"I love these music records."

Cecilia swayed tipsily to the music, her body flushed against his, her fingers absentmindedly tapping his shoulder to the beat of the tune.

A lifetime ago, he would have been happy just to have one more dance with Cecilia. Before getting on the train bound for Cantaloa, he would have happily followed her to the ends of the earth even after she left him, even after she betrayed him. Now, as he danced with her, he felt empty inside.

Cristina always saw right through Cecilia and he wished he wasn't so blind back then, that he hadn't been so stubborn. That would have, at least, saved him the heartbreak.

It would have saved him the criminal record, too.

But he was un idiota[1]—an idiot in love.

And because he was an idiot, he couldn't stop Cecilia from hurting Alicia. Because he was an idiot, he had hurt Alicia.

Cecilia looked up, the ends of her lips curling upwards as she hummed along to the music. He felt sick inside, but he obliged her nonetheless when he leaned down and kissed her—it felt wrong.

She tasted like champagne and strawberries, but it stung like acid and felt like ash. She smelled like perfume and cigarettes, but he felt like suffocating in the fumes all the same.

Cecilia may have been familiar, an old flame… but she was as cold as ice and a stranger he wanted to forget all at once.

And his mind spun when all he could think about was that he should have done better and he should have stopped her from hurting her and perdoname, mi amor[2].

He wanted nothing more than to run out of the room, to see if she's alright, to beg for her forgiveness… but he remained frozen and he didn't move a muscle.

Everything about this felt wrong.

The room was every bit as luxurious as he'd expect a Gran Hotel suite to be, but it also felt more like a cage than a prison cell ever could; the champagne he brought to her room was the most expensive bottle they had, but it burned like fire down his throat and tasted like tar whenever he forced himself to drink with Cecilia; he used to worship the ground his she walked on, and now he could barely stand the sight of her and he could barely live with himself.

In his mind, the memory replayed itself as if it had just happened—he had just helped Cecilia rob Don Alfredo and the hotel of a fortune to the tune of 300,000 pesetas, and they had stashed it inside the security box. They were supposed to leave for her room but Alicia had been following them because that's exactly the kind of person she is: determined and loyal to a fault and even if he did hurt her, she was still intent on stopping him from doing something stupid, from doing something that will end up with him in prison.

The sound kept replaying itself in his mind like some sort of horrible loop. First the cane that made a sickening and sharp thwack and then the dull thud as she fell to the ground.

He doesn't deserve her. And at the very least, she deserved the truth from him.

A part of him wished that he could just tell Alicia. But he told himself it was a necessary evil, to lie to her.

He knew that Cecilia was clever, that she'd find out if there was even just one single inconsistency. Because if the lie was ever going to work, he needed Cecilia to believe that he still wanted her, that a part of him still loved her. If she knew that he was in love with someone else, if she knew that it tore him up inside when he couldn't leave with her that day at the train station, then she would have never believed the ruse. But as he danced to a slow tune, he wished he was dancing with Alicia instead.

A lifetime ago, he would have gladly given his right arm to dance with Cecilia—a lifetime ago, her leaving him high and dry to answer for the robbery would have been the single most painful experience he felt.

Now, it was nothing compared to the guilt and anguish that curled into a tight grip in his chest.

He knew what was going to happen; he wasn't stupid. He had lied, he stole from her family, he pushed her away, maybe a part of her knew that he knew she was watching and chose Cecilia anyway, and now he was complicit in hurting her—Alicia was kind and good, but he knew there was a chance she might not forgive him after this, he knew that there was a chance she'll ask him to leave and he wouldn't blame her. He wouldn't forgive him so easily either.

There was a standing mirror from across the room and he caught his own reflection. His own face stared back, sullen and empty, while Cecilia held herself so close to him.

As he danced with Cecilia, time raced down. He was at the brink of losing everyone he cared about in this hotel.

Even when their breaths mingled in the same air of space, he felt so alone.

He may have been swaying to the music, holding someone flush against his body, but he was still on his own, sigo bailando por mi cuenta[3]—

The record stopped and when Cecilia looked up, he pretended he was looking straight into Alicia's face so that, when he smiled, it would at least reach his eyes.

"Anda,"[4] Cecilia said, letting him go, "pon mas musica."[5]

Julio immediately obliged, just happy to get away from her embrace. He busied himself with the phonograph, making sure that his hands didn't shake as he slipped off the music record and replaced it with the blank, empty one.

The latch clicked and he could finally set the needle on the record. He gave a silent sigh and fought to keep his voice straight. He couldn't break.

"I'm still waiting for an apology."

Translation footnotes:
1An idiot
2Forgive me, my love
3I keep dancing on my own
4Go
5Put on more music