Chapter 3

Stopped obediently behind the red line, I face the yellow stripe a little in front of my feet, and I breathe slowly, ignoring the dangerous and shiny tracks below where I am.

Even without knowing where to go, I remain standing on the empty platform of the subway station, knowing that coming home alone will yield me nothing but more tears. I need time, and I need to forget tonight, relieve the tension with a passage to any other place. 

The big screen marks midnight and a half. It's only five minutes until the last subway appears, and there is no one but me, just under ten people squeezing themselves in their heavy coats, a police officer, a cleaner, and the attendant at the user call center. 

All this quietness leaves me on alert as if none of this was right. I squeeze my overcoat around me, snuggling in the delicate and warm fabric. My tears still do me the favor of moistening the bar of my clothing, bothering the dots they touch on my skin. 

The inopportune of my stupidity distracts me from a vital point in all the confusion that my life has just become: how can I warn my parents that I no longer need an embroidered dress and a dozen white doves since there will be no wedding? 

I admit that although I have never had a healthy relationship with my family, I owe everything I am to them. If my troubled childhood is still impregnated in the decisions I make, I can say that I am shaped by my tragic memories. I have a greater tolerance for dealing with difficult situations as long as they do not directly involve what still haunts me. 

I try to convince myself that Dean's betrayal is just the tip of the iceberg. I repeat as a mantra that for me to sink completely, it takes much more than just a fuck with any bitch. However, that little girl knows that I'm only lying to keep her calm and distracted.

We both know that a reason for relapse is not always necessary. A look from a stranger? The purposeful bump of a beautiful woman? The lack of education of a co-worker? A nightmare where I wake up cold and with sticky sweat? There is no concrete reason. 

Suddenly I am beyond the limit where I can wait for the train, on top of the yellow strip, staring at the tracks. The air abandons my body, and I catch myself panting, desperate for my lost breath. My eyes burn and crackle my vision, forging ps*******lic shadows that mock my existence. My fingers curl up in my hands, closing them into a fist. 

I'm in crisis. I know enough escape to not give explanations. I know a perfect way out so as not to go through the embarrassment of facing my negligent family and my false co-workers. Everything would be easier if I just gave up. If I just stopped deceiving myself with futile and empty achievements.

A successful job? Please, no one survives just for work. I have only one person who loves me the best she can, and she's a friend as crazy as I do.

We share the feeling of looking for what we don't even know what it is. We laugh at the tragedies and mock our fears, only to get rid of ourselves in tears in the loneliness of the night.

The emptiness that exists within me is as old as the voice of a powerful entity. She calls my name, warms my soul, and gives me the courage to take another step. 

“Hey, you!” Screams a distant voice.

With one more step, I lower myself and jump on the tracks. Just two more minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds. 

“Girl, get out of there now!” Repeats the voice. Keep going, object to a ghost voice in my ears. 

“What is it that...” 

A bang makes me jump and stumble on my own feet. I fall with all the weight of my body as if during my trance all my mass had turned into a feather and returned as a lead. The blow of the fall leaves me deaf in one ear, and that feeling of alertness collides with my body again. I have goosebumps, gasping, and wide eyes.

My subconscious realizes before me that my deafness is not the result of such an innocent fall, because another bang sounds from my back, and, still kneeling on the uncomfortable hardware, I turn to find out. 

Screams propagate in confused waves inside my head. As persistent as I am to stand up, I can't and fall to my knees again. I look as much as I can, and I see the few passengers waiting for the train running in a shot to the exit.

The policeman lies bloody on the floor, his eyes are wide and opaque. A little far away, a man wields his gun to the back of one of the fugitive passengers and shoots.

The bang makes me die again, magnified by the echo of the empty season. I run and crouch close to the edge of the rails, taken by the survival momentum. The irony doesn't stop affecting me. 

“Don't leave witnesses, asshole. Go after them!” a hoarse and rough voice orders.

Steps mix with so many others, and the metal staircase creaks through the hasty race of the one I assume to be the armed man. 

“Bring this motherfucker here.” 

A crawling sound approaches dangerously where I am. I cover my lips with one hand and hold my breath, praying that the advertising panels that reflect the entire surroundings of the station do not put me in focus. 

“Did you think you could escape from me, bastard?”

A dusty, mean, and unpleasant laugh reverberates in my bones, and I finally gain the courage to look at the reflection on the panels on the other side.

A bald man with an imposing leather jacket leans over a shady body on the floor.