To be honest, I think I had finally discovered my purpose in life inside that unbearably boring rehabilitation center.
As I mentioned before, when you live in a strange and confined place like that, every emotion begins to change in unexpected ways.
At the time, I was already twenty-four years old—hardly the age for teenage crushes and restless longing.
Yet somehow Angela managed to awaken those exact feelings inside me.
Part of it was probably because both of us felt like outsiders in that environment.
And part of it was because we were nothing like the other people in the center.
Neither of us were addicts.
The feelings growing between us were just like those of any ordinary couple in the outside world—no calculations, no exchanges, no dependence.
We were drawn together simply by who we were.
***
Every morning I woke up absurdly early.
I rushed to brush my teeth, wash my face, and tidy up my appearance before heading to the exercise yard, hoping to see Angela.
Morning Angela was my favorite version of her.
She always looked half asleep.
Her sleepy face turned shy whenever she noticed me watching. During exercises she moved like someone still dreaming, sometimes letting out long yawns.
She looked unbelievably childish.
And it wasn't just me who noticed.
Around me I constantly heard the sound of men swallowing their saliva as they stared at her.
But I didn't care.
Let them drown in their own drool.
Because there was a gangster sleeping lazily in our dorm room who never bothered with morning exercises—and even if you paid those wolves a fortune, none of them would dare touch the girl who belonged to me.
***
Evenings were the golden hours inside the center.
Around the small flower garden stood a row of stone benches, where couples sat together chatting just like people outside in the real world.
The only difference was that none of them wore fashionable clothes.
Everyone wore the same dull rehabilitation uniforms.
And each pair sat upright and proper, as if they were discussing the Iraq war or global oil prices instead of flirting.
There was no hugging.
No hand-holding.
No kissing.
Not because anyone was particularly polite.
The center had very strict rules.
Holding hands meant a warning.
Hugging or kissing meant a week of cleaning duties.
Touching someone inappropriately meant a month of hard labor.
And actual sex?
Straight to solitary discipline.
Things were extremely tense.
The punishment itself wasn't even the worst part.
Cleaning duties were manageable.
Hard labor was survivable.
The truly terrifying part was the public confession.
I still remembered one poor kid standing in front of the entire center with a microphone, his face red as a tomato.
"My name is ABC," he stammered. "Last week I violated the center's rules and behaved improperly with student XYZ…"
The crowd below roared with laughter.
"Just say you grabbed her boobs already!" someone shouted.
The boy nearly melted into the ground.
Watching that scene had traumatized me for days.
***
Of course, fear was one thing.
Desire was another.
Imagine having an incredibly beautiful girl right beside you every day—yet the only thing you could do was look at her and eat meals together.
What could possibly be more torturous?
Angela liked me too.
She wasn't particularly conservative or old-fashioned.
But she was still young.
The idea of being publicly shamed terrified her.
So the most daring thing I could do was occasionally hold her hand for a moment.
Sometimes I gently squeezed her fingers, silently telling her,
Angela… you have no idea how difficult this is for me.
All the longing in my heart had to travel through those two hands.
***
Security guards were everywhere in the center.
In the dining hall.
At the football field.
In the garden.
The only place without guards was the bathroom.
But obviously I couldn't drag Angela into a bathroom.
That would have been suicide.
After many sleepless nights staring at the ceiling and thinking until my brain nearly exploded, I finally discovered a way out of my miserable situation.
And no—it didn't involve masturbation.
Don't get the wrong idea.
I came up with a plan that would at least allow me to get a little closer to Angela.
***
At that time Angela and I were still helping regularly in the counselors' office.
The problem was that although there were no guards inside the office, there were still plenty of counselors.
However, on Saturdays or Sundays most of them went home.
Only a few remained on duty.
So I decided to target one particular counselor.
Not to kill him.
Just to… beg.
"Sir," I asked one day, clinging to the old counselor's arm with my most sincere expression, "will you be on duty this Saturday?"
He turned around thoughtfully.
"Yes, I'll probably be here. Why?"
I was technically one of the key contributors to the center's newspaper project now, so he spoke to me rather kindly.
I replied in my most responsible tone.
"I just want to finish the drawings before the deadline. If I wait too long, I might rush them and they won't look good."
He nodded approvingly.
"You're very responsible. That's fine. It will just be the two of us here, so come knock on the door."
Inside, I nearly wanted to spin around and kick him in the neck.
Two people?
That completely defeated my plan.
But this was the moment for persuasion, not violence.
"I could work alone," I said carefully. "But coloring and small tasks take time. Could Angela come help me?"
The old man sighed.
His face clearly said:
I know exactly what you're planning, kid.
"That's a little complicated," he replied. "If it's just you, no problem. But bringing a female student—especially since you two are already close—people might accuse me of favoritism."
I immediately interrupted him with righteous indignation.
"What are you talking about, sir? I'm just focused on the work. Why would you suspect me like that? Angela and I are practically like siblings!"
He stared at me again.
His expression now clearly read:
Nice try, kid.
Finally he sighed again.
"Fine. I'll talk to the guards. Just make sure you do a good job."
The moment he turned away, I quickly pulled out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and grabbed his hand.
"Thank you, sir. My family just sent these cigarettes in. Please take them."
He hesitated.
"Come on," I insisted. "I respect you like an uncle. If you don't accept it, I'll feel offended."
Reluctantly, he accepted.
Inside the open cigarette pack were two folded bills.
Five hundred pesos each.
My heart pounded nervously afterward.
For hours I expected to hear my name called over the loudspeaker.
Or for the counselor to burst into my dorm room and throw the money back at me while scolding me.
But nothing happened.
At lunchtime I cautiously approached him again, offering a can of soda.
"Here, sir."
He nodded and placed it on the table.
Then he calmly pulled out the cigarette pack I had given him and lit one.
He inhaled deeply and smiled.
"These cigarettes are very good, Marco."
Usually I considered myself a clever person.
But sometimes I could be incredibly stupid.
Fortunately, I realized my stupidity just in time—before it caused serious consequences.
Because only then did it suddenly occur to me…
I had already bribed the counselor.
I had arranged the private meeting.
I had prepared the perfect opportunity.
But I had forgotten one extremely important thing.
I still hadn't confessed my feelings to Angela.