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❝Hibristofilia is a paraphilia in which sexual arousal and orgasm occur in response to maintaining a relationship with a person who has committed a fatality, deception, lie, known infidelity or crimes such as rape, murder or robbery navy. ❞

Naturally, this is the exact definition of what ails you, it is an appropriate word, considering that it is a disease, however, you only observe that on the screen and you do not feel anything, you are strange, sick to be exact.

You used to feel filthy from being so turned on just by seeing someone who could break your windpipe with one hand or even leave a bunch of guts, yours, on the ground. You are not sexual in any way, you are just so happy because of that thought, someone powerful at your fingertips, you used to feel sick, you don't anymore.

Everyone has problems, yours is just a little more dangerous, therefore, more unlikely, for something there are fantasies, you whisper to yourself. It's just that, a fantasy, unlikely to happen, but if it did, you wouldn't know how to act, you wouldn't know it, no matter how much you tell yourself what would happen, you just know, you don't know at all.

You have memories of the movies you used to watch, with sick crushes for murderers in masks, and how it used to ruin your day to see that under that demon with a mask, there was only one human, you curse those movies, they were the best, but at the same time, they just made you feel so bitter.

You type and you think that this is like a drug, one day you look at things and little by little, you want more and more, no, you NEED more. You grunt knowing that this fact is more difficult to achieve, because the more you want, the more difficult it is to achieve, that is why you are like this, learning from people in anonymous forums how to enter the Deep Web, the only place where you will get what you want , or at least, a part.

You do not want guts and blood, with the fact of knowing that you are surrounded by perhaps sick and murderers, it is enough, you can fantasize with that in mind, perhaps, chat with some about their most recent hunts, although you doubt that they are real, more like a role-playing game, you hope it's done well, a bad one would only make you more unhappy than you already are.

You write down all the data you can, you even have an escape route and a hiding place, along with a kitchen knife, although you doubt that you can do much, you only pray that those who count as entering where they should not be, they never returned to see certain people, that's what the forums say at least, lately it's hard to know what is real and what is not.

You patch your camera with a cardboard and paper tape, they could have an IP, but never your face, although if you think about it, you know that it is stupid, but again, you are already stupid for having a problem, that you should address it in therapy, to the next level, feeding it until the moment it gets worse, because you know it will, you are impulsive and you will not think like others for a long time, you know that everything is a matter of time, probably if you do not get what you want, you will want to kill someone, You will not do it with intelligence, because you are an idiot, you will only do it to quench that darkness that corrodes you, you deny therapy because you know what will happen to you, you know what happens to threats when they admit to being one.

When you go online, you feel like a kid in a candy store, even if most of it is sour candy, you don't want front page teens when you walk in, you want adults suffering live, or at least people admitting to being bastards, like you. You ignore the graphic garbage that most of you enjoy and surf the web of degenerates, see people renting their daughters, people in anthropomorphic animal costumes probably having sex with their cats, even some who sell presumably haunted dolls with aborted fetuses, maybe buy one, but remember that you can barely take care of yourself, you would not want to be tormented by an aborted fetus while you do your thing imagining sick scenarios, in another life it will be, you agree.

Sometimes social networks for suicides, you don't give a shit about their problems, neither about them nor about those who look for people for whom they know what, maybe you could joke and pay a little to find out where such a person lives, you would not harass this person, of course It is, you just want to know, it would be fun, if you had the exact coin, again, you get exasperated, you are pitiful, sick and besides, you cannot satisfy your crap, you really are unlucky.

You see pages with rooms in red, and you remember all those stories of what happens there, a chill runs through you and you wish you had the money to order a video, you could do whatever you wanted and you would feel powerful, but you don't want that, you want to see someone powerful doing what he does best, playing at being a god, you want to be his faithful follower, to be below the god, not above.

You hum and drink a can of coffee, the loudest and most disgusting you could afford with your fucking salary, both to keep you awake and to have a reason not to sleep, those kidnapping stories are playing you a pass lately, but you always feel haunted, now what you do only makes it worse. You really need therapy, you make fun of it, like you can afford it in the first place.

As you thought, you are an unfortunate idiot, because on your first night, you do not find anything you were looking for, only pages where you have to pay and too many naked teenagers, even, for some reason, curious pages of people who believe they are part of something bigger, But they are only sick people who believe they are worth more than they are really worth, the only good thing you found is the page of the old woman who fulfilled her fantasy, about some guy sending her burning messages. Damn lucky old lady.

You whimper, feeling sorry for yourself, thinking that dreams sometimes come true, not yours, but everyone else's, like those of those suicides and that old woman, but not yours.
You hit your forehead on the table and you do what you were taught so that no one can track you, or at least, no more than what they already tracked you, you will probably be fine, so you hope, if you die, at least you want to die happy, not miserable like now. Again, you whine about how miserable you are.

Chapter Text

On your second day, you pray for luck with your adventures on the Deep web, after all, you did not learn anything about what many told you, you never would, to be honest. You wanted to be safer and you definitely wanted to buy some things recommended by your anonymous friends to be safer in your home, you would not want the police to show up to bite your butt while you are on one of those rare pages, because curiously, there are too many of these.

Your first task of the day, of course, is to hate yourself for having to go out to place the device in order to steal someone else's wifi, it is not that you feel bad for your neighbors, more like the fact that if something goes wrong, you will have to go out and be a lot more unprotected than in your own home, is to be screwed or double screwed, you naturally prefer the version of yourself that does not appear in the videos you try to find. That would be a very bad irony.

You feel like a child running back to the safety of your home after doing a lousy parkour between the stairs to get home again and as if it were your ritual, you get ready to close and cover every window you see, except you door, naturally you'd be terrified to open the curtain and see some bastard behind you, you want to believe. Instead of doing what a normal person would probably do, you'd say some sick compliment.

You listened for once in your life and got cameras, they were lousy warm, but at least you could see when someone was or was not at your door or loitering in your house, they were even so kind to give you a device which you did not remember its name To mine bitcoins, it takes less than mining for applications, but it is still slow, maybe in a few days you will have more bitcoins to be able to pay for better cameras, if you survive, of course.

Ignoring your computer for the moment, you curl up on the sofa and stare at the tv screen, there is news about kidnappings in your area, you are not really surprised, your apartment is in a shitty place, you could wait for it here, however It doesn't seem like it's just in your shitty neighborhood, if not everywhere. It's a shame, you don't think you miss Margo, surely she was a bitch and she deserved it, that's what you say to yourself at least.

You write down some things to be careful, you do not doubt that it happens, after all, you are doing something really bad when looking for horrendous things on the net to satisfy your sick tastes, the least you could do is be careful, however unlikely it is. You have important data on what not to do and what to do, you even discovered that there are hidden links on all the pages, something about greater security for the pages you are looking for, even if you consider it tedious, you know that, if it is so safe just to enter, filter information It should be even more difficult, therefore, don't you think you wake up one day and see your name on the news along with other sick people being lynched live for viewing forbidden pages.

After fooling around between programs which only repeat the same thing, something about murderers and calls, you never pay much attention, the voice that narrates it always made you uncomfortable for some reason, you don't think it gives more information than what it already gives daily , it will just repeat the same in other words, nothing valuable.
You perform your daily ritual in which, you reset the wifi for about five minutes, naturally using those of your neighbors, it would be funny to hear your neighbor yelling because the police entered his house for alleged illegal activity, you really are a bad person. Naturally, you time each activity as you were taught to do, changing accounts every ten minutes, even checking the perimeter of your house every so often, more out of your own paranoia than out of actual fear.

You look at the handle of the knife out of the corner of your eye, you still consider the stupidity of even having something with which to defend yourself, when you even know that you would not have a chance in the face of imminent danger, you even imagine throwing yourself down the stairs, better death under your hand than under unknown dangers.

While you look at some corpses for what you called "the Facebook of the Deep Web", you want to feel bad, that and the podcasts that sound filling the environment, something about being a better version of yourself or something similar, you remember when you were a child and there was someone you liked, you remember how much you tried to show that you were a good person and that you were totally a good match, now you only understand that by showing how human you were, you only showed the part of you that was the least human.

You leave your computer for a few minutes and play with your cell phone, you don't have notifications because you don't have friends either, more for the sake of those people than for yours, you are not friend material in any way, you really fear that they know who you are, anyway , lying for so long would only make you feel like plastic, even if you are, you don't want to relive that memory any more than necessary.

You jot down nonsense on little brightly colored sheets, data you get, links you have yet to see, and some single numbers that, at some point, will tell you what the hell they work for. You do not feel that something bad really happens if you doze a bit, after all, you did not buy a good chair so as not to fall asleep in it at some point, you think that this day, is better than any other, about ten minutes will be enough.

Without thinking much about it, you remove the pages and turn off everything related to your little escapes to the underworld of the internet, you will not risk if you can avoid it, you think it would be something fun to tell that you really believe in kidnappers and hackers who will kill you if they see that you are looking for garbage forbidden on the net, if only you had someone to tell.

Before you can completely close your eyes, your cell phone rings, with the characteristic remix that you use of tone, you suddenly feel uncomfortable, you have no one in your life, and naturally you cannot work because you took your well-deserved months of vacation, You don't want to think who it is, but something tells you it's not a good sign.

"Who is it?" You ask curtly

No one speaks, it's just a man, breathing heavily on the other end of the line and as fast as you hear it, it just… goes away.
You feel a chill running down your spine.

You're really screwed.

Chapter Text

Contrary to what one might think, when something stressful happens or your life is at risk, the first reaction of many is not to get lost in thoughts and cry, if not, the feeling of wanting to fight, the survival instinct depending on the threat. If your life is at risk, you run with the desire to please the enemy to spare your life or in other cases, the desire to hide or fight. Mine was the last.

As much as by the thrill of fulfilling my disgusting fantasy, as by wanting to live, because my fantasy did not include my imminent death, perhaps in dreams, but not in real life. Something in my gut twisted when I heard that raspy breathing, pure adrenaline material.

I remember short snippets about this murderer, something like rules to kill, which I appreciate very much, even if it sounds like a cliché horror movie, where sadly I'm the silly girl who dies first, thank god I'm not in a bikini, it would be a terrible way to die, not counting, that I still did not find material for my miserable fantasy.

My stomach feels like a spiral, it devours me inside, it feels as painful as the greatest happiness one can experience, it is like death, only more literal. My mind feels extremely blurry, only the thought of surviving glows, like a neon sign.

"Just go in the front door"

It's a fair rule, you think. Remember the pages that you previously visited and how curious the patients there are, they all have certain rules, even the hitmen and torturers who offer their services, they all have rules. You suppose, that this killer has them too, you wonder how someone discovered this rule, unconsciously you thank him, although deep down, you probably know that he is underground, being the feast of worms.

Far from the fear that creeps into your bones, you choose to ignore it and use absolutely everything that weighs the most in your house to cover your front door, it is as old as the apartment itself, even its window is millenary as hell, not even you can open it without breaking your wrist in the attempt, you doubt that even if your new friend decides to break his own rule for once to kill you, he can open that window without taking a long time.

Trying to place a slightly empty plaque on your door, you receive a new call from an unknown number, you know who it is, although you want to lie to yourself and say that it is a friend that you do not have, however, you answer, receiving exactly what you expected it to be.
It is his breathing, labored and heavy.

He doesn't say anything, but in a way, you're more afraid of that fact, that he doesn't speak at all than that he does. You want to curse, but your throat dries up instantly, you want to cry, but you can't, so you try to soften the atmosphere, laughter is the only option in the face of horror.

"It sounds like you were gargling with stones" you murmur to yourself, spacing yourself again from what you really should pay attention to, you instantly wish to die, are those your last words?

Instantly the call is cut off and a chill runs through you from head to toe, you feel your bones twist, trying to make you disappear even if you can't, you awkwardly kneel and stare with one eye out the window, you fear for your life as much as you get excited about the situation, you don't want to call the police because you know that not only would they not do anything, but you would also condemn yourself when they see what you were looking for, although it was not the worst thing people would look for in pages like that, you know you would be as guilty as those who posted that material.

You don't want the bad reputation of being recognized for being sick, you barely keep your job and your false kind personality, if it were known you would only cause your own marginalization, you don't think you can live with that, much less move, besides that dark stain, I'd chase you wherever you went

You chatter your teeth as you watch out of the corner of your eye, a grimy old van pull up near your door, braking at a light pole, but even so, you can see it in a corner, no one gets down, but you feel the surreal feeling of that your blood freezes and your body suffers small spasms, leaving your muscles sore from any movement, no matter how slight.

You are not an idiot, you know they are not your neighbors, they do not have any van and nobody would stop in the middle of a neighborhood just to gaze at the stars, it is surreal how your senses are heightened and you would swear to hear your heartbeat in addition to the constant pumping your own blood.

It terrifies you as much as it excites you, you disgust yourself for it, you know how to separate fact from fiction, but ultimately, you are only more surprised by the fact that you do not care as much as you thought it did, you suppose that is true that you never know what you are capable of, until the moment of truth arrives.

You have a knife in one hand, you don't know how to use it and you only remember how to hold it from the movies you watch, which you know are fake, however, pretending that you know brings you a false sense of security, you hold your breaths as long as you can, you don't want he to hear your breath. Your knees hurt from being in the same position for so long, your weight hurts like hell, yet you don't move, you stare at the van, it's just there.

Every time you move your hand, even a little, you feel your muscles contract, causing you to have several tics in your hands, your heart beats so fast that you can almost imagine it coming out of your mouth, you no longer draw the line between reality and surreal. You feel very numb.

You want to lose yourself in thought and distance yourself from everything, but you can't, your mind is blank and your eyes are fixed on a single point, you pray to the gods who want to listen to you, to spare your life, you are not religious, but you wish you had been, like this at least you would have someone to ask forgiveness for your sins.

Your knuckles are white from the pressure of holding the knife, your breathing is as labored as that of your predator, you don't think you can feel more helpless or stiff, until you feel it for the first time, a deep terror that takes root in your entire body when you hear the door of the truck they open with a soft squeak, but in the darkness and silence of the night, you hear it.

It feels like you see the very face of death, your death, and you can't do absolutely nothing to avoid it, like a child, you feel lost, helpless, you can't and don't know how to do anything, you want to faint, because you can't breathe in this period, you feel like you're short of breath, but you force yourself to calm down, you don't serve in that state and that's the last thing you want.

The little self-control that you managed to gather leaves you the moment you see his silhouette walk out the door of the van.

Chapter Text

In moments of extreme emotion, easily the thin thread of what is and is not real, is lost so quickly that it is alarming, even more if you already have problems with what is real and what is not, in situations like this, still plus.

A thousand and one thoughts, each one more heartbreaking than the last, about the possible things that could happen to me, the ways in which I could die, all the ways in which I would suffer at the hands of the man who had not yet left the Van, perhaps in anticipation or just because he enjoys the anticipation of the hunt, whatever it was, the wait only further enlivened the repulsive atmosphere that penetrated my bones.

It was surreal that, at the least appropriate moment, I wanted with all my heart, to have something to hold on to to live, but instead it was just one more day to fulfill my fantasies, there was no family to wait for or friends with. which pass the time, just me and no one else.

The more time passes, the harder it is to breathe, it is as if all the walls wanted to close and crush me between them, certainly a kinder death than I would suffer at the hands of him, briefly memories pass about how these people were found, although not They were brutally tortured, killed by a knife to my spine, doesn't sound particularly kind, either.
After a few minutes, I feel that I can calm down, as if for the moment I could breathe again, although considering the situation, the very mention of being able to calm down sounds like heaven, even with that person outside, I briefly consider erasing any trace of my adventures by the net and destroy my phone and then call the police, even jail sounds less horrible than death, although honestly it probably is the kind that dies first in a place there.

Before moving my legs that tremble in every slight movement, I hear the door of the Van open, it is loud and squeaky, unless you pay attention you could easily overlook it, out of the corner of my eye, I watch the silhouette of the killer go down, just there are shadows on the sidewalk, it's that or probably my vision that gets out of focus every moment I walk by trembling.

He's not as tall as me, he's a little shorter and considerably thinner, he doesn't look like someone who engages in any physical activity, aside from the obvious games with idiots like me, although those games don't particularly fall into the physical activity category. I suppose it really is stronger than it appears, I would think that cutting skin and bones uses more force than it seems at first glance.

He could probably kill me in one blow if he really wanted to, someone who has so many death counters, he wouldn't be particularly weak by any means, I hold my breath as long as possible as I watch him calmly walk towards the door, he almost feels like he Even outside part of the night, covered by shadows and with slow and silent steps, it is no surprise how he can kill so easily, no one would see him coming. I didn't see it coming.

Quickly in one stride, I put all my weight on the door, watching from time to time through the peephole as he approaches the door, until I was in front of her, I could see a little under the opaque green hood, a surgical mask a little old and with small stains of board color, old blood. His eyes were his most striking feature, large, full of adrenaline, I remembered the captured predators who had photos with their signs with numbers, they all shared the same blank look. I was really screwed if there were no rules and a door in between.

My own saliva felt like ashes in my throat when I heard his irregular breathing from the other side, I was face to face with him, I was staring at the door, I could hear how I try to move the handle, What is it that everyone left the door open?

Even behind a door, his breathing could be heard, becoming louder and more irregular, I don't think he found it funny not being able to enter. Listen to his whispers in small amounts, something like "little lamb" and "his sins", he was not only a murderer, but also a kind of psychopathic vigilante. Interesting, if he wasn't really after me.
I feel as if someone will stop trying to force the door, I hold my breath and after a few minutes, I sigh, breathing again after holding so long, unconsciously I let out soft laughs of relief, before all that, breaks as easily as it appeared .

"¡I can hear you in there!" His voice was dark, a little raspy, but certainly if he heard it without knowing who he really is, I could cry.

"Can't we reach a friendly agreement?" I can't think of anything else to think or say right now, my mind is blank and the words fall like a waterfall of ash.

The answer that comes is just the weight on the other side, trying to open the door with his body, damn it, it's really strong.

After a few minutes, the silence hovers between us, it seems that he does not want to attract attention, but I don't think he is going to just stop, I could notify the police later, but his form was so generic that it could be anyone at this point. I see how slowly it goes towards the Van, it seems that it will rest for now, a part of me wants to flee through a window, but the other knows that I will not. The situation is nothing but sick and yet I can't help but feel alive for the first time.

A murderer appeared once, no matter it was night and he was in a familiar place, he is… alone there. Not in the dark or in the shadows, he's just there, in his Van. Without fear of haunting me, after all, it is my fault if I am in this situation in the first place, it was I who isolated myself from everyone to flee from my reality, it is funny to think that he is the manifestation of what I want and do not want to the time, he invaded my last “safe” place, but even so, he is not a company, he is only there now, he does not speak, he does not move from the Van, he does not make a sound. Now the scene in front of me is static, just an old Van on the street, but even so, it haunts me now. Even if now someone is hunting me or trying, no rush.

I'm really alone and I'm going through this, just the way I wanted it, right?

Chapter Text

In the following days, The Breather did not appear again, there were days where I was lucky and he only tried to enter my house only once and others, where it was not, those were always the worst, I could feel that years of life were leaving me in a sigh when I could see the filthy Van outside, I always parked it where I could see it, that only meant that every so often I would have to look at the door, I was always moderately lucky, since I could avoid entering, but there were certain moments where not only he was upset, but tried to knock down the door. If I really didn't want that, I would scream, that would naturally push him away, but I was always anything but normal, so I never did. It was terrifying the strength he possessed, considering he was shorter than me, but it was only natural, that's what adrenaline does in the wrong person.

In those days, there was no better feeling discovered than the fact that the single rays of the sun were idyllic, almost angelic, even before the first rays of the sun came out, he was already gone, but he would I do not doubt it. Naturally, I was always an owl, the days were not to my liking and really I would change my schedule, if I did not have to work in the day, now it was just my daily bread, feeling so sleepy that I made mistakes, he was really ruining me without doing anything to me. Sometimes I thought about running away, but considering I had already seen part of his face, it was only normal to know that if I didn't take care of myself, I was screwed.

My leg felt particularly weak after a night of running from the computer to the door every ten minutes, the surreal feeling of sheer terror of going out took root in my mind, it's like a bad horror movie, in which, I'm the one disposable character, and as the good disposable character that I am, I cannot do more than try to survive, until one of the two options passes; I die or I reach an agreement, I am too cowardly to kill someone, curiously I am not so much that I do not throw myself fully into the games of a serial killer.

My neighborhood was always a middle ground, it was not safe, but it was not unsafe either, you simply had to avoid being in the wrong place at the wrong time, now that fragile balance was leaning towards the sole fact that I would always find myself in the wrong place in the wrong timing, would he really try to kill me out here? I could only pray that it won't happen or that at least, it wasn't in an alley, it's not a way I wanted to leave. The sharp edge of the knife in my pocket, it felt the only real thing, my only support to really not lose myself was to force the pain in my index finger, the pressure was enough to probably leave me a point of blood, now more than ever, I wish be able to work from home.

It was common for me to be tied hand and foot with regard to what to do with my situation, deep down I was nothing more than someone who was really excited to participate and the attention, no matter how bad, that I received from him , I remember that while taking a shower to calm my tense muscles, I was looking for ways to survive, every information that the media could say about him was scarce and mostly pure speculation, nothing could help me, I could only stay on the sidelines, with his modus operandi, which never changed, was a loop that although it was very simple, did not change the fact that it was terrifying; Knock, breathe, front door and as fast as it is, a corpse was joining the list. I will not be one more on that list.

The building where I work, it was so old that I could imagine it falling at my feet and it could really pass, it could not be delicate, there were not so many jobs with a perfect schedule for me, and now, much less, even if the pay was not low no gratifying aspect, to live it was enough, but now, that I had to survive, it was not enough under any circumstances, the weapons were not c heap, the cameras much less and better bolts, they were by the stars so that I could reach them, even the idea to live with someone else was unfair, I never really had friends and it was my fault, just condemning someone else now, it didn't seem fair, it was always nice to sink in alone, I don't think anyone deserves to be dragged into this garbage that I cause myself, it is better, if you have nothing to lose, you do not have much to fear, it is better that way.

It was a normal day, but there was always something in my head that I had something to be afraid of, no one looked like The Breather, everyone seemed normal and their gazes really were soft, no one had that bloodthirsty gaze, a good way to move on. the time, it was sleeping in the small cleaning room, they were the good points of working repairing computers that were not even broken to begin with, it was normal, old people did not know anything about technology, they made money and did nothing to earn it, really it was a good deal, I wouldn't want to stress too much more, I already had enough on my plate, which really wasn't difficult, it's like he knew it was really affecting me, because even if he only called once, it was scary, the day was my safe zone and now, it was no longer safe, he said nothing, as expected, he just breathed, but that was enough, it was deep, like the growl of some animal.

He was eccentric to the limit, I really did not have the heart to feel as scared as anyone else would, I was surrounded by people and on the day nothing else, and even then I did not feel protected in any way, but it was better than nothing. I must admit it was embarrassing, for a serial killer to use poetry to say something as simple as "I'm going to gut you like a fucking fish."

. . .

“Poor Little Sheep.

Running away from the Wolf.

Poor Little Sheep.

He didn´t even have a chance.”

That's what the little note that hung on my door said, it was put on one of those little sticky notes, it was light brown, it looked out of place, therefore, it really made it weigh even more, even when it was just a note, something inside me felt pleased, as if it really belonged there, for every moment I felt a real fear, I also felt it in anticipation of this nefarious game that I decided to play, it was not really something pleasant to think, that Knowing that I can finish everything so easily and save people in the process, I don't do it, instead, encourage him to continue doing what they do best, psychologically torturing people, before killing them, being now, that attempt of terrifying me with a little note about the probability of death and the curious comparison of myself with a sheep. The only truth was that, being able to save many and give justice to others, I did not.

I really am the worst.

A fleeting thought passed through my mind, perhaps there was something in that note that could tell who that murderer was, but as fast as that thought passed through my head, it left, I took the note and I simply closed the door, just knowing who he really was under that surgical mask, while it would be nice information to have, it really wasn't necessary, at least not for me. He is only human, but his look is what catches my attention, it is the pure example of a look that could kill, an apex predator, deep down I can understand it, we both share the same world and the same hunger, only for different things.

. . .

Even with death on my heels, I'm still in the same place where it all began, I'm still looking for that crap to satisfy my filthy desire, all my windows are locked as much as the door, a timer rests in a corner, it has exactly ten minutes, Even when there is no one, still, the disgusting feeling of being watched does not leave me at any time.

To be observed that by nothing less than a murderer, is both chilling and rewarding, while my rationality screams that this is not right while my complacent side only feels in the fifth cloud knowing how much a murderer pays attention to me, even Now, I can only silently pray that when they find my corpse, they won't find out how fucking disgusting I am, because I'm too aware that I won't survive if I really go on like this. My heart stops for a few moments when I hear my phone ringing, there is something anticlimactic in all this, I know who is calling, but the tone that sounds, is nothing but adorable, it is really the only way I can think to not feel fear, or at least not feeling so much, anything is better than accepting reality, my reality.