My name is Inrina.
I suffer from a serious illness.
The doctors have a name for it, but no cure.
I live each day like it could be my last.
My life seems to be someone else’s ideal.
It has yet to become mine.
Always reaching for more, I let desire take control.
Then others take it all away from me, as if it were theirs to decide.
My deepest wish is to get away, far from it all.
It had been years since it had gone this far.
It had been a while since she had felt this way
She knew she needed to come to him to share it, because it felt like it might pull her away from herself again.
MARK
Her words kept coming back to him:
“It’s not right, Mark. I just can’t,
Not right now,
I can’t throw it all out the window. Not this time.”
-
“Just take it slow. One day at a time, remember?”
Mark had become someone close to her, more than a professional overseeing her weekly routine.
But something about him was inexplicable.
His concern for Inrina had grown into an obsession.
A pathological one.
“She is ill. Every second she spends unprotected puts her life in danger.”
He held her file in his hands.
Following a patient for so many years was unusual, but not unheard of.
Her case had helped him rise through the ranks of the clinic.
It was a special case.
From the day one, he had been fascinated by her case.
Later, by her.
High society holds secrets buried so deep that no one would want to bring them to light.
Inrina’s paper file did not contain everything Mark needed to assess what had just taken place.
So he opened the digital version, where he kept his confidential documents.
On one side of the screen, photographs of a battered body.
On the other, a paused video of her.
