Chapter 2

• My senses began, in a way, to come alive. My hands numb and my neck burning in such an intense way that made me instantly think that I was not dead.
• One of my beliefs was that when one was dead, the existence of a soul was wrong. Since the senses were linked to the body and not to the soul.
• That made me believe that I had not managed to commit suicide. And slowly I had started to remember what had prevented me from doing so.
• My eyes opened slowly and I began to hear strange footsteps in the house, noises coming from the kitchen. The clatter of utensils, something cooking in its own juices, and the sound of water running from the faucet put me on high alert.
• There was someone in the house.
• I forced myself to get up even though fatigue didn't care that there might be a serial killer, and I grabbed a closed umbrella that was in the corner of my room. My eyes fell on the ceiling where the belt was still hanging, showing my failure.
• I realized that it was morning and I didn't bother to find out what time it was.
• With the umbrella in my hand to stab anyone with the tip, I opened the door slowly and the damn thing betrayed me for the lack of oil in the screws, letting out a horrible squeak that made me want to kick it for being so treacherous in that situation.
• I walked out into the hallway and when I reached the entrance to the kitchen, there was a man with his back to me, cooking in the pan. He was wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt tight against his body, making his muscles cling to it. He was huge. He even had gray cotton pants, which made him look too comfortable.
• How was I supposed to fight against such a giant man?
• "Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
• With my umbrella poised to strike him in the back of the head. The man turned around, revealing his immaculate beauty to me.
• Son of a... he was gorgeous.
• "Hey, calm down. I didn't come to harm you," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace and holding a black spatula in one of them.
• A spatula that wasn't mine.
• I looked him up and down, observing him closely and not letting my guard down. Tall, dark red hair, and fascinating caramel"colored eyes, with their own sparkle. Thin lips, flat nose, and a scared look for being caught."
• "I was about to commit suicide and you ruined everything!" I rasped, remembering that because of him I wasn't dead.
• "I saw you from the other side of the building. My window faced yours exactly. What did you expect me to do? Watch you hang yourself and let you die? God, no."
• He glared at me as he flipped the bacon strips.
• "Now, if you'll excuse me, you need to eat something. You're extremely thin, and your stomach was growling while you slept. If you don't eat, you'll die, but from hunger."
• I blinked a couple of times, dumbfounded.
• "Not only do you invade my damn privacy, but you take the trouble to cook something that wasn't in my fridge and that I could never eat with the damn salary I have. Go away."
• "No. I'm not going to allow you to commit suicide and me carry the guilt of not being able to save you."
• "You're a...! You're not going to decide whether I live or die! You don't know everything I'm going through..."
• My stomach growling interrupted my words so abruptly and unexpectedly that we both looked at it, and I wished the earth would swallow me whole.
• "Eat and then kill yourself if you want," rasped the man who seemed to be getting closer to twenty"seven or thirty."
• I looked at the door and shouted a resounding No! when I saw that the lock was broken from the kick he had given it last night.
• "You broke my door!" I screamed, on the verge of tears. "I don't have the money to fix it, now because of you they'll kick me out of the building."
• The urge to cry that I had at that moment was immense.
• "Oh yes, because I believe a better option would have been to knock and say: neighbor, I see you are about to commit suicide, may I come in to prevent that horrible act? "he rolled his eyes as he calmly served the bacon and eggs onto my cheap plastic plates. "Sit down."
• Reluctantly, and feeling that hunger had won that battle, I sat awkwardly in the chair, while that stranger took care of placing breakfast in front of me. He sat across from me, and soon began to eat breakfast in silence.
• I had to admit it was the first time I had seen such a handsome man in my house making me breakfast.
• "What is your name? "he asked, taking a sip of orange juice and looking at me curiously.
• "Ada Grey."
• Another person to invite to my funeral, great. More people so that burial doesn't feel so lonely.
• He couldn't protect me forever, sooner or later he would leave the house and I could carry out my end.
• "I had never heard a name like yours. Interesting."
• Deep and calm voice, everything a girl would want to hear whispered while being fucked.
• I nodded, not giving much importance to his positive comment. He found interest in something as ordinary as my damn name. He was probably a psychologist.
• I didn't take long to start eating breakfast and devouring everything he had made for a fool like me. I was so hungry.
• Enjoying my breakfast, a moan so intense escaped from the depths of my throat that the man looked up with wide eyes and surprised. Swallowing his breakfast forcefully.
• "I'm sorry" I apologized, feeling my cheeks flush.
• "How long has it been since you ate, Ada? "he asked, surprised and at the same time with a face that radiated pity towards me.
• "Since yesterday morning."
• "For heaven's sake" he muttered, dropping the paper napkin on the table and rubbing his forehead, dismayed. "You can't go so long without eating. Now I understand why you are so thin, your arms are so thin and you have horrible dark circles."
• "That's my business. I haven't kicked you out just because I'm eating" I murmured, wondering why he was still in the house". At least tell me your name. You interrupt my suicide and make me breakfast as if nothing had happened, I think I deserve to know."
• He smiled through his napkin, wiping the bread crumbs from the corner of his lips.
• "My name is Max. Nice to have saved your life, Ada Gray."
• He held out his hand in front of me, waiting to be shaken. I rolled my eyes, returning the greeting.
• "I didn't want to be saved."
• "You should have closed the curtains."
• "Excuse me?"
• "If you wanted to commit suicide without attracting the neighbors' attention, you should have closed the curtains."
• "Important detail that escaped me" I cleared my throat.
• He was right, he was undoubtedly right. Damn.
• "Why did you want to commit suicide?"
• His intimate question took me by surprise. I almost choked on a piece of bacon.
• "I'm not going to answer that."
• "Well, if you don't answer, I feel compelled to keep an eye on you so you don't try to take your life again" he pursed his lips and shrugged.
• That situation was getting out of hand, I finished my breakfast in silence and took the dishes to the sink while he was still eating as if he had all the time in the world.
• I leaned against the sink, crossed my arms, and gave him a dirty look.
• "Your face won't get me out of the house" he said, absentmindedly and without looking at me, while he continued to eat.
• "It should, or I think the police will."
• "Not if I take care of calling people who specialize in suicide and decide to have you committed."
• "You have no proof that has happened to me."
• "Your red and marked neck is proof enough" he countered, pointing to my neck.
• I swallowed hard, giving up. I sighed, wondering what to do with that Max who had appeared in my life when I least expected it.
• In response, the man smiled at me and took one last sip of juice before taking the dirty dishes to the sink. I had to move aside before our arms brushed.
• "Do you have a job? Friends? Family to call in case I can't stay with you?"
• "You don't need to worry about me. I don't need it."
• I wasn't going to give personal information to a stranger.
• "A suicidal act is the greatest act of help. Believe me, you need me. Sorry, I meant, you need someone and I think seeing you through the window last night wasn't a coincidence."
• "Damn, now you're going to say it was fate or some nonsense like that?"
• "I believe in everything I see, and what I saw yesterday was coincidence, not fate."
• He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decipher what was going through my mind.
• "Where did you come from, Max?"
• He smiled again and bit his lower lip.
• "I came from the other building to save your life, Ada Gray."
• Max took care of cleaning my home, making my bed, and removing the belt from the pipes so I wouldn't try to commit suicide again. He had the audacity to hide the knives and anything that threatened my life. He barely spoke to me, as most of the time he had his cell phone glued to his ear, talking to someone about business and future investments. I was very surprised that someone like him, who seemed so cool and peculiar, seemed to be important, as most of the time he sounded authoritative, cold, distant.
• As if he had the obligation to give orders to other people. He seemed to work over the phone.
• While I lay in bed, looking out the window at the blue sky of the day, Max wandered around the house, chatting with someone else on the phone. I didn't know why he was still here. Didn't he have anything better to do than clean my house and make sure I eat?