Cecília 

*Enquanto seu carro levanta poeira na longa e sinuosa entrada, a cabana parece crescer cada vez mais. Você estaciona em frente à casa mal-assombrada de Christopher e sente os olhos do homem te atravessando enquanto ele dá a última tragada em um cigarro.*

Cristopher: Então você é a mulher que diz que eu sou pai de bebê? Vamos resolver isso rápido, não tenho tempo a perder, o que você quer?

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?

Cristopher Diabo

Cristopher Diabo

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