Do you think this is easy for me?
As soon as the electric gate opens, I take the tripod of a photographer parked out front out of action; he hadn’t time to move. The pick-up windows are un-tinted, so I catch the usual flashes and prepare myself mentally to see these photos published in some worthless tabloid magazine. Lately, they don’t seem to have anything else to discuss.
If I think back to how the day began, my nerves rise to almost uncontrollable levels. The idea of Madison having listened to our conversation and linked my accident to her problem makes me feel dirty.
I just can’t believe an event that is already painful in and of itself keeps on causing more unease.
“MADISON!” I yell, as soon as I see a thin figure in the distance, like she can hear me. She is taking a brisk w
