TURN BACK THE TIME, BABE. BOOK 3. I AIN'T GONNA FACE NO DEFEAT (ENGLISH VERSION)

IT'S NOT EASY NOW KNOWING WHERE TO START

I stepped out Mary's flat totally torn apart. So blinded by my fierce and impotent tears that I didn't even see the three reporters who were at the foot of the staircase. They rushed on me and I fell flat on my face against the front iron gate.

- Are you ok? -a reporter wanted to know trying to help me standing up.

I slapped her apart gritting my teeth.

- Elideth, how are you after repercussion of the front page?

I had passed from being Miss Polley to Elideth. Killer had taken care giving information about me.

- Could you tell us Freddie's opinion about it?

- Ask him yourself.

That answer surged from me unconsciously. It was a dumb question, desperate paparazzi style. But I was still dumber replying it and not keeping my used mutism.

- We have. Do you want to know his answer?

They saw me weak and were attacking placing traps. For a moment my natural born curiosity bruised me but I controlled myself. I didn't watch the papers but my image must fill each one of those pamphlets. News of the World kept its composure just a few days by the obliged decency of talking about one of its ex journalists. But the paper who was the same owner as News, The Sun, had barely scrupples to cover the affair as the rest.

- Please, let me walk. You are going to make me fall again.

- Just tell us what you did at Mary Austin's.

- It's not of your business.

- Won't you ask her advice to make the infatuation last?

- What have you said? What the hell have you said?

I don't know what bothered me more. The word infatuation, the lack of respect about the ill-fated relationship between Mary and Freddie. Anyway, the fury and the acummulated tension possessed me and I smashed my fist against that asshole. His camera fell on the ground, breaking into pieces.

The rest were delighted to shot the fight and I wasn't thinking rationally. I had seen it a thousand times before. The art of harassing. They were very skillful. If they drove you out of your mind, they got sure their commission.

I ran out to a free taxi and curling myself on the back seat with my knees flexed against my chest, I touched my lips on my damaged fist. I needed some ice urgently.

- Are you alright? -the taxi driver wanted to know, looking at me through the rear mirror.

- No -I replied kissing my pained knuckles.

- Where do you want me to drive you?

- Far away from here -I answered as in trance.

- Do you want me to drive you at the hospital? Your fist is bleeding.

I drew apart my lips from it and I found out the taxi driver was right. That's why my lips tasted weird, I had them all red with my blood.

- No, thank you. With some hydrogen peroxide is enough.

I lifted my sunglasses, putting them on my forehead. I took a nervous glance to the Daily Mail which was laid over the co-driver seat.

- May I? -I asked pointing out the paper.

I think at this point the taxi driver assured that I was the leading character of the front page of the day.

- Go ahead.

I grabbed the paper eagerly. I watched our black and white photo, huge, placing three quarters. Under it, two smaller photos of us. I felt a big sadness on watching us. They were the kings of the decontextualization. In this life everything has its own meaning and their job was filling it with ugliness and stealing away its soul. I remembered each minute of our meeting in the dressing room. I went over it in my mind since that bloody front page appeared.