CHAPTER 40

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WARNING / DISCLAIMER: This chapter contains content not suitable for children under 21 years of age without adult supervision. It is warned that scenarios that refer to sexual abuse and torture will be presented, so the reader is asked to read this chapter at his own risk.

The scenes referring to this topic will be separated from the text by asterisks and in bold in this way ***Paragraph***

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*** "Hold it, he's moving"

"You are so delicious baby"

"I see you like how I penetrate you, right?"

"How about we put this iron in it?" ***

The alarm on the phone woke him from his nightmare between excessive sweating and heavy breathing. It seemed that the memories of those damn days came back to torment him at night after he had started to talk about it with the psychologist in his sessions.

The doctor said that the nightmares were a consequence of the post-traumatic stress that he suffered and that he had to give his body time to recover, but he still did not understand why he had to externalize all those feelings during therapy when he could just forget them so that they would not torment him anymore.

His doctor said that he had to be patient with himself to heal and that he had to face his pain to finally let it go, but it was hard trying to do something he had never done in his life.

"Just be patient with yourself," he told himself before getting out of bed as the doctor had directed him to do.

He stood up and went into the bathroom to wash his face. Since he wasn't wearing a shirt he could see that the scars from his attack barely showed on his skin, except for one that crossed his right pectoral.

He still remembered how those bastards had done it to him with a thin metal rod when he refused to be raped.

"It wasn't your fault, Porsche. Everything that happened to you was those bastards' fault," he repeated to himself as he touched the mark on his skin with his fingertips; although he still felt deep in his heart that he had partly caused that tragedy by trusting someone who didn't deserve his trust like an idiot.

He took his camera, which was on the nightstand, to take some pictures of his body. As a personal therapy, he tried to portray all the moments when he felt weak, as a reminder that they were fleeting and that he would feel better soon.

It was still early so, after eating something light and taking his antidepressant, he went for a run in Central Park, which was a few blocks from the apartment Kinn had rented for him. His doctor had told him that doing sports was important to avoid panic attacks and improve his mood, so he also used that time to take pictures of the city environment.

But no matter what he did, there were difficult days where he missed his family so much or he felt incredibly lonely where he just wanted to throw himself into bed to sleep, with no mood to do anything like a corpse.

"Remember that this is a disease, that you have to treat it as such and that there will be bad days," he said to himself as a mantra as he ran down the sidewalk. The cold winter air on the morning after a nightmare refreshed him and made him feel better.

There was something really calming about the atmosphere of withered nature encapsulated among the great skyscrapers of New York that made him feel liberated among the pure scent of nature, but also trapped between the cold metal and concrete of the buildings.

It was like a metaphor for his personal reality... a fight against depression. A daily battle between life and death.

A battle for his own life...

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