Depression doesn’t give a shit about you. It nips at your heels, reminding you of all of the bad things in life, and how much better everyone else has it. On Facebook and Instagram people show the best parts of their lives. Rarely do they snap a photo of the worst.

The thing I hated most about my depression was that it always knew where to find me.

It would sneak up when I least expected it, tap me on the shoulder, and say, “Hi there Amy, what are you up to? I thought I might follow you around today.”

The big bad D had found me in Barcelona and after a week of living here, I was thinking that my mom’s concerns about me not dealing with my depression were legit. It made adjusting to the language barrier, the jet lag, and starting classes the day after I’d arrived that much more difficult. I channeled my therapist and tried to think positive. I thought about my dad’s parting words before I boarded my plane at O’Hare in Chicago: it’s an adventure, don’t forget to live it, and have fun.

As the busy traffic sounds of the city streamed through my window, I focused on coming up with one thing that was good about this morning. And that, I decided while sniffing the air, was that the coffee smelled damn good. I was already waking up when my host mom knocked on the door.

“Amelita?” Doña Maria chirped.

“Yeah…?” I returned, my voice hoarse.

I heard her jiggling with the knob and then her voice filled my room. “Chandler is back from his two week spring break. Why don’t you get dressed and come down to meet him? I’ve made you two breakfast—your favorite—an omelet with bacon and avocado.”

It was like she’d known I was down without actually knowing, and had taken extra care to find out a few of my food likes and make them for me. Clearly, she had experience dealing with emotionally fragile study abroad students. Her hospitality was really sweet and it did help. However, I was still getting used to the Spanish schedule of waking up around 9 a.m. and getting to class around ten most days. My host-mom’s mood rubbed off on me a little bit, and I decided that today, I might try a go at actually enjoying myself, as much as it pained me.

“Amelita,” she repeated, a little more insistent.

“Coming,” I finally groaned and forced my eyes open when something she’d said hit my brain. I glanced over at the door. “Wait!”

“Yes?” Doña Maria said, and poked her head back into my room. I’d been living in her apartment in downtown Barcelona since I’d arrived, and I was under the impression that it was only me who was going to be living here with her. She’d never mentioned another student since I arrived, and the program advisor hadn’t mentioned it either.

“Who’s Chandler?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

“Chandler is your host brother, Amelita,” Doña Maria said, like it was the best news I could ever hear. “The program gave us two of you this year. Chandler arrived in January, and he’s here for winter and spring.”

She smiled and closed the door.

I propped myself up on my elbows and glanced out my bedroom window. The sun was bright and making me wince a little. It was mid-April, springtime in Europe, the best time to visit—or so I’d read. It was nice weather back home in Chicago, too; but I hadn’t come here for the weather. I had hoped a change in scenery would be better medicine than taking actual medication. I wanted to get away from the people around me, especially my mom—who was great, but living in the same city as her while going to college was a little much. Dad was more hands off and trusted my judgment, which was why I was probably closer to him. He saw me as Amy, his daughter; not Amy, his daughter with depression. I suppose it balanced them out, Mom over worrying and Dad being more easygoing. I just needed to figure shit out for myself in general.

Studying in Spain had not been on purpose, but rather by happenstance. I’d decided to do this on a whim, last minute and it was by pure luck that I got in. At Columbia, my focus was on marketing and management—nothing to do with Spain or its culture—but I was ahead in my credits and taking all electives while abroad. I was here to have fun and do something different. Discover something new. But it would be a brief visit.

My school here was on trimesters instead of semesters, so I would only be staying through the middle of June.

I squinted at the clock on the nightstand next to my bed. My Monday classes started soon and I needed to get a move on if I wanted to get to the subway and to my classroom on time. I threw the covers off and shuffled to my door, not in the mood to meet new people. I wondered if it’d be weird with this complete stranger and me living in this apartment—together? What kind of guy studies abroad, anyway? Of the three guys on my program that I’d met, they were all long-haired, skinny hipsters. Not my type. Yawning, I sauntered down the hallway still in my tank top and short pajama shorts. I took a second to glance down at myself. I definitely wasn’t looking my best.

Whatever. I grew up around parents who walked around the house naked, so it wasn’t like I cared who saw me in my early morning state. However, the “whatever” mindset disappeared the moment I rounded the corner and laid eyes on my ‘brother’.

He sat in profile to me, elbows on the breakfast table. He was sipping coffee and reading the local newspaper—in Spanish. I did a double take.

Seeing him for the first time reminded me of Sixteen Candles when they cut to Molly Ringwald’s love interest for the first time. What was that actor’s name again?

The sun poured in from the front windows, landing on him like a spotlight. When he flipped the pages, his arms flexed. His chest and abs were chiseled, with a tattoo of a rose above his heart, and another image that I couldn’t quite make out on his abs. His skin was olive-colored, and he looked as though he certainly had a healthy bit of Greek in him, or maybe Italian. Or maybe something totally different, but definitely a little exotic. His hair was a dark color, borderline black. When he looked at me, I stared at his eyes. They somehow ranged in hue from light blue to dark green, a combination that perplexed me.

“Hola. You must be Amelita.” He flashed a cocky almost-smile in my direction. He returned the favor by looking me over thoroughly. The way his eyes scanned my entire body in a leisurely way, twice, sent chills through my body.

“H-hola…” I stammered, expelling the air I’d been holding while he perused me. I shook my head. “Wait. Did you say ‘Amelita’? My name’s Amy but no one here seems to know that.”

He laughed—a hearty laugh for so early in the morning. “‘Amelita’ means ‘little Amy’. Guess you haven’t had time to brush up on your Spanish yet. How long have you been here?”

My pulse accelerated and I took the coffee Doña Maria placed in my hands and urged me toward the table. “Just over a week. And you’re…my host brother?” I asked, distracted.

“Yep. Me llamo Chandler,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I just got back today from a trip. Looking forward to living with you, little Amy.” He winked.

Once again, I watched, riveted as his biceps flexed. He could have done ads for arm porn. And when he spoke in Spanish with Doña Maria, it sounded flawless and natural. In spite of my sudden inability to speak, I pulled out my chair and sat down across from him at the small wooden table.

Chandler continued to watch me from his seat, as though waiting for me to say or do something. But I just kept staring back at him like an idiot. My host mom was intently watching the interaction between us as she set my plate with my omelet before me. Meanwhile, Chandler continued to watch me openly, which made me doubly nervous. He was a big guy, and his left knee kept bumping into mine, or mine kept bumping into his because I was suddenly jittery. And it wasn’t the coffee.

He definitely wasn’t skinny. Or a hipster.

I gulped down a bit of my omelet—which was delicious—and tried not to gawk at this guy sitting across from me shirtless.

Maria gave a nod as she sat to my left, a small smile on her lips. We both looked at her when she sighed, smiling. “I think you two are gonna be friends,” she said, in her cutesy Spanish accent.

“Oh, I have a boyfriend,” I blurted out. As soon as I did, I felt my cheeks get warm from embarrassment. That was not relevant to the conversation. I couldn’t think in front of this guy because his damn abs were too distracting.

Doña Maria let out a chuckle at my out-of-context statement. “It’s good. It’s okay. Chandler ya tiene muchas chicas. Muchas amigas.”

I ruffled my brow at her broken English and glanced at Chandler. “What did she say?”

Chandler cocked his head to the side. He quirked the corner of his lips. “Don’t worry about it.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Fine. I won’t.” But I was worried about it. Ya tiene muchas chicas. I made a mental note to look that phrase up ASAP.