Devil's Lawyer

A lawyer's life.

I have too much work this week because despite already being busy, I added one more case to my schedule: a Latin woman that murdered a kid. She was the wife of a famous politician, so I just couldn't dismiss the case because that would mean losing the good publicity that came with it. Due to the excess of work, today I arrived at the office before sunrise. Besides, I enjoy working at this time because everything is quiet and peaceful, so I can concentrate harder. The law firm is an empty and dark building when I walk in. The elevator door opened on a floor with many compartments, made of glass walls because privacy was a privilege only for her and the other owner of the law firm, also known as her nemesis. 

When I step out of the elevator, I can see my reflection in one of the many glasses, and I stay inspecting myself. I glance at my pair of champagne-colored Manolo Blahnik with jewel buckles. I love them, one had loved his shoes so much since Carrie Bradshaw. My hells are as shiny as my skin, reflecting the light in a marvelous way, like a vampire under the sun or small pieces of gold thrown into the air. 

Out of the blue, a voice breaks the silence. It is my nemesis, he is also already here. 

 – What are you doing? – he says –. 

 – Nothing, I am just observing how I look – I answer –.

 – I can tell you how you look – he says in a sexy voice –. Your mouth is like blood staining a blank canvas: red, with hints of purple or wine. Those lips aroused in many men and women the desire to die, because that is what you feel when you have not had the person you want, and it is very difficult to have you. I would know. Your eyes are like a mixture of many shades of blue, with an incredible texture that makes them unique. Your hair is conformed by infinite black strands, carefully straightened creating the perfect long bob. You could be snow-white, but your body is not like one of the Disney princesses. Yours is wild and yet beautiful. 

 – Tell me why my body is so wonderful – I request –. 

 – There is something to admire in every part of your anatomy – he says, making a brief pause–. Your legs hide reflect strength; your breasts are vital, firm and rounded like if you were a teen; your hips and buttocks are shaped in a heart form, that drives me crazy. 

 – I know my  magnetic field is too strong – I say with flirty eyes –. I use it for my own profit. When I need a favor to benefit my career, I open the neckline of my blouse or raise my skirt at the right time; I  chase judges or public prosecutors when they enter the bathroom and there I use my charms; or I give furtive kisses here and there. Does that make you feel jealous? 

 – Not at all, dear – he says, smiling at me –. That madness made me fall for you, I like to watch you flirting with other men. Plus, you have a blistering heat within you, and the consequence of this is that a dense s****l tension has spread through the office, which is great because now s*x at work has become normal and we have happier employees. Besides, the coffee breaks are more interesting. 

We stayed for a while making out. But I made an effort to keep my clothes on because there is so much work to do and I couldn't waste time. Then I lock myself in the office, prepare coffee, and place over my desk a textbook and a file with a photograph in its cover. The person in the picture would arrive at the office in a few hours.

– Please, tell me how everything happened and do not omit any details, remember I am not your enemy, but your friend – I say, but remained distant because I had no idea what or whom I was facing –. A woman struggling not to shock in her own words began to tell that, some days ago, she had agreed to take care of a friend's daughter. The little one was so impatient that she spread a jar of paint all over herself and onto the living room carpet. Then the client confesses that moved by the anger she threw the girl in a bathtub with cold water: to punish her with the cold and to clean her. The woman went to fetch a sponge for the bath and meanwhile, the girl drowned. I had no time to worry about the woman barely being able to speak; my only concern is taking notes at full speed, squeezing facts into legal categories, and recreating possible defense strategies in my head. That is what people pay me for, if they have emotional problems they might as well pay a therapist. 

 – Why did it occur to you that such punishment was a good idea? –  I ask and keep taking notes in my computer –. The client's name is Andrea Rodriguez. She came to the United States with her parents, and five other siblings, trying to escape poverty and pain. A destiny twist, allowed them to have the abundance they never even imagined. The kids spent their childhood on a farm at the Tropic, where their parents were employees, and if any of them would break a rule or had overflowing energy, their mother sprayed them with a hose or threw them into a pool. So, at least, they would give her a truce while they went to change their wet clothes.

Someone knocks at the door. After a brief pause, a creature with a moonlight halo appears. I have always thought that she seems out of place here, where matters of murder and crime were on the daily basics. She is doing her internships and won the privilege to be my assistant because she has a reputation for being perfect in anything she wants. She is in her mid-twenties. According to a little investigation I made before hiring her, she is strongly religious. She spent a good part of her youth dedicating every second of her time to God and his laws, after that, she started dedicating her time to study the law of men, following what she believed to be a design of God: to establish justice in the wicked world of men. She knows exactly how to handle the strings to get everything she needs or wants: there is an iron spirit hidden behind the facade of a squalid person.

– Good morning miss Sharon –. I lift my eyes from the computer to give Ita a summary of the client's history and ask her to help me build the case. The young woman proceeds to ask more details about Andrea's childhood, hometown and education and then inquiries about her personality, relationships, and especially about the possibility of taking a witness to testify at the trial about her good character. I'm guessing that the intention behind all of this, is to be able to show before a jury that a well-intentioned person made a mistake influenced by her culture and the lore of their family and people. In a moment of quiet, I jump in to highlight that it is important not to forget to get the case autopsy. Besides, I also try to find out if there was violence involved in the crime, if my client practiced to the victim first aid or if she called emergencies or someone for help.

I believe that Andrea has no chance of avoiding sometime in jail because a crime regarding a minor is going to displease the jury deeply. So I have to fight for a sentence of involuntary manslaughter and request a few years in prison due to my client's clear criminal record and excellent ties to the community. So, before explaining all of this to her, I walk her to the door. 

Once outside my office, I feel the urge to see him again, so I walk to his office. When I get close I remain staring at his ocean blue eyes and I feel so captivated by their beautiful shade of blue. But, something better than those eyes lies under his clothes, there is an endless story and a lot of things I want, actually, any woman would. After being at work since four in the morning, I already feel that I need to get out of here, so I take his hand and lead him to a nearby cafe. Now he is the one captivated by my eyes, then by my lips – I know well how my lips inspire a man – and finally, he stops his gaze in my breasts. framed by green silk: it is pretty evident that he wants to reveal what is underneath. Suddenly, he pulls out of his pocket a small box and I'm not sure what is shining the most: the jewel inside or his eyes. It is a gift to me. He should not have done this; now I am wondering if he forgot the nature of our relationship…. We are called from the office, there is a new client. 

I have seen the guy who is seated in our meeting room, in the news, playing the leading role in some scandal. I think the news guy referred to him as “the psycho CEO”.  He introduces himself as Patrick and says that we are “the most iconic duo”. He has been speaking for half an hour about him and his company and we don’t know yet the reason why he came to our office, besides being psycho, he is a narcissus, how great! 

– Everyone is talking about massive financial fraud – finally says the client–. I know this firm won’t take many cases like mine, but I have seen how well you handle the press, the amazing performances at trial and I also know you guys never lose a case. Besides, the money won’t be a problem, both of you set the price.

Mr. Psycho is right; usually, if there is no blood, we are not in the picture. But the clients involved in economic crimes are the ones who pay the best, so I manage to get my partner to deal with these boring white-collar criminals. I tell our new potential sponsor that we are too busy, so we don't have enough time to dedicate to a new case. He is obviously scared. Tells us right away that he will double the pay: just what I wanted. So the deal is closed.

To avoid the madness of thousands of office workers having lunch at noon, I sent Ita to bring us something to eat. When she returns, I follow all her movements with my eyes, and it becomes evident to me that despite not being pretty, she has a weird kind of sympathy. Her black eyes are unexplored, inhabiting them would be like being in a dark room without knowing what is inside. What an adventure to p*****t someone that is still like a blank page. As I think about all this, she looks at me, so I take the chance and tell her that she should have lunch with us because I always enjoy a three-way. She blushes, and it amuses me.

After lunch, I can't miss a cigarette. What I hate about smoking is the smell of tar that sticks to your palate, nests in your hair, and gets under your nails. When the smoke dissipates, I manage to see from the window a shiny little horse on the hood of my car. I remember that a few days ago, a journalist broke into my car: he was looking for evidence to prove that I manipulate justice. My college, guess what I am thinking, tells me that “ there is nothing to fear because I have always respected the rule of law “, but the truth is that I was not scared; I was angry because some random guy managed to trick our building's security.

This chat makes me remember that I have a case that is getting bigger than me and I might lose. It is a s****l crime and I just found out that the District Attorney has DNA evidence, so there is hardly a way out unless I use my charm to convince the prosecutor to lose track of the evidence he has against my client. I will arrange everything so that we meet "casually", this Sunday when he leaves town as he usually does. 

Some fellows from the firm and I decided to open the weekend by drinking scotch at my house. Also, I dragged Ita to my place, to have some fun of my own. I am now looking at the same white stone fireplace I had looked at a million times, it creates a beautiful contrast to the Chesterfield sofa in the living room. After lighting I remained standing next to it, taking sips of my scotch, feeling his sherry-seasoned trail and analyzing everyone: on my left, they talked about an adventure that my partner was having; on my right, they discussed the possible meaning of a court ruling. He looks at me and smiles, and in this dimly lit room, his blue eyes seem brighter. Suddenly, I remember Ita, she was in a corner, locking and unlocking her cell phone, without speaking to anyone.

– Are you always all work? – I ask Ita, and I hand her a glass with scotch –. She replies that when it is about job or school, there is always a clear script of what to do, and she knows it very well; she has everything under control. But in social life, there is no script, there is simply an infinite list of possibilities, and anything can happen. I hope, indeed, something exciting happens tonight, she is checking her cell phone the whole time, so I ask one or two things to find out if someone is waiting for her or if she has to wake up early, both answers are no. I invite her to my studio – where I get ready for most trials –, to see if feeling safe from the curious eyes will allow her to be relaxed. She seems astonished looking through my books, grabbing different pens, sitting at every sofa, and says to me that “everything looks like a judge’s office, so elegant”. I run my fingers through her hair, and she doesn’t react badly, so I place my hand in her knee, trying to reach out for something more, but she stands up and she leaves… 

We meet again on Thursday, but I don't have time to engage in games or make a paper apology to my assistant because my whole energy today is being absorbed for Marshall's case. When we get to the District Court, I see the client in the hallway: she is a blonde smooth as silk, astonishing like a marble sculpture and that makes me hard to believe that such an immaculate face and fine body have ended someone's life. She doesn’t look like a murderer to me, she is more like a sacred tiny animal who can't lift her gaze from the floor, trying to escape the judging eye. Being a flawless female is not her only attractive: she is also the daughter of a wealthy politician. That is why winning this case means upgrading the firm, gaining the trust of the government. 

For my bad luck, the fight stars badly and the judge sets the bail at one million dollars because the defendant was caught trying to flee the country. Now, our problem is not that she might face possible time in jail because I can assure her dad is already transferring money to pay the amount required by justice, the issue here is that such an expensive bail sometimes is interpreted by the jury as a hint about the defendant being guilty. Besides, the public image of the family could be seriously damaged if this issue gets to the public opinion, especially if everyone finds out about the escape attempt. 

Right after paying the bail and walking free, we set an appointment in my house, hoping that the privacy will allow her to open up to me. My knowledge of this case has to be absolute, like I always say: go big or go home. I start the conversation avoiding directly questioning about the dead husband because I need to get her to talk about it in a way that feels natural, without hiding important information from me, so I ask about her family.  

My client's name is Crystal, she is an actress. Lady Gaga would say that she is rich, blonde, skinny, and a little bit of a b***h. This woman has a history, like almost all my clients, who come from a chain of unfortunate events that turned them into something monstrous or led them to commit blood-icing crimes. She witnessed the early death of his mother and then came under the surveillance of domestic servants with whom she never had time to have a relationship because the Marshall's eccentricities soon drove them away. The mother died in the family house that had a living with big windows that framing a landscape of pine trees and in the dark nights it seemed that there was no more world after that forest, only endless trees planted geometrically. This increased the feeling of loneliness that reigned the place after the tragedy.  The house also had a basement, down there was a lounge with a pool table, a giant plasma screen, and a game table; beyond there was a small pool surrounded by glass clouded by the water heat; in the middle of that glass box she found his mother's body: it had gone to the bottom like a sack of stones, his blonde hair seemed transparent because of the bulbs candor and that same light source projected billowing light cracks on Mother.

Her father remembered that he had a daughter when she began to show signs of being a woman and he decided to use her as the face of her political publicity and as a coin to exchange power. She was the puppet and clown of his dad. After around three years of making appointments, complements, and sending gifts to everyone, he finally reached her goal: her daughter married the son of some friend of his in any position of power. Now that she refers to the marriage I ask her to tell me more details about it but, as she looks through my windows, the only thing she answers is that “her marriage was a lot like Grace Kelly's”. 

– Did you wore a similar dress to the princess's or was it because you married a rich guy?  –  I ask in a poor attempt to joke and get more information –.

As she shakes her head, tells me that both she and the princess could have had a golden future, but their marriage and the death that it withheld rusted the bright.  “ You don’t just die when you breathe in for the last time, but also when you wilt like a last-season flower because you have lost the hope”, she makes that reflection for herself. At this point, she looks to me like some Hollywood golden diva fallen from grace.

Unlike many other cases of marital violence I have known through the years, in this one there was not a romantic engagement, the illusion of an eternal family that only lasted two months, nor a martyr wife. There was only violence. In the beginning, the fury was not shrill but silent, like a termite that devours the wood until there is nothing left but a hollow shell; a ferocity that is only discovered when there is nothing left to save.

She is claiming that she hates her husband – God rests his soul –, although there wasn’t just anger in her voice. There was also pain. The couple met when they were children because her parents forced her to spend time with him arguing that he was so shy that he had no more friends. But with time crystal realized that he was not shy, actually he interacted with very few people because he considered almost everyone as parasites. “Maybe I was also a parasite for him”, says Crystal like a rhetorical question. She continues with her narrative, which is so fluid that I might become her psychoanalyst.

She never dated his husband, before getting married but she did see him naked: they were f**k buddies for a couple of years. Crystal's father one day mistakenly interrupted the youths' s*x party and as if he hadn't noticed that they were naked, stayed in the room screaming to the boy and arguing about him having ruined her daughter’s life. Then he called the boy's father to fill him in and created a speech full of threats and lies that shoot mercilessly on the poor young man (who remained naked). The speech was about a little girl transparent, light, and infinite just like ether and the grief that his father suffered because an evil man has taken advantage of her.  Suddenly, the boy’s father entered the room and said that “ they sure love each other, he sure wants her, so surely he won’t have any problem in marrying her to repair his horny-teenager mistakes”. The young guy is walked out of the bedroom (incredibly while still naked). 

The blonde pauses, her eyes darted at me and for the first time, she laughs. Now she tells me that her father's speech “was not motivated by love or concern, what he wanted was for his colleague to feel ashamed and indebted, so that he could manipulate him in the future. But never have I ever laughed so much as I did with dad’s performance … although I did get married, as you know”. I ask the reason why she married. 

– Well… s*x was a blast... we made a deal. Getting married was a win, win. I wanted to flee the house that was filled with the memories of my mother's life and death and I also wanted to get rid of my father, who was like a leech willing to drain me. On the other hand, he was the heir of a juicy trust fund that would only be his if he married because they mistakenly thought that by tying the knot would make him responsible. However, my condition to be his wife was to become the owner of half all the patrimony he was about to acquire. The morning after the wedding, while we were on a plane to our so-called honeymoon, he told me that now “I was his property ” and I just thought it was a joke.

Her father picked them up at the airport. While the car slid through the concrete he would talk about a better future, wealth, a new family, and called the new husband his ally, the person that “would ensure the collaboration of her daughter in the family business”. The fear grew little by little until it left her body and became bigger than her. She knew that something was wrong because all her father's actions are aimed at achieving a goal, there is nothing coincidental or spontaneous about him.

 – Dear, my consultant tells me that it is more profitable if all our businesses and assets are brought together under an anonymous society. Furthermore, I would be delighted to take care of everything your mother inherited you.  What do you think of it? – said the father–. 

The blonde called her father a bloody bastard and he totally lost it. After that came the histrionic noise of a crystal that hits another object, the fight of a body against another, and the cry of a damsel in distress. Hot tears dotted her eyes as she remembered. An episode of domestic violence is not strange for the criminal law field, but something in this particular case shocked me: her father and husband locked her in the attic, they kidn*pped her. Giving up her inheritance was the only way to regain her freedom and she refused to do it for a couple of months, so the two men began to take turns to visit her and punch her, burn her skin with cigarettes, to almost drown her in the water of the toilet… 

– Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to do anything for me. The reason why I have told you my story is so you know you work for a bastard. In the end, I have what I always dreamed of: the leading role in a bloody thriller.

This was not my first time working for a bastard, but the information the blonde had just put over the table was certainly problematic: because he was lying to me and when you lie to your lawyer nothing good awaits you. I am in serious trouble. Nobody can find out that Mr Marshall and his son in law tortured a cute, blonde, tiny woman. If this information gets to the District Attorney office I'm going down to a deep and dark hole. I better get on my way to the office, to report the news to the co-owner because if this politician goes to jail our firm sinks. 

When I'm done telling him everything his whole face was transfigured, it seemed like his eyes did not match his nose and his mouth was borrowed from someone else. A transfiguration caused by panic. Maybe he is under too much pressure these days, so I decide that I can give him a hand with that, and to increase the fun, I send Ita a text saying to “meet me in fifteen minutes at my office”. Without saying a word, I throw my blazer, heels, and skirt on the floor, and untie my hair. I push his chair away from the desk, place my two hands around his neck and I meet his eyes that are like two bioluminescent jellyfish staring at a moonless night. I hold my legs tight around his body. Our mouths come together and I can feel his hot tongue dancing with mine, leaving a humid trace, it descends to my n*****s and outlines them. He gets rid of my blouse that was getting in between our bodies, then unbuttons my bra and my breasts naturally go towards his mouth, they swell wishing and praying for his tongue. I close my eyes and focus on the moment.

He pushes me towards his desk, takes off my panties, and takes a few instants to run his fingers through my legs. I close my eyes and glide over his male scent with notes of sweat. My torrent of desire wants to become a tsunami that fills every corner and doesn’t leave a single dry island; I want every piece of him. Keeping my eyelids closed, I focus on imagining the position we have right now: him against me, our bodies fighting against each other on a desk and the office lights following our every move; our two bodies merging into one, and that makes me moan with pleasure. I ask him if he wants me and his voice makes my passion go to the maxim, to that point where there is nowhere else to go, and it descends again. The final outbreak. 

The next second the door bursts open, my assistant appears and the vision of our naked bodies shocks her. I walk past her to close the door, take her hand and make her sit on a couch, then I tell her softly that she can “take off her clothes too, or wait for me to get dressed so we can discuss some issue”. My last assistant threatened me with a harassment lawsuit, but this one doesn’t dare to open her mouth, nothing scratches the silence in the room. I turn around and find him with a grin on his face, enjoying the show, but I am afraid this might be too much for little Ita so I tell the man in a whisper to “get dress already”.       

 – A criminal law attorney cannot be afraid of a naked body, aren't we all naked at the end of the day? – I say –. On another subject, Crystal, our new client, was tortured by her spouse and father, no one can know. We will argue in court that she murdered her husband because there was a fight and she was in "imminent threat", so I need you to have an appointment with the lady to find out how to prove the husband's systematic violence. 

  – What are we going to do if they find compromising evidence on Mr. Marshall?  – muttered my petit assistant  –. 

  – Oh, don’t worry, I’ll make sure that doesn't happen. I am a boss.                                                                                                                           

As fun as it was the adventure in the office and Ita’s disappearing act, there is no rest for the damned. I call my contact at the District Attorney’s and find out they have solid evidence of Mr. Marshall's criminal conduct. I have no choice but to use a resource that I hadn't used in a while, so I get in my car and drive a long stretch until I spot a convenience store in the middle of a lonely highway and stop by to quickly grab a cheap cell phone, jump back in the car and search for an isolated place to make the call. 

 –  No matter how violent you have to be, the important thing is he understands the message: he can’t use the evidence he has on the Marshall case – I tell to a voice that despite being familiar, I don't know who it belongs to –.  

The engine growls as I think about the long road ahead. I open the car window so I can light a cigarette, nicotine and anxiety travel my body, and the same phrase flashes through my mind “what if they find out”. I don’t know what I would do if they find out I hired a thug to threaten the District Attorney. “It won’t happen”, I tell myself several times, trying to convince me that everything is going to work out for me. The whirlwind that flooded the car brought with it the smell of dirty, burnt rubber and gasoline. I want to forget all the affairs of the office, so I think of another thing; my mind is crossed with a succession of random warm images: my time in law school, the day we inaugurated the firm, the snow, and the cold piercing my skin in Switzerland. 

Suddenly I realize that I am almost home, the gravel crackles beneath the tires and I get a full picture of my house. I'm longing for a marathon of any series full of crime, cops, and fierce lawyers. I love to sit in front of the plasma and guess who was the killer and try to anticipate the dialogues whenever there is a scene of a trial. 

Next morning I wake up thinking how exhausting is being a human target: I check the door several times to see if it is closed; when I get home, I expect a figure to emerge from the darkness and jump over me; I sleep with a knife under my pillow; and, sometimes I wonder when will be the day you get into your car and mercenary dressed all in black comes out of the back seat to strangle me. It is not only about the danger that naturally follows any criminal law attorney, it is the certainty that my behavior might have caused pain and resentment in other people. Besides, I have only done what has to be done and although it is true I have many burdens in my life, I have chosen to carry each of those in my back so I have to go on. It is kill or be killed. It is about to keep on walking. Now I have to get to my office, so I pause my thoughts. 

The elevator opens and once more there it is the floor full of compartments made of glass walls.  In a cubicle there are some people gathered, chatting and drinking coffee, it seems like now we have collective coffee breaks – I think to myself, as I head to the crowd–. Someone sees me walking towards them, so when I arrive, almost everyone is back to their workplace. My face is now a big question mark, a woman notices it and in response to my gesture she tells me that "the District Attorney in charge of the Marshall case was found dead". If I have to be honest, this is not what I had in mind, but if it allows me to win my case I guess we can think of this as an unexpected deviation that shouldn't distract anyone from their duties so I send a text to my assistant to remember her to  “bring me a caramel cappuccino”, so we can continue with our lives and star this workday. 

A couple of minutes later my squalid employee walks in bringing with her a cup of coffee that leaves on my desk. She glances at me for an instant, then starts walking to leave but out of the blue, she stops to turn around and look at me again. I can’t help but think that I have never seen eyes like hers: without a shade of clarity and texture, totally black. I was well aware that some old men feel attracted by the innocence and freshness of a young woman, sometimes I was admired by some hoary man, but I never quite understood the reason of that attraction, until now; because the purity that inhabited this girl with black eyes was appealing to me. She was like a blank page inviting to draw doodles all over her surface. I could draw the first marks in Ita's life, be the person who shows her the world, the passion, the emotion, and the low impulses inherent to the human being. I wished that because through her I wanted to recover the innocence and the emotion that exploring the world caused me when I was twenty years old. With her voice she takes me out of my thoughts, bringing me back to reality

– I know that last night you returned home late. I went to your place because I wanted to quit my job, but you were nowhere to be found so I waited.  

–  So now you are my bodyguard or my nanny? 

– So, I might be quiet but I'm no dumb and I  spend a lot of time with you. I have detected a pattern: Whenever you are about to lose a case, something happens with the prosecutor, the judge or the jury and magically everything is saved. And now, after saying that "you will take care of everything" there is a dead prosecutor. If you want to fire me, go ahead but I wasn't going to hold back these words that were burning my throat.

 – You son of a b***h, who you think you are talking to? Get back to your work, there is nothing to talk about here. 

Of course I was not going to fire her, I was finally getting her to speak out, to have her own voice. I need this brilliant mind to become an empowered woman because in the real world it doesn’t matter if you are smart, a book lover, or a top-class student. After all, life is like a game of poker: the important thing is to know how to pretend, to recognize your opponents well, and to know when it is wise to withdraw. I was once like her, a scared little girl, until I realized I had to learn to kill if I wanted to feel safe because there is always someone willing to do all the dirty work, someone waiting to profit from your mistake, someone with a powerful family, so you are forced to become a predator. 

As I take a sip of my coffee, the excitement Ita's performance had left me fades when I realize that if she suspects something, someone else might as well jump to conclusions. This makes me think of me in an orange suit, walking past jail cells with dirty bars, the eyes of bullies darting on me, a disgusting bed where I sleep only to wake up and find the eyes of death personified in another recluse. These thoughts make me panic, so I breathe in and out a couple of times, stand from my chair and start going in circles around my office while I try to recreate in my head the events of the previous night and I wonder "was anyone following me?", “why didn’t I notice the car of my assistant parked outside my house?”, “what if I am walking into a trap?”. Trying to find answers I call again my contact at the District Attorney’s office and he tells me that apparently "it was a murder without a trace"; I recover my peace of mind and the light a cigarette to give me time to organize my ideas. 

I grab some folders and sit back at my desk and start typing on my computer. I feel a pain in my lower back, then a tingling sensation that turns into small stitches like explosions. At first, I do not understand what happens, I get a little alarmed and I try to reach my back with my hand because I think that maybe I have a wound that I haven't noticed until now or that an insect bit me. But then I remember that some months ago due to a pain in my legs and lower back, I visited a doctor who told me that “I had stiffness In my muscles, provoked by stress” and that “someone as young as me, should not be so stressed out”; the stress grew in parallel with the tension and pain in my back. So I open a tab in my browser to make an appointment tonight at “La Paloma” and switch to work on my soft sofa. 

I invited him to come with me to the Spa. When we get to the reception I ask for the best bottle of champagne and mud treatment, thermal waters, facial cleansing, and of course, a massage. Immersed in the mud with our bodies almost naked, I sense there is something different about us: a warm sensation that wraps the two of us, the feeling of calm and security. I don’t mean the calm that comes from being in a thick and grainy warm liquid listening to instrumental music, but a feeling of not having to stay alert, being able to let your guard down, having someone to trust. I stare at him, resting his head down with a blissed-out expression, I  wonder if it could be possible that our steamy attraction turns into a quiet love?

 – I have been thinking a lot about my life lately… Since I was a teen I longed for power and created a plan to become a powerful woman and I succeeded. But what do I have beyond power, a law firm, contacts and a wealthy bank account? I am powerful for real or I am just a puppet of those who actually own the world? – I break the silence to allow me to think out loud  –. 

 – Where have these thoughts come from?  – he asks me  –. 

 – Lately, I have the feeling that my life is arid like a desert or a wasteland and I think that I might have caused that. There is something monstrous in me, but I cannot change that, it is my nature. 

He tells me that it is normal to feel collapsed once in a while, like a prey of desperation sinking in quicksand, then he remains silent for a moment and adds that my life doesn’t have to be arid, that I don’t have to live in a cavern, nor be sad because he is willing to be my “lover”. The word lover replayed over and over in my head as I tried to understand what it meant and wonder how it would be to actually have a couple for the first time in my life, someone to take care of you when you are sick or to pick you up when your car breaks down on a highway. I am astonished by his words. Guessing that I don’t know how to reply to his bid right now, he continues talking and he asks me to go on vacation together “to get rid of stress” and because “we can afford anything we dream of”.