Conviction

   I just had to do it. That’s what I talk the officer when they came to my home one sunny Saturday afternoon. The day had started so bright and beautiful, but my body somehow knew something else was going to happen. I had been living in that cottage for more than a year, never really feeling safe. And my past, my actions, had finally caught up to me. It was very scary but, at the same time, a relief. I didn’t have to keep running from everyone and I could finally breathe in relative peace, even if it was inside a cell.

 They came in and talked to me. We didn’t even tried bullshit, as we all knew what we were doing there. I wasn’t a danger to anyone, so they avoided using harsh language or force. They didn’t even use handcuffs. I asked why because, as you always see in TV shows, handcuffs are supposed to be mandatory. They said they would make an exception for me, because they didn’t really wanted to upset the villagers, they didn’t want them to know what was happening. The less they knew was best for everyone.

 It was clear they also wanted to avoid been noticed because they weren’t dressed like officers. They looked like a nice couple, touring the beautiful towns of the English countryside. But they weren’t a couple and I never knew if they were really nice or not. They just wanted to do it all without a fuss, avoiding any kind of commotion and, especially, any possibilities of the news leaking to the press. I guess they wanted to be the ones revealing to the world that I had been captured, without any resistance.

 They let me call a fellow villager, a friend I had made with time. I told her I would be leaving because of an emergency and that I would need her to take care of the plants and animals in the house for a while. I had two cats and a dog, as well as a very well cared garden with all kinds of flowers and herbs. It had been my everything for this time. She asked why I was leaving but I just insisted on the reason being an emergency. She didn’t say anything else, maybe understanding that I was, somehow, under pressure.

 We then walked out of the house, letting me close with the key and leaving it beneath the welcome mat. I didn’t grab a coat or a sweater, because what good would it be for me to do that if I was going to spend a long time in a cell. I hopped into the officers’ car and we rapidly drove off. I couldn’t get myself to turn around to look at my house for one last time. I broke right then and there, my eyes swelling up with tears that rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t clean my face until much later, preferring to taste the saltiness of the tears, to realize what was happening, to make it real.

 I fell asleep on the ride to the city. The officers told me they had to take me there first, to be processed and for a judge to see me. They would even give me a lawyer, but it was clear I wasn’t going to use one. The only thing I was clear about was that I was going to plead guilty and I would pay my sentence, no matter how long it was. I didn’t want to defend myself in front of anyone; I didn’t want a jury to get their nose into what had happened. The fastest way to put everything behind was just to accept my fate.

 The moment I woke up, I realized how life would change for me. As the car crossed the gates of the main police station, I started missing everything from my life before. I missed Paws the cat and the way he like to play on the window when it rained, thinking the water drops were small fish. I thought of Captain, my dog, and Cinderella, my other cat. The three of them had been my companions for a while, at nights and in moments I thought the only exit was killing myself, running directly into a truck passing by on the road.

 I would also miss my times in the garden, caring for the plants and the flowers and cutting and putting things on pots. It had been a lot of work but it was always fun and exciting. I learned a lot about life from those plants, a lot about myself and how I can be a better person. I thought of mentioning that to the judge but then I realized they wouldn’t care about what I had done while on the run. For them I was just another murderer that had to pay the price for what he had done, no matter how many plants or animals I loved.

 The officers finally put me on handcuffs and helped me down the car. We walked through various corridors and climbed up stairs. I thought the place was like a labyrinth and that it was an intentional thing on the part of the creator of that place in order to confuse anyone and make them feel anxious and insecure. It was kind of working, right to the point where they sat me down on a bench and asked me to stay put. Of course, I complied. There was no place I could be and running away made no sense at all.

 I waited for an hour or so before one of the officers came back and told me I had to stay overnight in a cell beneath the station. Apparently, not all papers had gone through and some others were needed for me to be properly sentenced. They guaranteed me it wouldn’t take more than a few hours but the judge was only available until the next day. So we took the elevator, he filled some more papers and I eventually got to a cell, alone in the dark. I couldn’t sleep at all, so I just waited, trying to avoid becoming insane. I realized how hard it was going to be for me, even doubting if I could endure through it.

 Thankfully, everything happened early in the day. I declared myself guilty in front of the judge and he revised the case carefully before stating his sentence: I was going to be in jail for ten years. My so-called lawyer was ecstatic, as she thought it was going to be way more than that. Apparently, I could have been sentenced to life in prison, but as I only killed one person and never really shown tendencies to indicate I would kill again or that I had killed before, they decided to be a little nicer to me.

 Yet, a ten-year sentence was still a lot. I was going to come out in my forties, without any real chance of getting a proper job. I would be more of an outcast that I had ever been, and that didn’t bother me at all. I knew it was not the norm but I thanked the judge before he left, before I was taken down to a van were they would carry me to prison. It took a while, more paper work, but we were on the road about two hours after my hearing. The trip was going to be pretty short, as the prison was not to far from the city.

 When I got there, I have to say every single detail seemed extremely important. I had my eyes wide open, as well as my ears. Apparently, it was a medium security prison. They gave me a uniform at the entrance and I had to strip down in order for some guard to do a cavity search and then watch me dress up. It was the most humiliating part of the whole process and I have to confess I wasn’t expecting something like that to happen. I just thought about the ocean, my flowers and my animals.

 More paperwork. Then, a big muscular guard took me through several corridors until we had reached the third yard. Some more paperwork and then another short walk, this time to my final destination. The cell was a little big larger than the one in a police station. I had a small window, a toilet, a sink and a bunk bed. I was kind of surprised to see someone lying down on the top, staring at me as I entered. The guard took off my handcuffs, closed the door and left me there with my cellmate.

 I didn’t want to speak first. Apparently he understood that, because he waited for a while, as I looked at my surroundings and then sat down on the lower bed, feeling the fabric of the blanket with my hands, its roughness and brutality. He then asked what I had had done to end up there with him.

 I told him, in a very clear voice, that I had assassinated my best friend’s father.  He asked why. So I told him, staring at the pearl white wall in front of me, that he had raped me repeatedly for years, so I decided to stab him in his sleep one night, when he least expected it. My cellmate felt silent. So did I.

You might go crazy

   Kareem had been having some very bad nightmares. So bad they were, that he had already gotten used to waken up two hours before it was needed to, drenched in sweat, with the sensation of having been screaming for a while. He had no idea if that was the case, but the sensation was more than enough to make him very uncomfortable. He would go then and shower right away, trying to clean away every single corner of his body. It wasn’t the sweat that made him do it, but the images in his brain after he had the nightmares.

 He would see them again, sometimes, as he walked from his home to the bus stop and also at work, where he was supposed to be focusing on sales and numbers. Kareem had always been very good at his job but his performance had steadily dropped from the moment his nightmares had started to the moment his boss called him to his office in order to explain to him how important it was for them all to have their employees focused on the job. It was a way of telling him that they would be many eyes on him from now on.

 When he got home from that, he realized that it was time to deal with the nightmares and, by definition, with whatever was causing them. He hadn’t been sick recently and he knew very well he hadn’t done anything wrong at work or to anyone else around him. His relationship with his family was a bit tense, but that had been happening for years. The nightmares couldn’t have any relation to that, unless his brain was too slow to understand how his familiar bonds were a problem to him and maybe to his way of life.

 He decided the first step was helping himself fall asleep faster and in a deeper way. So he started buying various types of teas and herbs to make infusions with, which he would take religiously before going to bed. Some of those worked and some others were definitive disasters. But even those that worked never did the same good job twice in a row. The nightmares always came back, one way or the other. He also tried exercising, which he had considered for a while but he was too lazy to properly commit to a workout routine.

 Kareem would go to the gym for an hour late at night and try to make himself as exhausted as he could. He would arrive home, shower in a few minutes and then just drop dead on the bed. It actually worked for a full week before, one Sunday morning, he woke up thinking he had wet himself on the bed. Thankfully, it was sweat, but that meant the nightmares had made a comeback. He even tried not sleeping at all but that caused even more problems at work, problems he just couldn’t afford to have. He was even summoned once more to his boss’s office for falling asleep at his desk.

 Kareem went to the nurse’s office located on the office building he worked for. After all, she was supposed to be there for all the employees of the company, which was one of the top investors in the region. So he just made an appointment with her on the phone and visited one day after work. He explained his whole problem to her and she asked for some time to reflect on it, as she couldn’t determine at first sight if there was something physically wrong with him. She also asked him to go to the hospital and get some tests done.

 He spent a whole Saturday doing that, which had to be the worst way to spend one’s weekend. He had to give a blood sample, a urine sample and a stool sample. He was also checked by at least three different doctors and even a psychiatrist appointment was scheduled. Everything was done to know what was going on with him and he was actually grateful so many people took an interest in his life. Actually, they were more interested in him not being able to sue the company, if they happened to be the ones to blame.

 The process took several weeks, in which Kareem still woke up sweating and screaming. He was so desperate and sad, that he started going to bars that closed late in order to have a drink and just avoid falling asleep. At least, he did avoid doing that at home. It was very uncomfortable when he was woken up by a very angry patron at a bar, where he had apparently fallen asleep and then started screaming like a lunatic. That just made him drink even more, which resulted in the formation of an addiction.

 He would go out at night and buy several beer cans and bottles, as well as wine boxes and sometimes other things that he could be able to afford with his salary. But all that booze was only making him fall more and more into an abyss, the same one to which his nightmares had been pushing him to. The day he found himself drenched in sweat, after passing out on the living room, all stained with vomit and alcohol, he knew he had to do something to really fight whatever was happening with him.

 But the doctors couldn’t find one single problem with his body or his mind. Kareem begged them to tell him he was insane or stupid or something, but they refused to do so. They insisted that there was nothing wrong with his and that his problems could be psychological. That was rapidly denied by the psychiatrist he had been forced to talk to, as he explained in a letter that Kareem was only a bit anxious and worried about his future, but that there was no evidence to support any other theory. So he had no answers and he was probably a lost cause.

 As a consequence, he was fired a week after the test results had been sent by mail to his boss. As the company had paid for every single test and appointment, they were obliged to notify his boss. The man treated Kareem very badly, practically ignoring all the good work he had ever done in there. He accused him of being just too lazy to realize and acknowledge that his work was too much over his head and that he wasn’t really able to deal with all of it. Kareem had to hear it all and then receive the letter were his firing was made official.

 He grabbed a box, threw all of his things inside and just left. He didn’t talk to anyone, as no one had had the balls to say something to his boss. Everyone had been able to hear what he told Kareem, as the offices were made of glass and nothing could be left to the imagination. But again, no one said anything and that hurt him deeply. He even grabbed a report he was working on, due a few days after that day, and just took it home to burn in the oven. The company depended on that report but Kareem had depended on them.

 After all of that, one would think the nightmares would have stopped. But they simply didn’t and Kareem dove even deeper into alcoholism. He was so out of himself sometimes that he would actually go out and just become that crazy person that yells crazy stuff on the street. That was how he was arrested one night, after running after a girl who had not wanted to tell him what time it was. Two police officers beat him and took him to the station.

 He was freed days later, because the woman had come and had decided to remove all charges against him. The police wanted Kareem to stay for longer, but they couldn’t do that. So they just threw him out. He was sober but very sad and walked the longest route to his house. When he got there it was very late and he wasn’t interested in all the emails and calls he had been receiving. He would deal with his former boss the next day. He just wanted to fall asleep and die or at least rest for a couple of hours, before the screaming began.

 However, he was woken up by his cellphone ringing loudly. He didn’t even know he had the volume on so high up. He almost didn’t answer but he decided to do it anyway. It was one of the doctors from the hospital with some very important news. He needed Kareem to come to his practice as soon as possible.

 In that doctor’s office, several medics and nurses were gathered. They announced that a very rare parasite had been discovered living inside of him. They had concluded all of his problems had come from the presence of that organism. Kareem stared at them for a while and then just left, in silence.

Looks are...

   I couldn’t help but feel tremendous pleasure the first time we had sex. He was one of those guys that you see around a lot, in advertisements, in television and in movies. He was very handsome and his body was almost genetically manipulated to please any living human. His pectorals were round and covered in short hairs and his abdomen was not heavily ripped but enough for anyone to look at him instantly, if he happened to be wearing no clothes on his upper body. He was that guy, the guy most of us would like to be like.

 Or be with. I had never really had a type. I had always like a variety of things and traits in men that would please me in many ways. That’s why I found the question “Is size important?” such a difficult one to actually respond. For me, it was all about the person. If the big penis was attached to a person who knew how to use it and who enjoyed having one, it would most likely end up becoming a very satisfying sexual relationship. If not, disappointment was not impossible nor very far away in time.

 And yeah, I would maybe call myself promiscuous. After a long relationship with one person, who ended up being a lying cheat, I decided that I didn’t really want to commit again, unless I felt something truly special. That has not happened since then, so until very recently I happened to use a lot of dating apps on the phones and websites in order to get dates and casual sex. I would even frequent themed parties and enjoy myself truly in them, no shame or guilt the next day. That’s who I am.

 When I met Henry, the perfect guy I mentioned earlier, I was working as an assistant photographer in a very popular magazine. The place and its people were truly unbearable but I liked the job and the amount of opportunities it could give me in the future. My goal was to become an actual photographer and to be able to have my own studio and work with important people, no matter if they were famous individuals or maybe prestigious magazines. I just wanted to be the one to make them famous, in a way at least.

 So I was the one to get coffee and also the one that practically built the set before the actual photographer came every morning into the studio. Well, it wasn’t exactly morning anymore when he came in, but you get the idea. I would prepare everything and he would just change a couple of things before shooting the actual pictures with the model of the day. It was frequently a female model or some new singer or actress. The magazine focused its attention on that area, thinking women wanted to be them and men wanted to be with them. Just like what I thought of Henry when I saw him.

 He came in one morning. He seemed lost and I actually thought, for a split second, that he was some guy looking for the employment office. But he wasn’t. Once I was closer, I realized how tall he was and how big his hands and feet were. Besides that, his eyes were beautiful and bright and his skin was obviously well taken care of. So he was a model and I had to apologize for my behavior and then made him come into the studio. It was very uncommon for a model to come in so early.

 I told Henry that Marco, the photographer, would take a couple more hours to get there. I pretended to look for a message from him, but I was actually sending texts to Marco telling him to come at once to the studio. I imagined him sleeping in his nice loft, with one or even two of the gorgeous models he had met throughout the years. He was a ladies man and everyone knew that. So I wasn’t surprised when Henry himself suggested for us to have something to drink, as Marco would take a while.

 He waited until I finished with the set, which took about fifteen minutes, and then I invited him to a coffee shop just next door. It was very strange because I felt every single person was looking our way, to Henry to be more precise. And it was true. The girl that took our order was almost to enthralled to even pay attention to what I was saying. I remember hoping that she had noted my almond milk but Henry wanted to sit down as we waited, so we did just that. And it amazed me to realize how little I actually talk to models.

 They were always there for Marco, so I would only do what he asked and then stay very quiet until the photography session was over and he left with the models laughing and talking about some party they had all been together. I would then have to clean everything up and go home. In the nights I wasn’t so tired, I would contact someone and relax with them, in a way, with a drink and a night of sex. When the woman called us to pick up the coffee, Henry laughed because my expression seemed to mark my minds whereabouts.

 He asked about my job and was very kind about it. I asked about his modeling career and I wasn’t surprised to know he was very young and had already worked for a lot of big brands. He was even the image for a perfume! It was then when I remembered his face from a bus stop and our conversation went on from there, talking about life experiences and how we each loved our work and how they were both very connected. I have to say I had a blast talking to him, probably because I would rarely speak with anyone at work. I needed someone that I could exchange at least some words with.

 Later that day, I learned from hearing Marco and Henry, that he had signed a modeling contract that would bring him a big check but would also make him an usual in our studio, as Marco would become something like his official photographer. He took a lot of headshots of Henry that first day and I noticed he would look for my gaze in order to lock his eyes with mine and share a short moment, sometimes with a smile in between it all. It was nice but, by the next day, I thought it was all in my head.

 That was until he stayed after a photo-shoot, telling Marco he needed our Wi-Fi to talk to his agent on the phone. What he really wanted to do was something much more direct and that worked too well for him: he approached me from the back and started touching me all over. His hands felt like tentacles, not stopping for a single second. Somehow, I knew that kind of behavior was not appropriate but I have to confess I decided to go along with it when I realize whom I was about to have sex with.

 And we did. It all happened on the hardwood floor of the studio and when we finished, I had no idea how to feel. It wasn’t like he did something awful during sex or that he left immediately. Henry actually stayed for a while, helping me put everything in order. He joined me in a cab and left me in front of my building. But that night, when I went to bed, I felt something was not completely right with the whole picture. I had liked it but maybe not all of it and I was simply too confused to think about it anymore.

 However, it kept happening and its still happening to this day. He has so many fans and there are even rumors that he’s dating some girl model that looks like a female version of him. It’s insane! And I haven’t asked anything about it because I don’t feel I have any permission to ask him anything about his life. After all, I’m not really part of it. I’m just the guy he decided to fuck this once and I feel this will end soon. I even think that it has happened before and I tell myself I cannot care at all about that.

 I have been living in somewhat of a safe ground for so long. I have fucked whomever I wanted and wherever I wanted. I called the shots in my life, deciding everything about it, especial how I decide to live it. I don’t let anyone else take any action in my life. Or so I thought at least…

 Every single time I’m close to him, I let go of my will to fight back. I know, somehow, that he’s not the right person for me. He’s simply not, in any way, shape or form. However, I keep going back. I keep falling and I have to ask myself if when I fall again, is the ground going to be there to stop me again?