IF THERE'S A PLACE where you can see and feel the long history of Barcelona, it's the Gothic Quarter. Dotted with Roman architecture and medieval buildings, it's a labyrinth of winding narrow streets that converge into the Cathedral Square, a sort of neuralgic point where you always end up when you can't find your way in this mess of intricate alleys and dead ends.

And that's where I am right now.

Again.

Damn it, what should have been no more than a fifteen-minute walk is turning into a nightmare. I keep getting turned around and finding myself back at this place, unable to leave the crowds of tourists and pilgrims behind and finally find the way to her place.

Maybe it's a sign. Maybe I should head back to the airport and forget this insane idea – I keep telling myself that as I, this time, acknowledge my apparently broken sense of direction and look for a map app to rescue me from this absurd situation.

A few narrow streets intersected by a dozen even narrower streets later, I find it at last. Looking up at the third floor of the old stone building, I pray the adrenaline kicks in quickly.

I dial her number.

No answer.

My throat tightens up as I try again.

No answer.

My fingers begin to sweat and a painful tingling sensation trickles down my spine. Persist or retreat are the only two words racing around and colliding in my head; a horrible headache is about to creep in, I know it already.

"This is ridiculous," I think aloud. I should accept the inevitable – she doesn't want to see me – and give up.

But before what's left of my pride sets in and my courage abandons me for good, I give it another try.

"Hello?"

"Liv?"

There's a long stretch of silence, then, "Brian?" My name comes out in a single breath.

"Do you have a minute? Can we talk?"

A maddening silence falls over the line again.

"Olivia?"

"Can I call you later?" Her tone is low and controlled.

My heart drops. "Sure, but I just wanted to–"

"I can't talk with you right now," she interrupts in the same hushed tone.

With my heart slamming even harder than it was before, I look up to the third floor, to the open window where a flimsy white curtain flows out against a colourful pot.

"It's really important. And it won't take–"

"I'm sorry, but I have to go now." And she hangs up. Just like that.

Damn it, I curse myself for having listened to my sister and embarked on such a crazy idea.

Realising that the opportunity to leave with some dignity has just presented itself, I ponder what to do. Her dismissal is probably my cue to forget about all this.

It is. Leaving is the only reasonable thing to do.

Except I'm a man who doesn't give up on anything that easily, much less when I want it so badly. I don't care anymore if I cock it up completely. Fuck being reasonable!

With some luck, I might not even have to come up with a very elaborate plan to make her listen to me. There's an old lady leaving the building, struggling to get through the front door. I hurry to hold the door open.

"Venga, le ayudo, Señora. Olivia me ha invitado e iba a subir ahora mismo," that I would help her, because I was already on my way up to meet Olivia who had invited me, I tell her with my rusty Spanish.

She looks up, squinting against the light, assessing me first, then fixing on the flower bundle. Eventually, her face breaks into a warm smile and she reaches over to pat my arm gently. "Gracias, chico."

After helping her bring the wheeled shopping trolley out to the pavement, I rush to the lift and punch the call button. It seems it will take an eternity and another three days to come down, so I give up and take the stairs.

I'm already heading up the third flight when, in the distance, I hear a resonant 'no' and a door slam. My senses leap in suspicion something isn't right.

The tension propels me forward and I rush to the third-floor hall, where I pace with quick steps towards the door number I recheck on the post-it note my sister gave me.

3B.

Voices come right from the other side of the door and I creep closer to eavesdrop on them.

"Escúchame, déjame hablar a mí–"

"Es que estás sordo o qué? Vete, no te quiero ver más. Esto se acabó y hablo en serio. Desaparece y déjame en paz."

Unease slides down my spine, stiffening my back. Damn it, she's with her ex.

This is a bloody nightmare, the only positive thing about this mess is they're having an argument. He wants to tell her something. Probably that he'd been an idiot but after some epiphany-like moment he realised he can't go on without her.

Again, the same old song. Fuckwit.

I guess my only consolation, for now, is that she's demanding he leaves, ironically asking if he's deaf or what because it's over and all she wants is to be left in peace.

Running a nervous hand along my jaw, I take a sharp intake of air. Shit, I didn't come prepared with a plan B, let alone with a plan C for this awkward situation.

As much as I hate to admit it, I should go now and wait for her call. I can't get between her and the blithering moron here.

The doorknob turns again, but someone keeps the door from opening.

"Mírame! Olivia, escúchame bien."

That she should look at him and listen, he growls in a low menacing tone.

"Suéltame."

That he... should let go of her? Her voice is trembling, and I do not like the direction this is taking.

She says something else then, something indistinct and muffled I can't comprehend.

"¿Pero creías que podrías escapar de mí así? ¡Eres una zorra malagradecida, eso es lo que tú eres!"

The degenerate bastard is threatening her! Telling her she could never escape from him... that she's a... an ungrateful slut?

My hands ball into fists, I can hardly control the growing fury boiling inside. I feel like storming inside and breaking his fucking neck.

"¡Filipe, suelta mi brazo que me estás haciendo daño! Si no te alejas, voy a gritar."

What?

She's begging him to let her go because... he's hurting her? And if he doesn't, she'll cry out for help?

She doesn't have to. The same second my brain decodes the sentence, I pound on the door.

No one answers, though. There's only a long dead silence, one that is almost unbearable, that is only to be broken by another heavy knock and a ring on the bell.

But then, finally, I hear the door open and Olivia peeps out, her face pale, her brimming eyes threatening to spill over.

"You?" She looks up in surprise and swallows hard, apparently unable to make the words leave her mouth.

No further words are exchanged. I just keep looking down at her, our eyes locked on each other. With my gaze I let her know I've heard it, that I'm here for her.

Reaching out for her hand, I mouth, "You okay?"

"Yes," she responds with a faint, almost inaudible whisper.

From the inside comes an impatient "Who's there?".

She lowers her eyes and shakes my fingers off, an expression of sadness on her face that makes my jaw muscles clench.

"Please, go now. I'll call you later."

"Okay..."

On the spur of the moment, I push the door open and enter the apartment with confident steps, as if I'd done that a lot of times before. I'm not leaving her alone with this arsehole.

"Sweetheart, how come you're not ready yet? We have to go!" I give her the flowers. "Here, for you. Maybe you want to put them in water?"

Clearly dumbfounded at the scene, Olivia receives the bundle in almost mechanical motion, gives me her best creeped-out smile and heads inside.

I then extend my hand to give the git a handshake.

He's caught off guard and to my own surprise and his, he greets me back. There's shock written all over his face.

"¿Quién coño eres tú?" He blurts out, his eyes looking me up and down.

Who the fuck am I? I'll tell you who the fuck I am.

"I'm her boyfriend," I say with a bright smile, acid dripping into every syllable.

A furrow of confusion forms on his forehead.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I then give the final thrust with my chin raised in defiance. "What about you? Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?"

A hard thump, followed by the sound of broken glass echoes across the room. I turn and find Olivia looking at me, frozen, surrounded by gleaming shards and scattered flowers.

xo, Ana