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Duelos y Quebrantos

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Sometimes your life becomes a nightmare in less than a second. At other times, you can see how slowly this bad dream becomes reality minute by minute. In either case, you aren't prepared for the outcome.

I have never considered him my friend. Perhaps, in the future, we could have reached that relationship. No, he was only a professional at first; the inconvenience that I had to suffer if I did not want Jack to kick me out. Gradually, he became something else: a colleague, a confidant, almost a rock to hold on, especially when the end was near. Always undaunted, always serious, always so distant, but somehow close to my troubles.

I started to envy him.

How would it be, to be able to help others, immersing yourself in your mind, and to feel nothing? To dive in its horrors, the biggest shit your subconscious has produced, and leave untainted? My job would have been way easier if I had been able to do that!

Now everything makes sense. It infuriates me that I could never see through his facade, that I was not able to understand his reasons; if I can do it with people totally alien to me, why not when the psychopath is sitting in the same room as me?

It isn't betrayal what I feel. Betrayal is reserved for your family. What I feel is pure fury, for not having realized before who he really was, for allowing him to play with my mind, for making me doubt, for putting everyone against me... 

But above all, for breaking me as a mere divertisement, pure and twisted curiosity. I do not care that is an appropriate behavior for psychopaths like him, it is not something that I could have expected; not when I came to believe that if I healed, he might had become a great friend.

Anger, frustration, anger, incomprehension.

And terror.

Terror because, when I hear his voice and look into his eyes, I see the certainty of what he has confirmed to me, what I have become thanks to him.

I want to kill him, not for vengeance or for justice.

I want to feel how his blood runs through my fingers for the pure sadistic pleasure that I would experience seeing how life ebbs away from someone who has played with so many others. I want to make him suffer; get to break his mind in the same way he has broken mine. Torture him to the point where he isn't able to distinguish reality from hallucination. Make him feel all the pain, or even more, that he has inflicted upon me. I know that I wouldn't feel any remorse.

Dr. Lecter smiles and I see no escape. Whatever I do, I will lose.