But I’m starting to think that most villains aren’t evil—they are just misunderstood.
Or victims of that most manipulative force: love.
Love causes war and causes death, breaks souls and breaks lives. It runs people into the ground, makes them behave like moronic, immoral beasts, before it dances off, leaving only destruction in its wake—hearts blown wide open for the whole world to see.
Love puts the blame on the poor souls who succumb to it.
Love, that ultimate villainess. She makes examples of us all.
And yet we still come back for more.
We keep playing the role she gives us.
For one more chance to feel alive.
Love has made me a villain. But at least now, I don’t have to be misunderstood.
This is my story…
“Aí, assim meu amor!”
I had no idea what the hell the guy (was it Cristiano? Cristo?) was grunting loudly in my ear but given that my head was inches from smashing into the dorm room wall, I didn’t really care. He obviously liked what I was giving him and I couldn’t complain.
Smash. He thrust into me just a tad too hard and my head smacked into the greasy stucco.
Okay, I couldn’t complain much.
I shifted back a bit, careful not to interrupt his flow all while not losing my balance and toppling over the side of the bunk. It was bad enough that I kept glancing over at the door every five seconds, afraid that the other backpackers would come back at any moment. I was a bit of an exhibitionist but I still didn’t want the people I was sharing a room with to see me naked with my ass up in the air and some sexy Portuguese guy doing me doggy-style. Cristo, Cristiano, whatever his name was, was staying in the room next door and wouldn’t have to put up with them.
Unfortunately, though he was one sexy beast and we’d spent the night flirting with each other over greasy pub food, that didn’t translate so well into sexual prowess. His dick was big but he didn’t really know what to do with it except try and brain me into the wall, so I finished myself off as he came.
He pulled out and I heard the squishy snap as he unrolled the condom off of him, followed by a smack as he hit me across my ass.
“You Canadian girls are good, yes?” he said with the smirk that made me get naked in the first place. Well that, and copious amounts of Newcastle Brown Ale.
I rolled over, careful not to send us both to the floor. “Well,” I said, trying vainly to cover up my breasts and failing, the bunk shuddering beneath us. “I can’t speak for all of us. But yeah, I’m pretty good.”
“Eh!” he said, his smile looking more idiotic. “Right? Eh?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. I’m pretty good…eh.”
“I knew you all said that,” he said gleefully. I tried to move past him, knowing I couldn’t but hoping that he’d at least go down the bunk bed ladder, but he just sat there, his rapidly deflating penis in full view. They were certainly right about the Europeans being relaxed about sex and nudity. It’s like the mothership had finally called me home.
He nodded at my body. “Why so many tattoos? Is that a Canadian thing?”