I Love You (Eu amo você) {MJ FANFICTION}

Chapter 1

1974 - Rio De Janeiro

Her thumb came down to evoke the flame and once again her room was ablaze. Drenched in an auburn glow as the fire danced above the scratched plastic case of the lighter.

She'd always had a fascination with fire and things that burned.

Sometimes when she was bored and alone she would singe the hairs on her arms away like that of a skinned bird. She delighted in watching the thin wisps dissolve before her eyes and without a flinch she absorbed the curt tingle the flames left against her skin. If she was quick enough the hairs would burn and she wouldn't feel a thing.

But it was always the sting that awakened her senses and reminded her that she was alive. Reminded her of the power that a raging fire held in its capacity. 

The power to flatten forests and to engulf, sweep and decimate. And above all, the power to disrupt the wild nature of water and, under the right circumstances, became the worthy opponent of it. Fire could send it skyward in a flailing mist or sometimes swallow it whole into its lashing tongue filled mouth, it's belly ablaze with the thirst for domination.

She often dreamt about tsunamis of fire, one big and hot enough that it eroded the sea and revealed all the mysteries that it liked to keep hidden beneath its murky depths.

This time her purpose for bringing into existence the erratic hot flame was to put it to the end of her thin white cigarette and allow her breath precious nicotine into her bloodstream.

Finally after her long moment of admiration has passed, she released the flame back into obscurity and cast her uncles lighter carelessly to the ground.

The more smoke filtered in, the more her thoughts flooded out.

Then there was a brash knock at the door and the base of her wrist pressed against her forehead with despair.

"Lia!"

"Yes!" she felt her own patience slip away at her uncles urgent tone of voice.

All she wanted, was to be left alone in complete silence.

Taking another breath of smoke she gazed at the vinyl discs stacked in her room at the base of her dresser.

O Terço sat at the top of the pile of four albums. Suffocating the likes of Som Imaginário and Jorge Ben beneath it's domineering crush. Then under that, just an empty fleece with Tim Maia's face on the cover, the disc having long since been removed.

It was an exhaustive collection of songs that, each in their own way, represented staple check points in her life up to now, her 16th year.

These records were all her uncle had been able to afford to gift her over her lifetime.

"Bacon!" he'd yelled back just as impatiently from behind the wooden door propped shut by a broken plastic blue basket full of laundry. She knew her uncle well enough to know that his words had been a demand and not an offer.

Gravity pulled her head back, and she breathed out all the smoke she'd been holding in. Her brown eyes locked onto a soft orange poster background, inside the frame stood Jorge Ben tilting a faded red beret down over dark doe eyes. His full lips and strong jaw stuck out through his beautiful light brown skin. His white over coat looked warm enough to fit her inside of it as well as himself. She dared to dream yet again of just how that entire predicament would play out for a second before finally arising and kicking the pins and needles out of her legs.

She would love to see Jorge Ben walking down the streets among the plethora of offloading tourists on a sunny midday. The things she would have him sing to her...