Creative Nonfiction: Paying with the same currency/ Pagar con la misma moneda (ENG/ ESP)

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Paying with the same currency

I looked at my naked body in front of the mirror. Despite a few extra pounds, I was still the same girl I had always been. My waist, my hips, my thighs remained toned, firm. My face also retained the beauty and the mischievousness of before, the one that my friends had sincerely praised. Then, in front of the mirror, I asked myself the question I had been asking myself every day for months: Why had he betrayed me?

I covered my body with almond oil, then put on a long, white dress with green flowers, made of light fabric. Although the meeting was at night, in an open place, the heat of the season invited me to dress cool and light. I applied my make-up in front of the mirror. I stopped at my lips. As I painted them with a terracotta colour, I noticed that my boyfriend was also getting ready. We had barely spoken to each other since I learned of his betrayal.

Our meetings, strangely, full of silences, served to turn every movement, every breath, every gesture, into a bomb ready to explode. Although he had supposedly asked for my forgiveness and I had supposedly forgiven him, from that day on there had been a deep crack breathing under our feet. A fissure that with every second threatened to open wider and swallow us up.

I was slowly putting on my jewellery when his eyes and mine met in the mirror. His eyebrows arched at my meticulous grooming, his worried face, his clenched jaw, made me realise that the words I said to him when I learned of his infidelity were going through his mind:

_I will do the same to you so that you live my pain in your own flesh, so that you suffer like me, so that you feel how a heart breaks without bullets and without daggers. I'll do the same to you so you can see how the world falls apart and you can't hold your body.

In the middle of my wounded woman's pain, I said those words and I know they were the ticking of an invisible clock that threatened her existence. I smiled at her through the mirror, but my eyes were cold, piercing, and let her know that I hadn't forgotten what I had said either.


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We arrived at the party and the place was already packed. Most of them were acquaintances. Friends, family, acquaintances, they were enthusiastic and joyful. It was easy to get caught up in the celebratory spirit and smile, especially since he and I were not alone, but surrounded by happy people who were oblivious to our problems.

At the party there was a group of foreigners invited by the hostess. Among those foreigners was a boy who immediately laid eyes on me. From the first moment, I felt a connection with him. He was a nice, simple guy with a good sense of humour. As the group was very large, at first we had a general, public conversation about trivial matters. However, while he was talking, he looked directly at me and not at the others. This detail did not go unnoticed by me, nor by my boyfriend, who kept quiet.

At a moment when I was talking to a friend, the foreigner approached me and we began to talk. I looked around for my boyfriend and saw him in the corner, talking to other friends, but his eyes were on what I was doing. In the distance I smiled at him with that learned coldness, pregnant with meaning.

The boy was handsome, gentlemanly and with a smile that made his eyes sparkle. He was in the country doing research and was delighted with the city's beaches. He had a pleasant conversation and I laughed heartily. At some point I felt that the boy was courting me and I let him tell me what I hadn't heard for a long time:

_You are a very pretty and intelligent girl, I could spend the whole night talking to you! -I heard and I could only say moved:

_Thank you.

Her research was about some marine organisms and she asked me if I had visited some villages where there were beaches where these micro-organisms were proliferating:

Yes, I have. They are very beautiful beaches. With impressive vegetation and where there are very humble and friendly people. -I expressed sincerely.

Why don't you come with me? I leave tomorrow and return next week. Maybe you could be my guide. I'm sure you'll have a great time, I promise," said the boy with a smile like a toothpaste commercial. I smiled back. At that moment, a feeling that I had never experienced before grew in me and made my heart beat violently: revenge.


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Pixabay

Like the girl in the exorcist, I turned my head to see my boyfriend standing in the same corner. When he saw me, he knew I was holding in my hand the lethal weapon with which I had promised to annihilate him. Something dark, tragic, crossed his face. He pursed his lips in resignation, sensing the end of the story. Finally, the time had come to pay him back in kind.

But I told the boy no, that I was sorry I couldn't go with him, but that I had a boyfriend and a lot of work to do. The boy, despite the visible disappointment, remained polite to me and then left the party. After a while I returned to my boyfriend's side who greeted me with a triumphant smile:

_I knew you wouldn't! -I knew you wouldn't!" he said happily, and those words stirred the waters again. Then, unable to help myself, I blurted out my venomous words:

_Don't sing victory. Revenge is a meal to be eaten cold! And maybe I'll teach you how to do things so that no one finds out.

All images are free of charge. The text is mine and is translated in Deepl.

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Thank you for reading and commenting. Until a future reading, friends


![Click here to read in spanish]
Pagar con la misma moneda
Miré mi cuerpo desnudo frente al espejo. Más allá de algunos kilos demás, seguía siendo la misma chica de siempre. Mi cintura, mis caderas, mis muslos permanecían tonificados, firmes. También mi rostro mantenía la belleza y la picardía de antes, aquella que mis amigos habían alabado sinceramente. Entonces, frente al espejo me hice la pregunta que desde hacía meses me hacía diariamente: ¿Por qué él me había traicionado?
Cubrí mi cuerpo con aceite de almendras, luego me coloqué un vestido blanco de flores verdes, largo, de tela liviana. Aunque la reunión era nocturna, en un sitio abierto, el calor de la época invitaba a vestir de manera fresca y ligera. Me maquillé frente al espejo. Me detuve en los labios. Mientras los pintaba con un color terracota, miré que mi novio también se alistaba. A penas si nos dirigíamos la palabra desde que supe su traición.
Nuestros encuentros, extrañamente, llenos de silencios, servían para que cada movimiento, cada respiro, cada gesto, se convirtiera en una bomba a punto de explotar. Aunque supuestamente me había pedido perdón y yo supuestamente lo había perdonado, desde ese día se había hecho una grieta profunda que respiraba bajo nuestros pies. Una fisura que con cada segundo amenazaba con abrirse más y tragarnos.
Me colocaba lentamente mis alhajas cuando los ojos de él y los míos se encontraron en el espejo. Sus cejas arqueadas ante mi arreglo minucioso, su cara de preocupación, su mandíbula apretada, me hicieron ver que por su mente pasaban las palabras que le dije cuando supe su infidelidad:
_Te haré lo mismo para que vivas en carne propia mi dolor, para que sufras como yo, para que sientas cómo se rompe un corazón sin balas y sin puñales. Te haré lo mismo para que veas cómo se te cae el mundo y no puedes sostener tu cuerpo.

En mitad de mi dolor de mujer herida, dije aquellas palabras y sé que eran el tic tac de un reloj invisible que amenazaba su existencia. Le sonreí a través del espejo, pero mis ojos fueron fríos, taladrantes, y le hicieron saber que yo tampoco había olvidado lo que yo había dicho.
Llegamos a la fiesta y ya el lugar estaba repleto de gente. La mayoría era gente conocida. Amigos, familiares, allegados, estaban entusiastas y alegres. Fue fácil envolvernos con aquel espíritu celebratorio y sonreír, especialmente porque no estábamos él y yo, solos, sino rodeados de personas felices ajenas a nuestros problemas.
En la fiesta había un grupo de extranjeros invitados por la anfitriona. Entre esos extranjeros estaba un chico que inmediatamente posó sus ojos en mí. Desde el primer instante, sentí la conexión con él. Era un chico simpático, sencillo y con buen humor. Como el grupo era muy numeroso, al principio mantuvimos una conversación general, pública, sobre temas triviales. Sin embargo, mientras él hablaba me miraba directamente a mí y no a los otros. Este detalle no pasó desapercibido para mí, ni para mi novio, quien se mantenía callado.
En un instante que yo hablaba con una amiga, el extranjero se acercó y empezamos a conversar. Busqué con la mirada a mi novio y lo vi en una esquina, hablando con otros amigos, pero sus ojos estaban atentos a lo que yo hacía. En la distancia le sonreí con aquella frialdad aprendida, preñada de significado.
El chico era buenmozo, caballero y con una sonrisa que le hacía brillar los ojos. Estaba en el país haciendo una investigación y estaba encantado con las playas de la ciudad. Tenía una conversación amena y yo reía sinceramente. En algún momento sentí que el chico me estaba cortejando y dejé que me dijera lo que yo tenía tiempo sin oír:
_¡Eres una chica muy bonita e inteligente! ¡Podría pasar toda la noche hablando contigo! –escuché y yo solo pude decir conmovida:
_Gracias.
Su investigación era sobre algunos organismos marinos y me preguntó que si había visitado algunos pueblos donde habían playas en las que proliferaban estos microorganismos:
_Sí. He ido. Son playas muy hermosas. Con una vegetación impresionante y en donde hay gente muy humilde y amable. –expresé de manera sincera.
_¿Por qué no vienes conmigo? Salgo mañana y regreso la semana que viene. Tal vez podrías servirme de guía. Seguro vas a pasarla chévere, te lo prometo –dijo el chico con una sonrisa de comercial de crema dental. Yo también le sonreí. En ese instante creció un sentimiento nunca antes vivido y que hizo que mi corazón latiera de manera violenta: la venganza.
Como la chica del exorcista, volteé la cabeza para ver a mi novio que permanecía en la misma esquina. Cuando él me vio, supo que tenía en mi mano el arma letal con la que había prometido aniquilarlo. Algo oscuro, trágico, cruzó por su rostro. Apretó los labios resignado, presintiendo el final de la historia. Finalmente, había llegado el momento de pagarle con la misma moneda.
Pero yo le dije que no al chico, que lamentaba no poder acompañarlo, pero que tenía novio y mucho trabajo por hacer. El chico, a pesar de la visible decepción, siguió siendo cortés conmigo y luego se fue de la fiesta. Al rato volví al lado de mi novio que me recibió con una sonrisa triunfal:
_¡Sabía que no lo harías! –me dijo feliz y aquellas palabras revolvieron nuevamente las aguas. Entonces, sin poder evitarlo, solté mis palabras venenosas:
_No cantes victoria. ¡La venganza es una comida que se come fría! Y tal vez yo te enseñe a hacer las cosas para que nadie se entere.






























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4 comments
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The experience of being tempted to respond to a love affair with the same kind of treatment. Your language is precise and insinuating, full of elements of life. The thoughts flow very naturally. The denouement is exceptional and provokes identification with the narrator. Congratulations.

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Your words are a recognition for me. Thank you very much. Regards

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Infidelity is something that, even though it is forgiven, cannot be easily forgotten and will continue to affect the relationship for many years. I really liked the narrative and the tension you put in the conflict.

Thanks for sharing.
Good day.

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Agreed. Any kind of betrayal, perhaps, can be forgiven, but never forgotten. A good day to you.

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