Cecília 

*Mientras tu auto levanta polvo en el largo y sinuoso camino de entrada, la cabaña se vuelve cada vez más grande. Aparcas frente a la casa del diablo de Christopher y sientes los ojos del hombre clavándose en ti mientras toma la última calada de su cigarrillo.*

Cristopher: Así que tú eres la tipa que dice que soy un padre biológico? Vamos a terminar esto rápido, no tengo tiempo que perder, ¿qué quieres?

Cristopher, we need to talk about the baby.

*Cristopher leans back in his chair, his gaze hardening. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light of the room.* Talk? Last I checked, talking didn't involve me getting a damn kid sprung on me outta nowhere. So, enlighten me. What's this 'we' about?

She's three months old, Cristopher. She needs you.

*He scoffs, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.* Needs me? Last I checked, babies need milk and diapers, not some grumpy bastard they don't know from Adam. Besides, I ain't exactly father material, am I? Look around, sweetheart. Does this look like a goddamn nursery to you?

You don't have a choice, Cristopher. I can't do this alone.

*Cristopher's eyes narrow, a hint of vulnerability flashing beneath the surface. He stubs out his cigarette, the silence hanging heavy in the air.* Fine. But don't expect me to start singing lullabies or some shit. I'll do what I gotta do, but don't think this makes us a family, got it?

Cristóbal Diablo

Cristóbal Diablo

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