On a Saturday morning, the sound of someone knocking on the door flooded the place.

“Who ordered takeout?” asked Miguel, who was walking around the living room wearing women’s underwear.

The answer was the same:

“Not me.”

Omar and Rebeka were about to go upstairs, while Liz was in the back room.

Rebeka had no intention of getting out of bed, as Miguel was near the front door. For her convenience, she decided to encourage him to open and then she laugh with her boyfriend; after all, she knew how the boy was dressed.

As soon as the front door could be heard being opened, an alarming sound was present, and together with the screams of someone angry, Miguel could be heard complaining:

“What’s wrong with you, you old fuck?”

At the commotion heard in the waiting room, Rebeka jumped out of bed and went downstairs with Omar.

Miguel was holding his face, as if he had been beaten to the point of bleeding, and one way or another, his posture looked defensive; having a woman’s underwear, he didn’t look so intimidating. On the other side, there was an older gentleman, with a skinny build, almost no hair on his head, and gray in his beard, wearing an old leather jacket, dress pants, and a white t-shirt.

If there was a word to describe what Rebeka could feel when she saw the appearance of the guy entering at that moment, it would perhaps be too small.

Omar, who was naked, stepped in between his friend and the older gentleman, intent on calming the situation.

  Rebeka kept quiet and took a few deep breaths. Lizandra, a bit more embarrassed about being naked in front of a stranger, stood in the back frame, just peeked her head out, and asked what was going on.

The man saw two manganzoned boys, a house whose exterior had been painted pink, a room with a pool table, cameras on tripods, and studio lights. He also saw his naked daughter looking at him with confused eyes. He didn’t know whether to be happy or furious to see how she was at that moment. From his point of view and for the past two months, no matter how much he called, no one ever answered the phone, and now that he saw the house, he didn’t even have the phone set up where it was supposed to be.

Seeing the guy making eye contact with his girlfriend, Omar asked:

“Baby, who is he?”

Did Rebeka recognize him? The answer was yes; that’s why she couldn’t say anything. Deep inside, she was denying it; she didn’t want it to be true; she preferred it all to be a bad dream.

Looking for something to grab with his hands to hit even harder, Miguel added:

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punch him back!?”

  “I’m Jharol, this is my house, and she’s my daughter; you cheap tramp!” He told him, after pointing his finger at the young man who had asked him for a reason not to hit him back.

The guy pointed to his daughter and asked her angrily, “Rebeka, is this a den of perdition? Your mother is dying! and I’m the last one to know... I’m so disappointed in you that I don’t know if I still recognize you as my daughter.”

After understanding that whoever was there was his girlfriend’s father, Omar kept quiet, Miguel stopped holding what he was carrying, and Lizandra came out of the back room with clothes for her boy to change into.

“I do know! I don’t recognize you as a father, and that’s why I don’t go around yelling at people,” said Rebeka with a tone of seriousness. “Now that I see you... shouting, hitting, and demanding things, why didn’t you do that before you went to prison? Why did you come here, Jharol? What do you want?”

 Rebeka’s words were not only directed at her father’s behavior. She was different; she had no ties, and she had left unnecessary things, such as family, in order to be able to live her life. On the other hand, Jharol, her father, was a shadow of the man he was; at 42, he was an ex-convict with a shaved head, a serious look, not at all respectful of others, and he opened his mouth to demand things that belonged to him.

As if coming back to his senses, Jharol stopped, took a deep breath, and, containing the rage he had inside, added the following words: 

 “I want a second chance.” Faced with the broken attitude of someone who is getting on in years, the three young men took a deep breath. Even Miguel felt sorry for his friend’s father’s situation, so much so that he decided to overlook the punch and the offense. “I didn’t want to believe that your mom left us; for a moment, I thought she would be home to greet me and that you would be at school like you do every Saturday so you could get better grades. But I saw him, and I didn’t know what to believe. So many things have changed, and apparently, I missed them all. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“My boyfriend and husband are here; his name is Omar, and he is the son of the one who imprisoned you. She is Lizandra, and the one you just hit is named Miguel; they are both sons of senators who also stabbed you in the back.”

Jharol looked at the three young men with wide eyes, as if he could not understand why his daughter would associate with such individuals. Even more disappointed, he apologized to Miguel for what he had done and introduced himself in his own way, not knowing what to say or speak next. But he couldn’t stay quiet for long.

 “Rebeka, I think ‘husband’ and ‘boyfriend’ are very strong words to be used by a young girl like you.”

Jharol’s skin had turned pale at the news. But, in contrast, Rebeka’s facial expressions darkened.

Although Omar didn’t disagree with the father-in-law’s words, he already blamed himself for many things and believed he wasn’t worthy enough for her, who had had such a hard time raising her boyfriend’s self-esteem, so it wasn’t funny at all that someone else would break it just like that.

After noticing the warning signs on his daughter’s face, Jharol kept silent, as it was not the best way to approach his daughter, who was already more than distant.

Those present noticed that the subject was trying to do his best and to apply his authority as the adult he was. But as young people, they had already come to the conclusion that the world was so chaotic because of the adults in it.

“For me to do what” is right” in this misguided society, to take the “right” path among so many rats. Now that I have learned to value my freedom, I would have to be born again. Don’t you understand?” said Rebeka.

As if coming to the conclusion that he could not educate the woman standing in front of him, Jharol looked down. He was wondering how things had gotten so out of hand. Why did he have no authority as a father? On the verge of bursting into tears, the man who was let out of jail when he had nothing left decided to squeeze his eyes shut so as not to cry. From his point of view, Omar’s family had taken everything from him, and now they had also taken away his daughter. To say that, like father, like son, would put his daughter in the same category, but, in any case, he did not consider himself guilty for the crimes that condemned him. In a fit of rage, like an enraged tiger, the father attacked whoever was in front of him and grabbed Omar by the neck.

 Both Rebeka and Lizandra could do nothing but scream:

“Let him go!”

Miguel crossed his arms and showed rage on his face. Within his moral code, two against one was not fair, at least not until it was his turn to intervene. Omar was who he was and had the reputation he had at school for being the victor in many fights. The age difference was overdone, so, in a way, the confrontation should have been controlled by chaos.

Surprised by the aggressiveness of his girlfriend’s father, Omar tried to get away without hurting him, but without realizing it, he slipped and fell to the ground, after being pushed by someone smaller in stature.

The sound of Omar’s head hitting the corner of the plateau sounded like a coconut falling and breaking.

Miguel was perplexed, and although Rebeka and Lizandra were trying to remove Jharol, who was on top of Omar, he intervened and gave him a powerful kick that threw him to the side.

 “Don’t play with me like that!” claimed Miguel, after looking at his friend on the floor. “You let an old man knock you to the ground. What the fuck is happening to you, Omar?!” 

  Rebeka went against Miguel, first because she did not understand the reason why she had to yell at her friend and, second, for not having helped him from the beginning.

“Can’t you see he doesn’t sleep or eat well since my mother died?” assured Rebeka, to defend her beloved, who, apart from her mother, had been the only one to support her unconditionally.

“Jharol!” exclaimed Lizandra. “These are not manners.”

“Who do you think you are, you fucking whore!” said the guy, who got up from the floor with the intention of continuing fighting. “This is my house, and I do what I want!”

Miguel took a billiard ball and threw it as hard as his strength allowed him, aiming it at the face of the guy who had yelled at his girl.

 Jharol received a hard impact on his chest. His reflexes were not enough to dodge the thrown object at such close range.

“Don’t you dare yell at my girl again?”

After hearing the other young man’s words, Jharol saw how the sphere fell to the ground, and at the same time, he felt how all the air had gone out of his lungs.

Omar didn’t lose consciousness, but he did look pained on his face as he held his hand to his head.

Rebeka looked at her boy and tried to do something, but at the same time, she didn’t know what to do. As soon as she saw how he stopped holding his head, she felt her feet go slack as she saw blood on her palm. To her, it was a lot, and it wouldn’t stop flowing.

 “We have to take Omar to the hospital; call the authorities!” said Rebeka, hysterical, and then she looked at her father and shouted, “I hate you... You do nothing to make my life better, and no matter how hard you try, you ruin everything. Don’t you realize?! You stupid, shitty politician! You think you’re good, but no, you’re just like everyone else... The reality was that you didn’t have the chance.”

At his daughter’s answer, Jharol forgot about the pain in his chest and raised his opposite hand with the intention of hitting her, but she faced him even more, and looking him in the eyes, she said:

“Dare you do it?”

Rebeka’s fiery look said it all. With her teeth out and her eyes wide open, if she took a hit, she could strike back just as aggressively, if not more so, and she was well prepared to do so.

“Enough!” shouted Omar, as if to hold in the headache he was having. “It wasn’t your father’s fault. I inadvertently slipped and fell. I’m sorry, Miguel, but this is a problem that doesn’t concern you, just like it does Lizandra. Leave Rebeka, Jharol, and me alone.”

After understanding what Omar’s words implied, the two young men proceeded to get dressed in silence, and as soon as they were dressed, they left the house.

Jharol stared into his daughter’s eyes without saying anything, challenging her with his threatening hand, which he still held up. Although he thought he had the right, he didn't, and he knew it. Still, allowing his daughter to stand up to him, yell at him, and disrespect him made his blood boil.

“Are you sure?” said Lizandra before leaving, worried about whether or not she was making the right decision. After all, friends have to stick around when times get tougher.

 “It’s not the first time he’s broken his head,” added Miguel, who was downplaying the matter. “If anything happens, you let me know, Omar. I’ll have my father take care of it.”

“Rebeka, please come with me to the bathroom. I have to wash up. If you have some glue, everything will be fine.”

“What are you saying?! Can’t you see? You’re bleeding a lot. We have to take you to the hospital! We have money to pay the expenses; you have to be checked!”

“We can’t go to the hospital,” said Omar in a tired tone. “They will make me report the way I received the wound, and with the authorities in front of me, I won’t be able to lie. Just help me get to the bathroom, will you?”

“This guy doesn’t deserve it! It’s because of him that you’re like this,” Rebeka claimed, upset.

“You fucking respect me,” Jharol said through his teeth.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Omar mentioned, trying to give a fake smile.

Jharol had the idea of ending the lives of Omar, Lizandra, and Miguel in order to free his daughter from the chains that bound him, but he realized that he was only a human. He did not have the strength to end someone’s life with his own hands or the will to kill someone who did not fight in his defense. Prison had changed him, but not enough to be a murderer.

The father stood by and watched as his daughter helped the boyfriend up the stairs to the bathroom. 

Outraged, insulted, and well-irritated, Rebeka helped to rinse her boyfriend’s head. The cold water running from the shower carried with it the blood that stuck to the black hair, causing small clots to fall between the floor slabs. After seeing two layers of skin that made up an open wound still bleeding, she followed her beloved’s instructions.

 “Get some scissors. You’re going to have to cut the hair in the area, then shave that part of my head,” Omar ordered.

The tremors in Rebeka’s hands could be likened to the stomach cramps she felt watching the blood drain from an open wound. More impressive was seeing the white color of Omar’s skull. With more hesitation than determination, she held her breath and proceeded with the movements of her scissors, amidst complaints of pain from her boyfriend, who was doing his best to stand and look down. Rebeka did the best she could with everything he had commanded her to do.

On the floor of the tub, blood mixed with strands of hair and the still-running water.

When all the hair in the area was neatly cut, to the point where the skin was exposed, Rebeka thought:

‘It looks pretty ugly. It's almost two inches in size, and even though it’s less, it’s still bleeding. I don’t think it’s a good idea to put glue on someone’s skin. I don’t know where he got such an idea, but since he said it all so confidently, I didn’t have time to tell him anything. Clearly, a wound like this needs stitches, specialist evaluation, and hospital care; if it gets infected, we won’t get anywhere. With the head, you don’t play.’

“Go on,” stated Omar, who noticed that Rebeka was hesitating to comply with the last step. “Before it continues to bleed, pour the alcohol I use to shave my face, dry it with a towel, and without letting any more blood come out, apply the glue. For it to work well, you must put it on the skin in a dotted pattern and make sure it doesn’t peel off.”

Omar, giving well-convincing instructions and being the only one who preserved his calm at that moment, managed to get Rebeka to finish the job and bandage her head.

  “I don’t think it’s enough. Put on another two layers of rubber until you can remove the fingers and the flesh won’t peel off. That will be all done and sorted out. You can be proud of yourself. You’re a real surgeon.”

Despite the compliment, Rebeka was not at all pleased. Her face was still tense, her hands were shaking, and her stomach felt tight. ‘This is not a game, Omar; the head is delicate, and any blow to it can be fatal.’ That was what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t find the courage.

Right off the bat, Omar tried to stand up and, in the process, lost his balance for an instant, but managed to disguise it by holding on to the wall. But Rebeka noticed him and, given the opportunity not to remain silent, decided to say something:

“Omar....”

“I think I could use one of the pain pills,” said Omar, interrupting his girlfriend. “Now that my blood is getting cold, it feels like it hurts more. Listen to me, Rebeka, I’m not going to the hospital.”

“But, like, no, you have to go.”

“Ahh! I told you no!” Omar raised his voice.

‘Did he yell at me?’ Rebeka was stunned. ‘He yelled at me! He’s never done that before. You’re right that I’m being pushy in suggesting again to go to the hospital again; he has to be irritated; maybe he really should rest. Yes, I must go and get the medicines.’

 “Okay, my love." Rebeka said, holding back the urge to cry, that she didn’t like those people she felt indebted to being upset with her. She had been abandoned by her father when she was little, and for some reason, the fear of being abandoned again came back to possess her. “I’m going to get the pills... Let me help you to bed so you can lie down and get some rest.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” reflected Omar, lowering the tone of his voice. “I have no desire to lie in bed. Leave me here for a moment. Don’t worry about me anymore; I’m fine.”

Rebeka took one last look at the bathroom before going down the stairs to get what she needed to bring. The scene left a bad impression on her: the floor was all covered in blood, her boyfriend was pale, and scissors, towels, and hair were everywhere. She wanted everything to go well and for nothing bad to happen, but she understood that she had to do her part and comply with the letter and what her boy demanded.

After walking down the stairs to the kitchen, Rebeka saw her father sitting at the table in front of the computer Omar had assembled, which constantly had a recognition program active. She could see on her father’s face the face of someone watching something she could not believe; she could also hear the sound of the video in which she was alone with Lizandra.

“Where did I go wrong, my God?” were Jharol’s words.

Rebeka watched as her father heard her and, in response, turned his face to look at his daughter with tears in his eyes. Disappointment was reflected on his face, and before he opened his mouth, Rebeka stopped him.

 “I don’t want you to address me. You should have died.” With hurtful words, Rebeka did not intend to remain silent. “You assaulted my friend, then threw my boyfriend against the table and smashed his head. You yelled at my friend, and even so, Omar, Lizandra, Miguel, and I have not wanted to report you so as not to send you back to jail. After all this time and what you have put me through, you, least of all, have the right to judge me. Is that clear? Today you can sleep in the living room, but first thing tomorrow morning, I ask you to leave and sign the papers with which you renounce your family name. This house is not yours; I paid for it with the money I earned. The medical, bank, and even your prison debts are also paid with the same money. I will not allow you to keep using my last name, just to keep doing things like this and bring me down. If living as the daughter of a murderer was suffering in this society, welcome to live the life of the father of a porn actress.”

Jharol let out three guffaws into the air, which turned into tears.

“Had I not been allowed to spend the night in this, your house, the authorities would have reversed my parole.”

 “They gave you a way out because my mother died. You appealed to take care of me since she couldn’t do it anymore,” Rebeka argued. “But I don’t need your care. I don’t want you in her room either; tonight I may have to work, and that’s my cam room. I make porn and sell my videos online; that’s what your daughter does, and I enjoy it with pride.”

“Is that how you managed to pay off the debts the family was carrying?” asked Jharol, who couldn’t believe his ears. As he remembered, the debts were many, and over time, the interest was rising, which meant that his daughter had had to sell her body in an exhaustive way. Slowly, eyes on the floor, Jharol got up from the table, went to the living room, and sat down on the floor.

Sensing her boyfriend vomiting in the bathroom, Rebeka decided to finish what she had started without being distracted anymore. As soon as she could, she took the pills and a glass of water and went upstairs to hear Omar’s voice, who, apparently, was talking to himself.

“I’m fine; it’s nothing; I’m fine,” he said, sounding a little slow, trying to keep his body weight in balance and flush the toilet without falling.

“My sweetie, here you go,” said Rebeka after sitting next to her boyfriend and offering him the pills and water in a glass.

Rebeka helped Omar take the pain medication.

With the last drink of water, the boy said:

“I’ll be fine in a while; don’t worry.”

With no intention of wanting to continue insisting on going to the hospital or arguing with his father, Rebeka decided to invest her efforts in cleaning the bathroom floor and helping Omar change.

 For Jharol, who had been sitting on the living room floor, the night made its presence known through the window. He returned to the present as soon as he smelled something edible. The reality-tormented father lowered his head and saw his daughter doing household chores in the kitchen. 

Perhaps out of hunger or because she didn’t want to wait until she was ready, Rebeka grabbed a piece of bread and put it in her mouth, as if she enjoyed eating something tasty.

At the sight of such a gesture, the father’s eyes watered again. Bread was his late wife’s favorite food, especially when it was freshly baked. Crawling with his feet to lift his body off the ground, Jharol tried to take a deep breath, trying not to cry, but the smell of what was once a home broke his heart. The pain in his chest, the result of the billiard ball the other boy threw at him, didn’t let him expand his lungs much; even so, it didn’t compare to the uncomfortable sensation that made his breath shudder.

 “Your mother used to do the same thing when she ate pieces of bread.”

  Rebeka heard her father’s disappointed voice speaking to her from behind. As much as she wanted to deny it, he was right. When she was younger and woke up in the mornings to the glorious aroma of freshly baked bread, she remembered a regular routine, just before breakfast. Her father, a successful and charismatic businessman of the moment, would talk about news and interesting things that were planned to be changed, while her mother listened to him and drank a latte. Rebeka liked to sit at the table, which her father did not hesitate to allow, to please his little girl, even if it was a dangerous thing to do. There, the two of them waited for Soe to take the bread out of the oven to eat it with eggs and bacon. The picture of the perfect family fell to the floor and broke into a thousand pieces.