Kulti

by Mariana Zapata

“You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen, period, man or woman. What kills me is that you are a complete fucking pushover who’s hung up on worthless words in front of a person that doesn’t matter.” His cheeks were flushed. “Grow some balls, Casillas. Fight me for this. Fight anyone that tries to take this away from you,” he urged.

“You know your reputation is just what everyone else thinks of you. Your character is what you really are.”

“You’re the best striker in America, schnecke. Look up ‘best goals in women’s soccer’ and four of the top ten are yours. I wasn’t going to waste my time on anything or anyone but the best. With more training, better coaching, you could be the top striker in the world.”

“You are the most honest, good thing I’ve ever had. I won’t deny it to anyone.”

“My schnecke. My little snail, do you know that’s what it means? It’s a term of affection in my country. My love. My snail. I don’t want to waste more time. I have nothing to hide, and neither do you.”

What would I gain from telling you the first moment I realized you were meant to be mine? Nothing. You’re supposed to protect what you love, Sal. You taught me that. I didn’t wake up one day and know I didn’t want to live without your horrible temper. I saw so much of me in you at first, but you aren’t like me at all. You’re you, and I will go to my grave before I let anyone change any part of you. I know that without a doubt in my mind. This”—he pointed between us—“this is what matters. You are my gift, my second chance, and I will cherish you and your dream. I will protect both of you.

But that was the thing about fate—she was a funny, slightly psychotic bitch.