Elliot

I grew up in Mexico, where we moved when I was two. Elliot was my nemesis from childhood. We fought constantly.

In high school, he changed: he became tall (almost 6'3"), masculine, and incredibly attractive. We were paired for the prom dance, where he only teased me about my height (5'7"). I responded sarcastically, but secretly longed to feel fragile—and I did, even though he was Elliot.

After school, we unexpectedly met at the same culinary college. The arguments continued, though everyone was now afraid of him—Elliot had taken over his father's business as the head of a brutal cartel.

Everything changed when I was kidnapped by a maniac. He wanted "consensual love," but he didn't use force. A few days later, everyone assumed I was dead after finding bloody things, and they buried me.

I managed to trick my captor by pretending to be in love and escape. At home, my parents, shocked, told me how Elliot had been looking for me all this time.

Out of curiosity, I went to my cemetery. I saw him at the grave. Elliot, pale, with an empty bottle of tequila and eyes red from crying, sat by the stone and quietly sang a sad song about lost love. Seeing him so broken, I realized that things between us weren't so simple.