It was raining. The sky was cloudy, and bands of light crossed its expanse. I was soaked. I had gone out for a walk to think about my life, which wasn't unusual for me—I always did this to try to clear my thoughts and make sense of my not-so-normal little life—when the rain caught me.

I didn't mind it; the raindrops hit my white shirt, gradually soaking it, revealing the outline of my body underneath. Some girls hurried past with their umbrellas, but they couldn't help glancing at my fit body, letting slip excited and embarrassed little smiles.

The raindrops began to accumulate in my hair and run down the strands. I quickly ran my hand through it, giving it a slight tousle that made it stand up in a sort of porcupine-style mohawk. I laughed at the idea in my mind.

I was walking down the practically empty street at that hour when I sat down under a tree near my house. The cold water fell from the sky and hit the ground in a small natural show. It wasn't normal for someone to run in pouring rain, much less stand in it—except, of course, for me.

But in the distance, a boy was running. He was as soaked as I was, but it seemed he didn't want to get wet. His white shirt was clinging to his body, his sneakers were as drenched as his beige shorts when he stopped under the same tree where I was sitting. His hair was disheveled, and drops were running down his locks. He looked at me, and I did the same. But not a single word was exchanged.

Why?

The boy who was beside me was none other than Matheus Casagrande, son of Alberto Casagrande, owner of a chain of supermarkets, department stores, shopping malls, and two buildings in the central area of the city. The same Casagrande who had humiliated me since seventh grade, who called me "little fag," "gazelle," "queer," "girly," and many other names. The same one who let his friends...

Silence.

This still bothered me. God knows what I did to try to overcome what happened; it all happened in the last year of high school. Out of nowhere, I was locked in the bathroom with him and his two bodyguards, and there they beat me and had relations with me without my consent and left me lying on the wet floor. This earned me a therapist for a year and a half to forget or try to reduce the damage caused. But I preferred to maintain my silence.

My parents never knew. I'm proud of them; they're great lawyers, but I don't know how they would receive the information about having a gay son who was also sexually abused. In fact, this has always been a fear I try not to have, but how can I not when they talk about grandchildren and ask about my girlfriends? It was for this reason that I was sitting under that tree.

Grandchildren.

How would I give them any? How would I make them proud of me?

Then I feel something behind me and glance vaguely at him as he sits beside me. His hands were on my back, and he whispered:

"I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"For what?"

My fingers began to move, playing with each other. I always did this when I was nervous and uncomfortable with something.

"I..."

He fell silent, as it should always have been and should continue to be. But suddenly, a flash illuminated where we were...

Lightning.

My body was on the ground at a distance from the tree, which was smoldering. The fire burned slowly and was extinguished with the same intensity. It was split and fallen on the ground. My eyes quickly searched for him, but he was where I least expected. His body was over mine; his arms were trying to protect me. His eyes carried an urgency, and fear showed through his wide-open eyes. Then he gave me a broad, embarrassed smile, and that smile made me forget that I had almost been struck by lightning.

"Why?" I asked, not understanding anything. "Why didn't you let me die? Aren't I the biggest little fag?" This last part came out almost as a whisper.

"No, but I wouldn't forgive myself if I made another mistake."

"I don't understand."

"Maybe this will make things clearer..."

He moved closer to me; his face was too close, his breathing was accelerated, and his warm breath touched my skin as his mouth approached mine.

Only then did my eyes open, and I saw that Marxos was inches from my face, his fist clenched but stopped, his eyes looking at me with concern as silence dominated everyone in the kitchen.

"Why?" he looked at me, confused.

"He's an idiot, deserves to be punched, but I couldn't bear for you to go to jail or something because of it."

I turned and looked at Matheus.

"Don't insist. I don't love you anymore. A long time ago, you took back everything I had for you, and I don't want it back."

I turned to Marxos and went to him, embracing him. I already had my home.