and a few lesser-known ones. His room was a complete mess, with clothes scattered on the floor, an overflowing trash can, and a filthy carpet.
The day passed quickly. No one knew what Anton did in his solitary room, but Rachel, his stepmother, wanted to get closer to her stepson. Rachel was a stunning woman, her fully developed beauty capturing attention. Her long red hair stood out to men. Dominguez, Anton's father, was a lucky man—a breathtaking beauty hopelessly in love with him. They were truly happy, in an eternal and enviable love.
When the moon replaced the sun, the stars shone intensely in the sky as Anton began to feel unwell—a burning heat, headache, dizziness. Desperate for relief, he stumbled to the kitchen, bumping into walls.
Finally reaching his goal, he opened the fridge in search of cold water. In desperation, he drank straight from the bottle, spilling some down the sides of his lips in his haste.
"WHO'S THERE??" A voice approached rapidly. When she finally saw the scene, Rachel's surprised face turned to an exclamation.
"Anton?! What are you doing here at this hour!?"
"I-I was just thirsty and… came here for some water," he answered with an unusually relaxed tone toward Rachel. "Why are you holding that broom?"
A bit confused, Rachel scratched her head lightly. Her hair was slightly tangled, yet her beauty remained flawless—her accentuated curves, well-composed face, naturally reddish lips, honey-colored eyes…
Anton had never mentioned it to anyone—after all, he had no one to talk to—but he envied his father. A father who was absent during his childhood, who never attended his birthdays, who abandoned him at the age of five, only seeking him out by court order. Dominguez had never been present in his son's life—always indulging in partying, drinking, and living recklessly until he found his "true love," Rachel. She was his light at the end of the tunnel, correcting many of his wrongdoings—except for his worst mistake: his son.
Dominguez showed not a single drop of affection for him. He never talked to him, never took him to school, never shared anything in common. All of this culminated in an event that happened last week.
"YOU'RE NOT MY SON!!!" Dominguez had shouted in a fit of rage after seeing his team lose, using Anton as a scapegoat. This had happened right there in the kitchen. Anton had simply remained silent—after all, what could he do against his father, especially with Rachel around?
Back in the present moment, Anton placed the now half-empty water bottle on a nearby wooden counter. He started feeling better and walked away, head down, as Rachel silently watched him until—
"Anton!!!" she called. "Why is this bottle sitting here?! How many times do I have to tell you to put things back in the fridge?! The moisture could ruin my wooden counter, you know?" she scolded, picking up the bottle.
Anton turned back to the kitchen, visibly tired.
"Seriously? You made me come back just for that?" he muttered, reaching for the bottle in Rachel's hand.
"Just a moment" she said, taking a sip to refresh herself after the scare. But something happened—she kept drinking. Anton, losing patience, spoke up.
"Oh, whatever. Turn yourself and go fuck yo—"
Before he finish his sentence, he heard Rachel's voice inside his head: "Do I really need to?"
Unaware that he had only heard this in his mind, he responded instinctively.
"Yes! I'm going to slee—"
His sentence was cut short by a surprising sight—Rachel, in all her grace, literally turned around. Anton was confused but tried to make the most of the situation.
"Now lean forward," he ordered, not really expecting it to happen.
"I don't want to lean forward," Rachel's voice echoed in his mind.
Reacting quickly, Anton thought, "But if you don't, I won't be able to… grab… the cloth to dry the water."
After this almost one-sided dialogue, with a smooth motion of her back and waist, Rachel supported herself with her arms, bending forward as much as she could. Anton couldn't understand it—but somehow, when he spoke, he could hear her thoughts.
However, he also realized that Rachel's voice was fading. He analyzed the situation and, as he approached to touch the woman in all her splendor, she suddenly stood up straight, looking calm but disoriented.
"So? Are you going to do it today?" Rachel teased as Anton remained with a faint smirk.
"Of c-course! I'll just grab a cloth and… done!" Swiftly, Anton wiped up the spilled water before rushing to his room. He spent hours staring at the ceiling, thinking, imagining things about Rachel… and about what had really happened.
The headache. The water. And finally, her voice inside his head…
What happened?