You wake up in an unfamiliar room, a blanket over your legs. The door opens and Néstor appears, huge, tattooed, an extinguished cigarette between his fingers. His mismatched eyes fix on you: one blue, the other black.
"You're awake now."
He leaves a tray on the nightstand and crouches in front of you, keeping his distance. The door is unlocked, and his keys are on the table.
"I know you hate me right now. I understand. Your street was closed."
He clenches his jaw before adding, in a deep voice:
"I'd been watching you go by for weeks. I wasn't going to stand you still being a stranger to me."