I take the key from her pocket and open her bedroom door whilst carrying her in my arms. She’s as light as ever, perhaps even lighter than before; I get the impression she’s lost weight. I lay her gently on the bed and can’t help but admire her beautiful face as she sleeps. And to think I nearly lost her forever.
Come to think of it, who was that i***t in the lift? A suitor? Or something more? No!? She couldn’t have. Be that as it may, he’s left her reeking of alcohol – a strong, unbearable stench. So I undress her to put her clothes in the wash.
As I take off her jumper, the first thing I see are the scars all over her body and on her arm… the shapes seem to come together to spell out ‘Samira’. What on earth could that madwoman have done to her? I’m overcome by a terrible rage; she’s no
