Las historias turbias no siempre empiezan mal. La mayoría de las veces, los victimarios se acercan de forma amistosa, para ganar tu confianza...
Carmela no iba a ser la excepción.
Empezaba su vida universitaria, con apenas 16 años. Era una experiencia completamente nueva para ella.
Tenía que viajar de una ciudad a otra desde temprano para acudir a sus clases, tomando dos colectivos hasta llegar a la facultad.
Se sentía grande, aunque no contaba todavía con la mayoría de edad, y reclamaba su independencia al negarse ser acompañada por su padre por lo menos, hasta la parada.
En aquel entonces eran pocas las personas que salían tan temprano desde su zona residencial a tomar el colectivo, y al verlas llegar, Carmela respiraba algo de tranquilidad por no estar sola durante la espera, aunque siempre trataba de calcular el horario de llegada del transporte para evitar exponerse.
Pero, a veces, sin buscarlo, ya estás en la mira de alguien que te observa sin que te des cuenta. Mide tus pasos, sigue tus rutinas y te conoce tan bien, que puede adelantarse en tus reacciones.
A su edad, Carmela ya había sentido, en parte, que no pasaba desapercibida. Desde que su cuerpo de niña empezó a cambiar, propios y extraños ya no la miraban de la misma forma. Su figura se había estilizado, y sus labios carnosos eran blanco del deseo.
A pesar de no maquillarse mucho, tener el rostro lleno de pecas la hacía diferente. Sus facciones finas y ojos color miel, hacían un cuadro digno de admirar.
Nunca fue de vestir provocativo, pues siempre se vio a si misma como una sombra en la que nadie se fija. Buscaba no sobresalir en ningún ambiente: laboral, personal, estudiantil... ser una del montón era para ella un plan de vida, por lo menos al principio.
Lo que no podía ocultar, ni con abundantes capas de ropa, era su personalidad. Gozaba de un liderazgo que en algún momento se hacía notar, y era aplaudido por aquellos que la rodeaban, a quienes guiaba de una forma tan natural, que nadie se resistía a las órdenes de una chica tan joven.
No parecía peligroso...
Jorge era una de esas personas que llegaba a la parada. Iba de traje semiformal, maletín en mano y anteojos. Al principio solo daba los buenos días, pero pasado el tiempo, se atrevía comentar sobre el frío, la impuntualidad del transporte y cosas banales, para luego adentrarse en temas más personales.
Carmela no lo veía venir, pues Jorge era bastante agradable e inclusive simpático físicamente, y aunque no estaba interesada en una relación afectiva, tampoco se cerraba a la posibilidad de que llegara a su vida en ese momento.
En algunas conversaciones Carmela le dio a conocer donde estudiaba, y él sorpresivamente modificó su rutina para acompañarla a tomar el segundo colectivo, luego fue un poco más lejos, pero todo se veía tan natural, ya que ambos iban a distintos lugares dentro de la misma ciudad.
Jorge no vivía en la misma zona que ella, pero pasaba los fines de semana ahí, así que los lunes era fijo que se encontraran en el punto de partida, el resto de la semana, en la parada del siguiente autobús.
Cuando se sentía en confianza, Carmela hablaba mucho, y a veces, sin querer, olvidaba si había dicho algo previamente. Eso lo advirtió Jorge a la primera. Así que cuando él revelaba saber algo adicional de ella, alegaba que ya se lo había mencionado, con lo cual Carmela se quedaba tranquila ante esa confesión.
Un día, mientras se encontraba sola, suena el intercomunicador, un aparato que prácticamente nunca se usaba en casa. Al atender, una voz masculina le dice Hola, es Jorge! Un escalofrío se apoderó de Carmela, pues ella recordaba perfectamente no haberle dado detalles de su casa.
Trancó la comunicación y aunque volvió a sonar insistentemente, hizo caso omiso al ensordecedor aparato, y se ocupó de cerrar puertas, cortinas y ventanas, de manera que no pudiera ubicarla en medio de toda las fachadas de apartamentos. Vivía en un piso bajo, por lo que desde afuera, se podía apreciar, con un poco de observación extra, los movimientos dentro del recinto.
Lo mismo se repitió al día siguiente, pero esta vez no atendió nunca el llamado del intercomunicador. Ese fin de semana algo cambió en la mente de Carmela.
Luego de eso, se sentía como una gacela que era observada desde la lejanía, y la indiscreción de los vecinos, le dio más información sobre su vida personal a Jorge, quien había pasado a ser una sombra que iba dos pasos delante de ella.
Después de eso, procuraba no salir ni andar en lugares cercanos a su casa, o que frecuentaran sus vecinos, sin tener algún tipo de compañía.
A veces lo veía pasar frente a su ventana, observando con detalle, como buscando alguna señal que le indicara dónde buscarla.
Fue así como empezó a cambiar sus rutinas: decidió esperar al siguiente colectivo, para no topárselo en la parada y comenzó a aceptar la compañía de su papá en las madrugadas frías y oscuras, mientras llegaba su transporte.
Tenía que reconocer que había empezado a sentir miedo. Algo instintivo le decía: "cuidate", aunque en medio de la ciudad, se sentía expuesta en cada momento.
Y un día...
En el mundo, a veces las distancias se acortan, y las esquinas se acercan. Y ese día le llegó a Carmela, en una mañana que salió sola a su rutina diaria. Jorge se aparece sigiloso detrás de ella, y la saluda.
Trató de mantener la compostura, e inclusive, aunque no es buena actriz, supo cómo desdibujarse en su propia personalidad y confundir a quien, para ella, era una amenaza.
Buenos días, responde, poniendo cara de póker ante la sonrisa de él.
¡Tanto tiempo sin verte! prosigue Jorge, aproximándose para darle un beso en la mejilla como es costumbre al saludar, pero ella da un paso atrás sin cambiar su expresión.
Disculpa, ¿te conozco? le dice ante la mirada atónita de Jorge.
No puede ser que te hayas olvidado de mí, replica él. Si hasta hace un par de semana nos veíamos a diario.
Ah... ¡tú debes ser amigo de Camela! ella es mi hermana gemela. ¡Yo soy Marcela!
Su cara demostraba total asombro, no era posible que hubiese dos personas ¡tan parecidas! pero tampoco resultaba imposible, y la duda fue sembrada, tal como ella sin planificarlo, quiso que fuera.
Ante esto, Jorge cambió su postura. Se le veía cómodo generando terror, y ahora el aterrorizado era él. Todo el terreno ganado había desaparecido. Carmela se inventó en un segundo un mundo paralelo tan coherente, que no hubo manera de demostrar que esa nueva verdad no era cierta.
¿Y tu hermana? Preguntó dubitativo.
Se mudó con una amiga, para Caracas, ya estaba cansada de tanto viajar todos los días.
Qué raro que nunca me comentó sobre ti, seguía Jorge, tratando de buscar alguna rendija que le indicara que era una farsa.
Ella y yo no nos llevamos bien. Por eso yo me fui a vivir con mi novio, para sacármela de encima, porque siempre le daban la razón a ella.
Al llegar el colectivo, ella sube y se sienta al lado de alguien que ya venía. Él se quedó con las ganas de seguir con la conversación. Tampoco se bajó en la parada habitual, ni tomó el colectivo de siempre. Ese día llegó tarde, pero evitó exponerse a un destino paralelo que podía no ser tan positivo, gracias a su astucia.
Nunca sabrá que hubiese pasado, pero por lo menos sigue viva para contar su historia…
I was saved because I was not me...
Shady stories don't always start badly. Most of the time, the perpetrators approach you in a friendly way, to gain your trust...
Carmela was not going to be the exception.
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She was starting her college life, barely 16 years old. It was a completely new experience for her. She started traveling from one city to another early in the morning to attend her classes, taking two buses to get to school.
She felt grown up, even though she was not yet of age, and claimed her independence by refusing to let her father at least accompany her to the bus stop.
At that time there were few people who left so early from their residential area to take the bus, and seeing them arrive, she breathed some peace of mind for not being alone during the wait, although she always tried to calculate the time of arrival of the transport to avoid exposing herself.
But sometimes, without looking for it, you are already in the sights of someone who is watching you without you realizing it. He measures your steps, follows your routines and knows you so well that he can anticipate your reactions.
At her age, Carmela had already felt, in part, that she did not go unnoticed. Since her girlish body began to change, strangers and friends no longer looked at her in the same way. Her figure had become slimmer, and her full lips were the target of desire.
Although she didn't wear much make-up, her freckled face made her different. Her fine features and honey-colored eyes made a picture worthy of admiration.
She was never a provocative dresser, as she always saw herself as a shadow that no one would notice. She sought not to stand out in any environment: work, personal, student... being one of the crowd was for her a life plan, at least at the beginning.
What she could not hide, even with abundant layers of clothing, was her personality. She enjoyed a leadership that at some point was noticeable, and was applauded by those around her, whom she led in such a natural way, that no one resisted the orders of such a young girl.
It did not seem dangerous...
Jorge was one of those people who arrived at the bus stop. He wore a semi-formal suit, briefcase in hand and glasses. At first he only said good morning, but after a while, he dared to comment on the cold, the unpunctuality of the transport and banal things, and then he would go into more personal topics.
Carmela did not see it coming, since Jorge was quite pleasant and even physically nice, and although she was not interested in an affective relationship, she did not close her mind to the possibility of him coming into her life at that moment.
In some conversations Carmela let him know where she studied, and he surprisingly modified his routine to accompany her to take the second bus, then went a little further, but everything seemed so natural, since they both went to different places within the same city.
Jorge did not live in the same area as she did, but he spent his weekends there, so on Mondays it was fixed that they would meet at the starting point, the rest of the week, at the next bus stop.
When she felt confident, Carmela talked a lot, and sometimes, without meaning to, she would forget if she had said something previously. Jorge noticed this at once. So when he revealed that he knew something else about her, he claimed that he had already mentioned it to her, and Carmela was reassured by this confession.
One day, while she was alone, the intercom rang, a device that was practically never used at home. When she answered it, a male voice said Hello, it's Jorge! A shudder ran through Carmela, as she remembered perfectly well not having given him details of her house.
She turned off the phone and although it rang again insistently, she ignored the deafening device, and took care to close doors, curtains and windows, so that she could not locate it in the middle of all the apartment facades. He lived on a low floor, so from the outside, he could see, with a little extra observation, the movements inside the enclosure.
The same thing happened again the next day, but this time she never answered the intercom call. That weekend something changed in Carmela's mind.
After that, she felt like a gazelle being watched from afar, and the indiscretion of the neighbors gave more information about her personal life to Jorge, who had become a shadow two steps ahead of her.
After that, she tried not to go out or walk in places near her house, or frequented by her neighbors, without having some kind of company.
Sometimes she would see him passing in front of her window, observing in detail, as if looking for some sign that would indicate where to look for her.
That was how she began to change her routines: she decided to wait for the next bus, so as not to run into him at the bus stop, and she began to accept her father's company in the cold and dark early mornings, while her transportation arrived.
She had to admit that she had begun to feel afraid. Something instinctive told her: "take care of yourself", although in the middle of the city, she felt exposed at every moment.
And one day...
In the world, sometimes distances get shorter, and corners get closer. And that day came to Carmela, on a morning when she went out alone to her daily routine. Jorge appears stealthily behind her, and greets her.
She tried to keep her composure, and even though she is not a good actress, she knew how to blur into her own personality and confuse the one who, for her, was a threat.
Good morning, she replies, making a poker face at his smile.
Long time no see! Jorge continues, approaching her to give her a kiss on the cheek as is customary to greet her, but she takes a step back without changing her expression.
Excuse me, do I know you? she says to Jorge's astonished look.
It can't be that you have forgotten me," he replies. Up until a couple of weeks ago we saw each other every day.
Ah... You must be Camela's friend! She's my twin sister. I'm Marcela!
Her face showed total astonishment, it was not possible that there were two people so alike! but it was not impossible either, and the doubt was sown, just as she had, without planning it, wanted it to be.
At this, Jorge changed his position. He looked comfortable generating terror, and now he was the terrified one. All the ground he had gained had disappeared. Carmela invented in a second a parallel world so coherent that there was no way to prove that this new truth was not true.
And your sister? he asked hesitantly.
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She moved with a friend, to Caracas, she was tired of traveling so much every day.
How strange that she never told me about you, Jorge continued, trying to find some crack that would indicate that it was a farce.
She and I didn't get along. That's why I went to live with my boyfriend, to get her off my back, because everybody said she was always right.
When the bus arrived, she got on and sat down next to someone who was already coming. He was left wanting to continue the conversation. He didn't get off at the usual stop, nor did he take the usual bus. That day he was late, but he avoided exposing himself to a not-so-positive parallel fate thanks to his cunning.
She will never know what would have happened, but at least she is still alive to tell her story...
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Edición/Edition by: @mamaemigrante on Canva
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)