1

In his mind it all seemed to be very far away from his present reality. The caresses and kisses shared
with the beloved one seemed to fade from his consciousness and memories little by little, year after
year, at a snail’s pace. Sometimes the honey of the past (his real and unique love until these days)
appeared in his dreams, touching his face with affection, patting his back and then disappearing
playfully or even whispering to his ears the memorable words “let’s make love, sweetie”. Her
images were always too vivid and almost real taking into account the great deal of times he kissed
the air while dreaming and felt the humidity in his crotch shamefully. The awakening and the
natural realization (not always immediately) that it was just another unfaithful dream, always too
betrayer, disturbed him. When awakening he felt like being a bullied and defenseless boy fooled
over and over again with the same old trick and found himself not able to stop the goddamned prank
in time. He could even listen to the laughter behind him coming into his ears in unison and his face
flushed with the same reality than in real shameful situations.

Almost 2 years had passed now and he was sitting on the desk in front of the computer. Clicking on
here clicking on there and a new folder opened. The images were blurred. Is there any problem with
the screen? Or maybe it can be my organism just following the natural course of aging. Can’t it? -
he asked himself. Before getting to the correct answer to this question a drop of tear fell into his
hand. Until this happened he hadn’t realized that he was crying from the first moment he turned the
computer on and searched for the folder titled “Happy moments with Ann.”

“It will no longer forever, dude”, some folks said, “there will always be light after dark”, others
alleged. But there were neither a break to this feeling nor a single beam of light anywhere. It existed
just this feeling of falling from the cliff and the eternal shrieks and panic before hitting the solid
ground and splashing his blood on it. He could even see his brains scattering through the floor and
the red stained on it.

“What do they know?”- he asked himself. And that was true. That was a valid question. After all
they hadn’t lived what he lived in those times. They hadn’t felt the way he did. They hadn’t
understood which bond tied them and became their union the special one they considered it to be.
They didn’t know how they behaved into the solitude of the private gloom. And they didn’t know
her motives to leave either. It was all behind a thousand keys. Fortunately nobody knew the
combination of his safe. It was all perfectly hidden. No one knew about his madness or his personal
conflicts. No one knew how he loved. How deep and dangerous his love was. Nobody had the key
to see what had happened in his mind. All of this was isolated in an unknown island (his mind) that
no one had access to but him. Just him. And that was good.

After wiping his tears off from his face he decided to go out to clear his mind. His car was parked
into the driveway. He got into it and ran the engine. It was a cloudy day that Monday. “What a good
weather to start the week”- he said to nobody. And he was right. Although we all know that time is
an illusion and hours nowadays seem to be in a rush, starting the week in a low mood is not
recommendable. And of course it’s not desirable if you are passing through a depression. Chances
are that if you feel low on Monday you would be struggling each next second, minute or even hour
with your inner pain and confusion. In the same way, chances are that if you feel that way you
would build up an appropriate defense mechanism in order to regain control and confidence over
your live. There’s always a solution. And Roger knew it too. In this case he threw himself into a
voyage. Did he know where he was going? No, he didn’t. Did he know how to escape from those
memories? It seemed so (evading those discomfort internal events by driving away). Did he know
how to tackle his depressed condition? Just 3 words: NOT AT ALL. And this fact seemed strange
because as a cultivated man he must have read how to cope with grief somewhere. And there he
was, driving with no clear destination, just sitting behind the wheel to not think about her. But he
was wrong. He was really mistaken if his real intention was to step aside those painful images
coming in frantic rhythm to his head. He was wrong because that behavior had become automatic
and the frontal cortex was available to focus on other actions (watch out boy! Here comes more
PAIN, PAIN, and PAIN). Now he was connecting his IPhone to the car’s stereo, staining whatever
he touched with his sweat. His friend, Ivan, had downloaded an audiobook on his mobile phone.
“This must help you. Whenever you feel anxious or depressed just run this file”- Ivan had told him.
Despite of his reluctant personality, this time there were no other options handy. The panic was
rising up in intensity and in number of appearance.

Welcome to our first out of four audiobooks set program that can help you relieve your anxiety and
depression by working on your thinking and changing the subsequent emotion and behavior. We
are happy with your purchase and we expect this audiobook would give you more self-control and
the feeling of overcoming your problems. INTRODUCTION. We are living now an era of …
CHAPTER 1: UNDERSTANDING YOUR….

He tried to press the stop button, but he couldn’t. The only thing he was able to do was to pull in the
car. He was breathing with difficulty and his throat had a prominent bulge growing in just like the
one showed in that movie called “Aliens” in which horrible creatures bulged the stomach of their
hosts and then destroyed the tissues to come into the world. His gutter was producing a guttural
sound. His perspiration soaked all his t-shirt immediately and when he thought that this would be
his death (“LOCAL DIED ASFHYSIATED IN HIS CAR” would appear in the local newspaper
next morning) he reached out his left arm and was able to push the open bottom. The windows
rolled down, he craned his neck out of it and breathed. Oxygen had never been so exquisite. His
nostrils devour the pleasant oxygen filling his lungs with live. It was like being a newborn again.
The crying almost followed the first breath but it was not necessary. He stepped out the car, took his
head with both of his hands and started breathing in regular intervals. His temples were pounding
incessantly and he could almost feel them being struck by little inner pinches. For a moment, he
thought two microscopic creatures had entered his brain and were beating his temples with little
sledgehammers. Why? Just to bother him, of course. Little pricks.

The relaxation technique worked. The breathing came back to its natural pace. The temples stop
pounding as hard as hell (maybe those little creatures found other hole or fissure to get more fun)
and his perspiration stopped.

The magic of self-control. Have you thought about how intelligent the body is? Have you ever
realized the power within you that can make lasting changings in the way of viewing the world and
coping with difficulties? It’s just the way you have taught your mind to think about it. Personal and
social factors that have influenced the way you see the world and its obstacles. The good news is
that you can change it if you really commit to this resolution… (the tape kept running)

The only truth he could accept was that he needed help. He tried in many occasions to manage his
problems by himself but it seemed clear he failed. He’d failed. And now without his only source of
relief and hope (his lovely Ann) he found himself alone. And when we feel alone what do we do?
We look for company, help, or understanding (we try to give our lives a new chance to reborn) or
we just sink in our solitude, not seeing the opportunities to relieve the suffering and just
overlooking the little blessings life gives us (we just let us die).

Depression makes us see the world with blurred glasses. Dark glasses. We cannot appreciate how
the world really is when we’re wearing them. We tend to gain a lot of pounds or the contrary we
lose weight catastrophically, we tend to have negative thoughts that affect our self-worth
considerably, we cannot sleep easily…

While the audio were acting as a reinforcement stimulus to Roger thoughts, he looked up and stared
the sunset dying the city with its faint light, letting the night and its seductive and mysterious beings
to pose it down. And there it was. Finally, he saw it. Not only with his dark glasses but now with his
whole heart and body. With an unusual and startling flash shining at him. Shining within him.
Finally, he saw it. It was a beam of light gleaning not only at his eyes but at his soul. For the first
time he understood he wasn’t alone. How many times hadn’t he accepted those helping hands avid
for offering a break to his overwhelming feelings? How much time had he been hiding himself from
the tender words he supposed friends and relatives would utter? These were the tangible facts to
believe in a possible recovery. He had realized that he was not alone in this existence. All he had to
do now was to open himself to that beam of light, no matter the shape it would have (let’s say
friends, relatives, strangers, and so on). But now he felt tired and decided to stop his journey to
nowhere with the satisfaction that as he couldn’t complete it, at least he was able to find a solution.
There’s always a solution.

He got into the car. He let the air refresh his humid flesh. He didn’t turn on the car’s engine; instead
he contemplated the darkness taking place all over the city. Like a plague. He thought about that
Monday when the joy and happiness turned into disgrace and misery. Contradictory feelings. It had
always been that way. Two faces. Good and bad. Kindness and evil. God and devil. The resurrected
and the dying. The extremes always present. “Inside every man there’s a struggle between good and
evil that cannot be resolved”- that Dostoievski’s quote must have been applied to Roger steady
philosophy. That damned Monday. If only she wasn’t be such a …- he finally thought.

He drove back home. The plague had scattered its darkness everywhere. The “take a sit, the supper
is almost ready, honey” or “tell me you love me and you always be by my side, darling”- rebounded
on his ears. He was driving home exactly like the day that changed his life. But with a big
difference, in that time he was a happy married man living a romantic dream and he had a faithful
loving wife waiting for him at home. At least that was what he thought until he saw what he saw
that Monday night.
 3

The reasons that motivated him to do what he did were clear. He had been waiting a long time until
his objective was almost reachable. Ann was the most important objective he’d set since he knew
her in that restaurant. Let’s be more specific: conquering Ann’s heart was the main aim since he got
to know her. Having a spontaneous conversation with a stranger is something some people discard
almost on the spot. But at one point of our lives, after living the same things with the same kind of
people we reach a point in which we wonder ourselves if life consists just of repeating this boring
monotonous routine on a daily basis. Not living your life but the one people has told you to live,
let’s call it “the hereditary social flaw”, it’s a lethal venom. And then the crisis begins. The so-
called existential crisis which leads us to question if we want to change and if we are willing to
challenge ourselves or simply see how miserable our lives become because of our lack of guts.
Happily, there are some other souls biologically programmed to not stick in the same place with the
same kind people all time. Of course, he admired this vigorous and adventurous kind of beings but
it won’t be a surprise to remark that Roger didn’t belong to this latter group. As a conservative
fellow this time he wanted to try something different (to get other results, obviously) and grabbed
the opportunity. Make gold from nothing. So he attempted to grab it. A soul keen to do a different
move, something that is completely out of his mental scheme is always opened to whatever event
would emerge. No matter how risky might be the consequences he just has to move forward, act,
live. Putting knowledge into action can summarize these thoughts. No matter how afraid you are,
there’s no way back. And you must know it. Roger knew it and he felt that way, amazed at how
determined he was walking toward the desirable target, one foot after another (remember, there’s no
way back, boy!), when he opened his mouth to introduce himself and talked to that attractive
beautiful lady (look at you now, you’re doing it!). Helped by his inner impulse he was able to move
his muscles and start a conversation with the chosen one. Although he stuttered when uttering
“could I sit here next to you?” that was more like “c-c-c-could I s-s-it here” ( what a stupid guy she
must be thinking I am) he did it. His bravery and determination upgraded his status to the next level
(let’s call it relationship’s level status, maybe?). Now he was there, sitting and talking to a really
precious girl who had a book clutched with both of her hands. He also stuttered when asking what
book she was reading. “It’s Crime and Punishment by Fiodor Dostoievski”- she had answered while
staring attentively at his eyes (I think he’s cute). And stuttered one more time when he asked her if
she wanted to be his girlfriend. Let’s set apart how many times he was drenched in his own
sweating when realizing how closed their faces were and hesitating if there was time or not to feel
her fine lips and go on to the next level (their first kiss). It had to be something unique, something
far beyond the typical unnatural romantic scene. And so was. In their way, so was. He had invited
her to go to his house to pass the evening (you know we can watch some movies, eat something and
stay together). She had accepted with a big smile and a brief answer (I’ll be there). He had cooked
the food by himself. He loved pastas either she did so the dinner consisted of ravioli stuffed with
cheese and something that never should be forgotten when talking about eating pastas: red wine. He
didn’t know if it was the wine or his creativity though he knew deeply in his mind that was a
combination of both what made him do what he did. Did he kiss her? No, he didn’t. Did he tell her
to be his girlfriend? No, he didn’t do that neither. Well, did he at least take his hand? No, no and no.
Oh my god, did they take off their clothes and start making love? Absolutely, no. Okay, what he did
was to leave Ann sitting on the table for 2 minutes and came back with a sheet of paper and a pen.
He was an avid reader and had serious pretentions to become a writer. How could he try to do this?
By writing, that’s all. Writing all time. Ann’s face seemed shocked and attracted to this unusual
idea. Roger caught all her attention. Her eyes were with him, in the same way that her ears, heart
and soon her body. He explained how to play this game, in that peculiar way he did that when
something drew him powerfully. Ann loved this Roger’s characteristic (I love how he gives all his
passion and miss the reality when is advocated to whatever fills his heart). Again, she just
contemplated him with her bright eyes and her fine hair falling to her forehead. They started to do
what they were supposed to. What the writing game expected them to do. It was simple. They were
going to write a paragraph by writing a few words in a row and then the other had to add another
few words until the paragraph was finished. They decided to write a poem. And what kind of poem
would it be? They didn’t know it until, pen at hand, the letters started writing alone. One word at a
time. Like magic (because that’s what writing is). Both of them remembered what they wrote and
also recalled constantly how after writing they kissed passionately and let the candles enlightening
their first sexual act together. It couldn’t have been called intercourse or making love. In their head
it was something else. Probably people who have loved intensively enough had the correct words to
define these feelings of connection and integrity when the breathing rhythm seemed to be only one,
the odor becomes just one, and the bodies seemed to unify their souls and complete the missed
piece of the puzzle. It’s a feeling of integrity, of having found some part of you which was lost
somewhere and sometime in the world.

Roger’s tears blurred his vision again. He had pulled his car into the driveway and killed the engine
when the pain these memories had released stabbed him just in the back. “Why it had to be that
way?”- he asked himself while letting tears run through his cheeks. He didn’t want to get out of the
car and enter the house he saw what he saw that rainy and dark Monday. Suddenly, it started to rain
and the reminiscence’s appearance was so real and immediate. He felt the way he felt that day. If he
only had known that imperfection is a natural part of human condition. If he only had considered
the latent possibilities that no one is perfect and even people you live with (make love with or share
the same bed with) have a world inside them that you cannot inhabit because it’s not possible. How
do you enter their invisible world? How can you see their thoughts and hidden inner desires? You
can predict people’s unseen world based on certain behavior, that’s true, but there is some error rate
always present. Besides, it seems that some people have a special ability to hide his internal life. Or
how do you explain people living two lives are just caught when they let some things at random or
when at their funeral other “widows” appeared and the honorable man was not such a gentleman
and a role model and the now miserable man breaths mud under earth? How oblivious can people
be? Roger’s tears stopped falling from her red and swollen eyes. Now he was sitting behind the
wheel staring at nowhere just absorbed in these reflections. A slightly chuckle drawn on his face
changing his traits. Now, he was the bad man. The opposite side of the coin. The evil above
kindness. Just like that disgraceful rainy Monday.

He burst into the house not like that easy way day 3 years ago but now he was anxious expecting to
see what his eyes didn’t understand at that time and that he wasn’t be able to get it at once. He
passed through the same rooms before got to the tragic scene. He went to the kitchen because that
was exactly what he did that day. He could even scream “Honey, I’m home. Are you there?” but he
did this just in his mind. He was acting in a mute mode. All the external dialogues were running
within him. He took and downed the same drink (Coca-Cola Zero) and even a few drops of it
spotted his white t-shirt. Anxiety took place in his body again. The physiological responses were
evident: his heart beating increased in speed, his palms were sweaty, his face flushed, his pupils
dilated. He was entering into the nightmare again. He was crossing the path beyond reality and
invading those dangerous and painful roads once more. Craziness was just lurking around all this
time, waiting this moment. He went upstairs and when he was about to open the door which led to
the room in which he breathed for the last time and died (nowadays he considered himself to be
dead, to be a dead walking man) he stopped with the hand placed in the knob. He wanted to scream
and he did it but just to him. He couldn’t even utter a word. His throat was growing again and the
breathing didn’t flow instinctively. “Don’t do this. This is going to hurt you”- the calm and thinking
man inside told him. He couldn’t turn the knob instead he came back to the first floor dragging his
feet on the ground and stairs. Once on the living room he sat on the chair when they played that
game in those happy days. He felt dizzy and took his billfold out from his pants’ back pocket. It
sought for something and once placed he put it on the table. Now resting on the table was a
wrinkled sheet of paper. He saw it and read it time and time again until he dozed off beside it.

If there were just darkness and damnation, if there were chaos and havocs, I would start building
my own army. All I need to get is a partner who I can trust, love and protect. I’d protect her with
the power of my shield, heart and bravery. Nobody would even think of entering our space because
it’s sacred and just belong to my partner and me. The only thing I know is that my army would be
different in all aspects because the light has posed above us shining over our souls and has blessed
us with a mystical energy and an authentic communion.

By Roger and Ann

16/07/2012

The computer was turned on. The email box was kicked on too but nobody was sat in front of it. As
a trusting couple they had a tacit agreement in not checking things that belong to the other person,
you know, the so-called personal issues. I love you; thus, trust you, and I promise you I am never
going to violate your privacy, I really mean it- would affirm both of them but they didn’t. Each part
had understood this no-spoken pact. Each part agreed to it. And why not? Despite all the betrayals,
secrets and lack of honesty couples showed continuously those days and helped by a world that
moved faster than ever because of technological advances, staying together with the same partner
was a great merit. It reaffirmed their beliefs of being an authentic and privileged couple. After all,
the past events and experiences involving them had shown and proved that their relationship was
one of a kind, sincere and strong. He had never had the feeling of questioning her wife about former
couples or even about what she did in those little trips she took twice a month to see her younger
sister who was admitted in the Pinel Mental Health Institution located in the north of the map and
was being treated from drug’s dependence. It was Addiction. A hereditary illness she wanted to
delete from her genes, those indomitable forces which drag us to its will to dangerous or safe
domains. She knew about the odds she had to fall into the addiction world and that was one of the
reasons she relied on Roger, in a relationship in which she finally believed to find that stability and
understanding her previous relationship didn’t give her. “There are lesser triggers here. There is the
appropriate quantity of chemical and tranquility. I’d stay here forever”- she would think. She felt
calm and easy beside him. He loved her intensively but those little Ann’s absences were also pills of
relief and cleaning for Roger’s mind. “I’ll be back in two or three days depending on my sister and
family’s will- she said in her sweetie tone of voice- “I love you”- said this while approaching to his
mouth and kissed him. “I’ll miss you, babe. Tell your sister and family they can always count on
me”- he told her (“Excellent, another free weekend to get new ideas from my book and no
distractions, zero contamination= more production”- he thought). The truth is that sometimes he
needed a break like anybody else. Sleeping alone just accompanied by the sing of nocturnal animals
and the rattling of the branches puffing by the cold air was a pleasant activity he missed from his
years of youth and single status. Those Ann’s weekend absences made him feel like being in his day
off, staying at home (Momma! I don’t want to go to school today I think I’ve got the flu), doing
whatever he wanted to do with the belief and certainty nobody was there to nag at him ( Stop being
lazy and clean your bed up, my boy; or hey Roger, come on, wake up, there are lot of things to do
outdoor today). He really enjoyed those rest days. Those days in which we allow ourselves to let
our subconsciousness arise and be the one controlling our Selves and let it us become the beasts we
were supposed to be before developing a “superior cerebral connection”, even in that case, we
would act normally because we knew no one would be there to repress and halt the expression of
our most primitive behaviors. No annoying reactions to see or not amazed faces because of its
unfamiliarity with our animal part being unleashed from its heavy chains. Sometimes we just want
to free ourselves from those oppressors. And that’s fine. On the contrary, mental illnesses would
rise up and break all parameters and stats. Sometimes we just long to unleash the suffocating bonds
which make us “social animals”. In this particular case, for example, he loved walking naked
through the house, farting whenever he felt like doing it, even masturbating when figuring out that
was Saturday and his Ann was gone for one more day and remembering how many times she got
him into her. Standing beside her wardrobe, peeking into her clothes looking for Ann’s panties;
sniffing them feeling and absorbing that exquisite and catching fragrance, the scent of her sweetie
and addictive crotch. And the same applied to her when he had to take a little trip to visit some
relatives, friends or just to look for some new books or Music’s collection. There were no doubts
they trusted each other. There wasn’t any evidence to make them even hesitate about their loyalty
and compromise toward the relationship. The actions talked by themselves. And we cannot say that
it was because of the falling in love process because that dazzling effect only lasts about a year and
a half at maximum and after that period of time it is replaced by other values such as compromise,
loyalty, and of course, a great deal of affection or in other words “constant rewards”.

But this time there was something strange in the atmosphere. It felt just like when you come back
home after a brief or long absence, go impatient to your bed or studio (your sanctuary, where all the
things grow and expand by themselves, where the creative power begins) and sense that something
is missing, feel that odd sensation that gives way to think something is not all right (at this point you
can’t determine what it is but deeply in your heart you know it), something hasn’t felt the way it felt
when you left the house. And then you are absorbed by some sort of emptiness that doesn’t allow
you to enjoy your longing return. That’s when you find out that some stuff has been removed from
its original place or even threw out from its property. Of course, it’s not their intention to bother you
or disturb you; they just want you to find your “sanctuary” with that fresh air and the sensation of
not having been abandoned. By and large, someone broke into your privacy and dared to touch
your personal objects (because in your “place” everything is just yours, everything must be sacred
and blessed by his owner (You!)). And that Monday something seemed to be out of place. No, not
only seem but feel like. And feelings are valuable and exist for a reason. They give us information.
They are vivid warnings that permit us to make “intelligent” or “appropriate” decisions considering
the context in which we are taking part of and they arise. They prevent us from possible
catastrophes. But also they alert us when something especially good is coming. Again, the opposite
sides collide with each other into reality. Anyway, something made him feel like a stranger in his
own house. For the first time he found himself worried and hesitated about what his next steps
would be. His anxiety was dug up from his past. The annoying symptoms came back but this time
as its strongest intensity (strongest than ever) making him shudder desperately like a street dog after
being hit by a violent owner and left aside in a gelid winter day (without human warmth, or
protection, or even food and shelter).

He walked toward the computer looking down at his feet, noticing how sluggish his steps were,
trying to focus on maintaining his body movements in equilibrium to evade his feet to tangle with
one another and fall on the ground. One at a time, one at a time, yes, like that, one step at a time- he
encouraged himself while walking- Oh God, how difficult this is, don’t lose control, kiddo, breath
and walk- he thought while a reminiscence from his childhood came into his mind. In that recall he
was trying to reach the loving target just a few steps before him, outstretched arms were waiting for
him, the target was so close at that time (you are doing it, my Ro, you are walking; look at that
baby! He’s gonna be an athlete, sweetie) but now this time the aim wasn’t a loving hug or even a
joyful praise, not a single hand was visible to his blurred sight but a simple machine, a not-
breathing object but equally and powerfully able to arise deep feelings within him ( why is her
computer turned on? And where in the hell is she? He felt like a newborn that inevitably will fall
on the ground as part of his walking training process, the very known “trial and error” method to
learn how to do new things. Undoubtedly, all of his concentration and willing putting into the motor
task was in vain, simply useless because of his lack of coordination along with the physiological
symptoms related to his panic attack made him stumble and fall into the ground rubbing his head
with one of the edges of the bed. And there he was. Resting on the silky and subtle rug was Roger’s
body, trying to wind down itself. Nature is wise. The own body knows when it has to stop doing
something or if one more risky movement is precise to do in order to overcome certain obstacles.
Smoking as a possessed, having risky sexual encounters or eating sugary foods when you are
supposed to not do it causes natural responses in your body. Your body says to you “st op doing this
or you are going to be under earth sooner than you might have expected; or stop doing it because
one of your extremities is going to be cut off and I’m not sure if you are prepared to, it can be
painful, master”. When it comes to the fore how close you really were of having been seriously
hurt or experienced something even worse your body responds to it with complete stillness.
Everything runs in your head, ideas flowing and flowing as a little paper boat in a hazy tempest, but
your body is just assuming how close it was to take a breath for maybe the last time in your life so
decides to be quiet while your head considers new actions to take to be at the level of such
challenging circumstances. This is what Roger did, thinking new tactics to pass through this
anguishing threat while letting his body to rest on the ground. After choosing to struggle instead of
letting him die without moving a single member of his body, his hoisted his hands, touched his
eyebrow and when seeing his hand he understood how close he was to make his last movement
(Why? This is stupid. It’s just my imagination. She might have gone out for a walk or something.
I’ve never been a sort of psychic. I’m acting like a fool, again.) So, as we know that the way we
think, we feel and posteriorly act; it’s not surprising how quickly anxiety died away, how fast he
stood up and walked towards Ann’s computer. But, despite all his attempts to change his thinking
he cannot hide his fear to find something spooky there, because of this lack of previous experiences
in such a matter. It was the first time that Ann had left the computer kicked on while she was not
sitting there. Novelty gives us this chilly feeling just because we are not accustomed to and we
don’t know what it’s expecting us. Then the what if?-questions appear. The conditionals start
emerging in your head, trying to hypothesize the probable situations and be prepared to struggle
with it or make a fast movement. That’s all. “Expect the unexpected” was a motto Roger had heard
of but not considered as the really important warning it seemed to be. At least not when was related
to his “wonderful marriage”, their “unique union.”

He reached the computer, and then sat on the chair. His sweat had mixed with his blood forming a
thick substance that made him feel his face like if it would have been pushed under drain water with
all the shit splashing all over it. Immediately, after having experienced this mental image he felt the
desire to throw up but he started doing what it had been his only practical and helpful solution to
mitigate his nervousness: deep breathing. He had been attended multiple times to public speaking
courses to overcome his problem. “You just need to learn how to relax a little. After that your
problems will disappear”- he had said to him many times when he found out he was losing control.
Apparently, it had been left in the past. But now Roger came to the realization that all he did was to
control the triggers which released his demons meticulously. How did he do that? By working on
his own, for instance; starting doing what he loved was a balm for his problematic existence. It was
a long-term work on him, a lot of dedication putting in his well-being, a lot of self-help books
bought and audiobooks listened to. It was a neuro-programming and it was effective, until certain
point, of course. That was the old Roger, always anxious, hating and evading any uncontrollable
situation and working by his own, waiting to come back to society. And he came back, and once he
did so he met Ann. That’s why he defied his former-self to diminish any part which remained on
him. But now, the symptoms were there, again. Suddenly, he heard an old and familiar voice
reverberating into the room. You did a good work, Ro, and you did it without my help, the voice
said. We both know how coward and how incomplete you’ve felt without me, do you think that
breathing is a good antidote to get easy?- said the voice, this time with a sarcastic and defiant tone
of voice. Roger’s eyes were fixed in the nowhere, just listening to this unexpected host. “ Did you
believe I was gone, buddy? Remember what we used to do when we were just one person? We had
very good moments when you felt this way, remember that, little Ro? I’m gonna tell you something,
pal. I can breathe too, and I was doing it for the years you left me residing into the silence and I am
doing it now. Don’t worry, I’m trying to not be mad at you just because you decided to ignore me
and live your life by yourself. Anyways, I was seeing you, all the time. And I saw you making a lot of
improvements, Ro. I’m proud of you. But, don’t worry, we all make mistakes. Mine was being too
aggressive and impulsive, I know. When I get excited while doing something I just act by nature.
And yes, my nature is being violent. But I also know how you enjoyed what we did together. After
all, you were my accomplice. A silent one but witness anyway and even an active part of what we
used to do. Well, the fact is that you made a big mistake. Did you think that trying to negate and
hide me under the apparently calm of your mind could work? Soon or later you were going to break
into two pieces like glass, I knew it. And my time has arrived. You were going to relive those painful
experiences, again. There’s no a way to get out of here without blood being wringed in your hands.
You see, you can lie to anyone but not to yourself. I was trying to stay calm and expecting my
chance to come back to life, little Ro. To the fucking real life! But, let’s go straight to the point. As I
was saying I want to give you a piece of advice, listen to me carefully. Just follow my suggestions,
buddy. Just like the old times. A sick smile disfigured Roger’s facial features. His eyes were steady
looking at one point (nowhere) and saliva spilled over his jaw. I want you to do this: First, take the
shit off your face; second, check what she was doing in the computer, and finally, confirm what
made me appear again in your life, let’s unmask that bitch! Just like the old good times, Roger
followed what the voice had said.

He reached out and picked a handkerchief from beside the computer (Ann suffered from sinusitis so
she always had them at hand). He wiped the blood off from his face and up his cheeks. It was a
shallow cut but it certainly needed to be disinfected, though, it didn’t hurt. He didn’t even feel it,
but what he did feel was the horrible sensation of having shit scattered on his face. That was all. He
would have considered controlling himself and not inspecting her wife’s personal matters but after
“the voice” was freed from its temporary jail, he just had to obey it, just like the old times. There
were neither options nor willpower to battle this entity. And something inside him wasn’t afraid of
it at all. In fact, something inside him was embracing the entity, welcoming back from his long
absence. “I hope the arrangements we did in your absence cause no problems to your stay. Yes, as
you can notice there have been some changes but there were for good, now enjoy your return.
Welcome back to your house”- he would be saying. Maybe, this former and vengeful part of him
was what he needed to go far beyond, and he’d helped him to escape from the prison in which he
had repressed all of his most dangerous and violent thoughts. “Let’s unmask the bitch”- the voice
had told him. But why is this have to be related to something wrong? He tried to rationalize the
tangible facts presented on this rainy and dark Monday night. “Don’t think, just act, Ro. I’m still
calm; you don’t want to make me feel angry, do you? Remember how bad I can be.”- the voice was
still shooting directly at his thoughts. It was just one truth, this voice had lit an unexpected and
miraculous flame of determination in the darkness that allowed him to be finally in front of the
bewildering scene, sitting in her wife’s chair in front of his wife’s computer (which was turned on)
taking one of his wife’s handkerchiefs to take the shit off his face.

He looked at the screen. He felt empowered by the voice. His senses expanded as well as his mind.
He could feel any subtle sound inside or even outside the house. Just like the old times. “There’s
something strange here, I can feel it”- he said to his accomplice. “Just act, my boy. Hesitation is for
cowards and you have stopped being one of those”- the voice replied. The white light emitted by
the computer made him blink and frown. For a moment, Roger was blinded and startled by the
images that were forming inside his head. In these images he saw his wife smiling and waving at
him as she realized he had appeared into the scene and was staring at her. The whiteness which
surrounded this scene was maybe the one Roger had chosen as representative one of their
relationship. Whiteness means purity, in all aspects, or at least, that’s what we think of. And that
was what he thought about his marriage until that day. He felt impelled to walk towards Ann but
while approaching to her, step by step (like the little Ro again), he suddenly noticed a subtle change
in Ann’s smile that made him halt immediately. Ann’s traits had changed rapidly and the gesture of
happiness had become one he’d seen some time ago. He tried to remember. Yes, in fact, it was
familiar to him, it was just like the one he had only seen one time in their only tragedy, until now.
Two years ago after unwisely forgetting to tight the dog leash into Bobby’s neck before leaving the
house to walk the dog (Bobby, guess what time is it? It’s time to sniff the outside. Let’s exercise a
little!) and seeing him free, running over the street, jumping like a playful foal discovering what his
legs were able to do, playing with his movements and gravity, she witnessed how his beloved
Golden Retriever was run over by a crazy truck which decapitated him on the spot). The “he didn’t
suffer, honey. He died instantly” shit didn’t work that time. And now he was standing in the
whiteness (not red scene, like that time when she was cleaning up Bobby’s remains) looking at the
same forced smile, staring at that painful glance filled with coming tears with her hands dangled by
the sides of her fine waist that was exactly the one he had seen in that time. It was a mixed feeling
of pure sadness and guilty. She waved again letting tears hit to the ground. Ann’s image was
disappearing into the whiteness, smiling but walking backwards. She was completely out of his
sight. What did it mean? He opened his eyes. After this daydream and realizing the fact those
images were the response of his current’s moments, he could see the entire panorama. He sat in
front of the screen. The shit token off his face, as the voice had told him. Then, he moved the mouse
without thinking too much he just acted. The screen showed two tabs opened. He clicked on the
first one: it was her gmail account and it was opened. Let’s see what is happening here- the voice
said.

Dear, Ann:

I know I promised you not to write or call you. I also know how deep and emotional our last
meeting was. I think it was the breaking point, for good or bad. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do what
I did but I couldn’t help it. You know me as nobody else do and you are the first one authorized to
confirm that was not my normal reaction. I know that you wouldn’t put your head on the block for
anybody either. I became angry without a valid reason if you take into account how we were
managing our meetings from the beginning. I had preferred to call you and talk to you but I also
know you don’t want to remember or even recognize you have another life here, in this town. I don’t
want to pressure you, my little Annie. But remember that there’s another little Ann here, following
your past steps. Not the good ones but those you are ashamed of. I believe in changes. I have
always been in favor of rescuing the best of each person who falls into the ground. I love being the
helping hand in which you can rely on. We deserve respect and love. Just remember this, she can’t
stay down and I know what we’ll do is going to work as well as worked for you. Call to my office. I
need to talk to you. Please.

PD.- Michelle is not working today. I’m gonna get your call. I’ll be waiting for it.

H.M. Kimmett

He tried to read the mail as if Ann wasn’t something related directly to him; he wanted to put it into
“professional terms” as if he had been contracted by a jealous, impulsive and troubled fella who
suspects his wife has been cheating on him, and all he had to do was to bring light into the situation.
Let’s unmask the bitch- the voice had said. “What was doing this Ann all this time?”- he asked to
himself- “What was she hiding and since when?”, “Who is the man that wrote her that mail? “
“What is this man referring to when mentioning about her “other life” and even the existence of a
“little Ann”? “I didn’t want to be in his husband flesh when confirmed his doubts by checking at my
research’s results, or later in his wife’s flesh when that impulsive man had her face to face”. He had
almost deceived his mind to believe this fantasy. He felt like a new version of Sherlock Holmes but
this time the character found a new action’s field: solving infidelities and discover unfaithful wives.

Continue your professional research, boy! – the voice was whispering now- “You are doing a good
job. Don’t forget there is another tab opened right there. It can give us the information we need”.

H.K. KIMMET- PROFFESIONAL DOCTOR

99826261812

He had known here when he was an already successful man in the medicine field.