laurels himself, without my family's support.
Ron was the reason why my relationship with Anna got gradually weaker and weaker. After only a year I moved in with him, half a year later Anna moved for an indefinite period to Ibiza. Since then, our contact has been almost nonexistent. We rarely write an email or call each other.
I’m overcome with sadness as I realize that I've allowed this alienation to happen. I should visit her, rekindle the friendship and apologize to her. I feel a sense of hope as I imagine how we would meet. How happy we both would be about being able to spend a few days with each other.
With new courage, I snuggle into the pillow. I like the idea of leaving the city and escaping all my problems. In Ibiza I’ll have the necessary time and rest to get my life back under control, and to answer the question as to how I go about getting justice.
I'll book a flight right now! The thought has hardly taken shape before I’m on my laptop searching for flights. The prospect of being able to speak with someone about everything and being able to escape the oppressive atmosphere that has haunted me here at the same time, is the best thing that has happened to me in the last few days. With fiery zeal I rummage through the various offers, and only a little later end the search disappointed. There is no free space in any airplane in the next four weeks. Not if I want to be there in less than ten hours.
A heavy feeling of disappointment starts to sink in. A few minutes ago the idea of speaking to Anna and enjoying a few days in Ibiza had lightened my mood. But now I feel like a dark curtain has spread before my soul. I don’t want to be alone. I need company. I want to talk to someone.
Without knowing how it got into my hands, I suddenly find myself holding the note which Christian left me, reading his number and then dialing. I've earned a few nice hours!
Not long after I am again faced with the same dilemma as prior to his first visit: what should I wear? I don’t want to greet him dressed in a bathrobe this time.
Looking for something that can be easily taken off, looks good and is comfortable, I find a negligee that I have never worn. It’s deep red, and cut like a mini dress with thin spaghetti straps. Sexy. I don't put anything on underneath, the short little skirt just covers my butt. Good. He should be here soon. Soon I will know what I missed last night, or have at least forgotten. I'm nervous. Maybe a sip of champagne to calm my nerves. Just a little bit.
Suddenly there’s a knock on the door. He’s much earlier than I expected. I open it with a smile. I really am looking forward to seeing him again. My excitement doesn’t last long however, because standing in front of my door is something that kills my smile. Two men, two big, muscular men with expressionless faces and cold eyes stand before me.
Unable to say anything I quickly take a step back and try to slam the door, but they are faster. I'm sweating. I can smell the pungent smell of fear on me. My throat has dried out. I’m sure my face has gone pale. Nausea quickly joins the long list of my discomforts.
They don’t say anything. The larger one, who looks like a younger version of Rambo, blocks the door as I try to slam it. The other, whose hair looks like he had it bleached, passes me and enters the suite, behaving as though he owns the place. The door closes with a click. I don't dare move, but instead stand still, frozen to the spot. Then I feel hands on my shoulders and am rudely pushed forward.
"Nice place you have here, Miss Hartwig."
Although Blondie speaks with a quiet voice, a cold shudder runs down my back. His tone sounds threatening, as though it wouldn’t bother him if he had to commit a little murder during his lunch break. My legs suddenly feel as if they were made of rubber. I sink into a chair and try to control the jitters that have taken over my whole body.
"Stand, I liked the view." Obediently, I get up again.
Ron was the reason why my relationship with Anna got gradually weaker and weaker. After only a year I moved in with him, half a year later Anna moved for an indefinite period to Ibiza. Since then, our contact has been almost nonexistent. We rarely write an email or call each other.
I’m overcome with sadness as I realize that I've allowed this alienation to happen. I should visit her, rekindle the friendship and apologize to her. I feel a sense of hope as I imagine how we would meet. How happy we both would be about being able to spend a few days with each other.
With new courage, I snuggle into the pillow. I like the idea of leaving the city and escaping all my problems. In Ibiza I’ll have the necessary time and rest to get my life back under control, and to answer the question as to how I go about getting justice.
I'll book a flight right now! The thought has hardly taken shape before I’m on my laptop searching for flights. The prospect of being able to speak with someone about everything and being able to escape the oppressive atmosphere that has haunted me here at the same time, is the best thing that has happened to me in the last few days. With fiery zeal I rummage through the various offers, and only a little later end the search disappointed. There is no free space in any airplane in the next four weeks. Not if I want to be there in less than ten hours.
A heavy feeling of disappointment starts to sink in. A few minutes ago the idea of speaking to Anna and enjoying a few days in Ibiza had lightened my mood. But now I feel like a dark curtain has spread before my soul. I don’t want to be alone. I need company. I want to talk to someone.
Without knowing how it got into my hands, I suddenly find myself holding the note which Christian left me, reading his number and then dialing. I've earned a few nice hours!
Not long after I am again faced with the same dilemma as prior to his first visit: what should I wear? I don’t want to greet him dressed in a bathrobe this time.
Looking for something that can be easily taken off, looks good and is comfortable, I find a negligee that I have never worn. It’s deep red, and cut like a mini dress with thin spaghetti straps. Sexy. I don't put anything on underneath, the short little skirt just covers my butt. Good. He should be here soon. Soon I will know what I missed last night, or have at least forgotten. I'm nervous. Maybe a sip of champagne to calm my nerves. Just a little bit.
Suddenly there’s a knock on the door. He’s much earlier than I expected. I open it with a smile. I really am looking forward to seeing him again. My excitement doesn’t last long however, because standing in front of my door is something that kills my smile. Two men, two big, muscular men with expressionless faces and cold eyes stand before me.
Unable to say anything I quickly take a step back and try to slam the door, but they are faster. I'm sweating. I can smell the pungent smell of fear on me. My throat has dried out. I’m sure my face has gone pale. Nausea quickly joins the long list of my discomforts.
They don’t say anything. The larger one, who looks like a younger version of Rambo, blocks the door as I try to slam it. The other, whose hair looks like he had it bleached, passes me and enters the suite, behaving as though he owns the place. The door closes with a click. I don't dare move, but instead stand still, frozen to the spot. Then I feel hands on my shoulders and am rudely pushed forward.
"Nice place you have here, Miss Hartwig."
Although Blondie speaks with a quiet voice, a cold shudder runs down my back. His tone sounds threatening, as though it wouldn’t bother him if he had to commit a little murder during his lunch break. My legs suddenly feel as if they were made of rubber. I sink into a chair and try to control the jitters that have taken over my whole body.
"Stand, I liked the view." Obediently, I get up again.
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