I write you, or me, from my bedroom. Strange, huh? Well, another week passed and more happened. So here it is.
I decided to be honest with the family. They are not to blame in any of this and I had to tell someone about all of this. I mean, after the last letter I remember feeling I was going crazy. I didn't know what was real or not.
So after coming back from "jogging" around the neighborhood, I decided to tell Susan everything. She very patient and calm. She just sat there and let me say every single thing that I had been thinking and feeling, including the fact that I believe this is not my life and that they are not my family.
When I said that, I saw here eyes filling with tears but she contained them as long as she could. I didn't know she was such a strong person, so well put together. She's a therapist, you know? Maybe that's why after talking for thirty minutes straight and then falling silent, she just grabbed my hand and hugged me.
Susan told me she knew something was wrong and that she was happy I finally decided to tell her. She said she loved me and wanted all the best for me. She even offered taking me to a friend of hers, a psychiatrist. Susan think it will help.
To be honest, it has not helped me one bit. I have been going once every day, so I've seen that creepy guy five times. And believe me, you don't get used to someone picking your brain with stupid questions for one hour. I hate going there but Susan seems to be happy about it and I don't want to disappoint her.
And, to be honest, what else is there for me now? That life I had o r think I had has been dead for far to long because I can't seem to get a grip of it.
I know, the drawings... Yeah, that keeps popping in my head from time to time. It's one of those things I've discussed with the shrink but he says I have been putting things I read into Linda's drawings and that I see what I see because I want to see it. Crazy, right? Not surprising though.
But I do. And even Henry does. I asked him to tell me what he saw in the drawings and I'm not insane, I see what he sees.
By the way, I finished the book. The writer has various adventures, like a big spy or something, and at the end, I mean in the last 10 pages, he dies. He's shot in the head by a drug dealer. Linda drew me in a pool of blood. I screamed at the girl and then she cried and then I fought with Susan. That was just some hours ago.
That's why I'm alone in my bedroom. Actually, alone in the house. Susan took the kids to her mother's house and told me to cool down for the night. She didn't seem angry but scared. She seems to think that a night away from them might do me some good but I believe she was scared I might hit her or the kids.
I went crazy. I yelled and hit myself on the head with my fists and punched the wall. My hand hurts as I write.
You know what's funny? My head started to hurt just after I saw the drawing Linda did for me. It's a piercing pain on the back of my head, just as if I had been hit with a blunt object.
I don't want to sleep. It's 3 AM but I don't dare to close my eyes. What if this all goes away too? What if I don't go back to being a writer but I just fade away into another life? I wouldn't be able to take it. I know I can't.
Please be with me. Help me. I'm scared.
* * *
The hallway is white. No other color on sight. A woman, rather short, enters a room. Inside an elderly woman cries next to the only bed in the room.
A young man lies there, with tubes coming from all places, breathing through a machine.
- The doctor is ready Mrs. Dominguez.
The elderly lady is squeezes one of the man's hands as a man in a white robe enters the room.
- Do you want to be present? - he says to the woman.
She nods. Tears keep pouring out of her eyes but she makes no noise.
The doctor and the nurse start pressing buttons, pulling out tubes until only one machine is attached to the man in the bed.
The elderly woman comes near and kisses the man on the forehead.
- Bye, Alex. Mama loves you.
The machine starts beeping and finally the sound of death engulfs the room.