Life is too short for boring stories

Yvonne slowly came to herself. „Where am I? How did I get here?”, she asked herself involuntarily. The memory came back slowly. She had been tired, had not eaten all day, and had been exposed to particularly intense discussions that morning. „How quickly people feel attacked,“ she kept thinking, „They are so afraid of losing something themselves if they show empathy for other living beings.“ Yes, it was fear that she had felt. The more aggressive, the more fearful, ultimately. That was her impression. And if she managed to break open that tank, it was recognizable and she had a chance to start. She had remained calm and serene, but it had been particularly stressful that day, so she just wanted to take a few minutes off, shake off the tension, and take the bias that she was beginning to feel in a positive direction. Then there was that dark figure that appeared to appear out of nowhere. That must have been the moment she passed out, because from then on, she remembered nothing.

Yvonne, she found without a doubt, was lying in a bed. It was done carefully, as far as it could be made out in the half-light, because the blinds were lowered so that daylight barely penetrated. Then she spotted a figure standing in the door frame, which, although a little bent, seemed to completely fill it. „He kidnapped me,“ shot through her head. She felt how a hitherto unknown fear wanted to take hold of her, because what was the guy doing with her? Did he want to hurt her? Why did he do that? It was as if she was completely at the mercy of him and completely helpless. Physically, she had no chance against this colossus. She forced herself to think clearly while keeping an eye on the man. He had the hood off his head and she recognized the scary scars on his face, the tattoos on his neck and the almost bald skull. A wave of desperation was getting ready to hit her and drown her, but then he looked at her and she saw something that irritated her. It was clearly fear. But what from? He hardly had to fear an attack. But what could it be then? Fear of rejection, devaluation? Yes, it could be. Yvonne had no idea if she was right, but at least she wanted to try it because it was the only way she saw.
„I’m Yvonne,“ she said in a tone as gentle as possible, „And what’s your name?“
„Mark,“ he replied succinctly, in that deep, booming voice that sounded loud even though he spoke softly.
„Mark, I don’t think you want me anything bad. Is that right? “, Yvonne continued gently, whereupon he only shook his head briefly.
„But then why did you take me with you?“, She asked further.
„It’s not easy to understand,“ he replied, „I hardly understand it myself.“
„Then try to explain it to me,“ asked Yvonne, because he looked like a monster, but was scared like a little deer. It was irritating, but maybe that was the key. „I think that you will only ever be judged by your appearance, that people turn away from you as if you had the plague. But what would you say, who you are, you would not be frightened, you would be asked? „
„I don’t know,“ said Mark tonelessly, „but no one has given me the opportunity to find out.“
„And that’s why you kidnapped me because you wanted me to find out?“ Yvonne replied, because she wanted him to continue talking to her.
„That comes very close to that,“ replied Mark shortly.
„What do you think of it when you start by sitting down with me and telling me your story,“ Yvonne suggested as she sat up in bed, moving a little to make room for him and her back to her wall leaned. He approached her timidly. She knocked invitingly on the blanket next to him and finally he sat down. From her eyes spoke openness and attentiveness, so that he took the risk to do something that up to now seemed impossible to him to reveal his story and thus actually to himself.

Go to part 3 here

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