Mario felt the weight of his thoughts crushing him, as if every minute added another boulder to his chest. So much for taking everything lightly, for smiling. He looked around, his eyes wandering through the house. Every corner, every piece of furniture spoke of Lara, of them, of what they had been and what was now crumbling. The couch they had chosen, that small vase they had found at a market, the little painting with flowers bought in the mountains. Their life together so far.
Mario stood up, moving slowly. He rinsed the coffee cup. His and Lara's, which she had left in the sink. He allowed himself a slight smile; on a break, yes, but he still washed the dishes as usual. Some things never changed.
He went up the stairs and walked towards what was once their bedroom. The door was ajar. He entered slowly, like a stranger venturing into a now-forbidden territory. But it was his fucking house. The morning light filtered through the shutters, drawing oblique lines on the floor and the unmade bed. He approached, taking a deep breath. Lara's pajamas were still there, carelessly thrown. He took them in his hands, bringing them close to his face. That scent, mixed with apricot shampoo and her skin, pierced him like a thin blade. He missed her. He missed her terribly. He was about to make the bed but stopped; he couldn't, she might see it as an invasion of her space, her room.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the fabric as if they could turn back time. He looked around: the photos that once were on the bedside tables had disappeared. Not a trace of them together. The room was transforming, becoming Lara's room, only Lara's. A place where he no longer had a place. He felt his head start to spin, fear gripping him. He waited a few minutes before deciding to go to the bathroom to start washing up. He needed fresh water on his face; yes, that would help him recover.
He entered the bathroom and undressed, splashing his face with cool water and then looking at himself in the mirror, both hands resting on the sink. He looked worn out. He took his pajama shirt and was about to throw it in the laundry basket. He saw Lara's panties. Blue. They were there, among other clothes. He lifted them delicately, as if handling something fragile and forbidden. He paused for a second, looking around, like a thief about to steal something. He brought them close to his face. The smell was intense, intimate, impregnated with secretions. He couldn't help but think about the previous night. Her laughing with another. Her feeling free, excited. The thought made him tremble, a mix of anger, pain, and a dark excitement. Something had happened last night. Something that had excited her, that had made her wet. Excited enough to want to pleasure herself locked in the bathroom. But what?
