Jail walked in with the town doctor. Jail led Alba to the bed for the bald man to check her over. And so it happened. The checkup lasted less than a quarter of an hour and the diagnosis he gave was positive. Alba could return to her family the next morning. A small smile lit up Alba's face.

She liked the borrowed room, but she still felt alienated.

The doctor suggested that she try to find an escape routine so that the panic attacks would not be as lethal as the incident that had occurred. She merely nodded her head. Before they left the doctor left her an envelope on the bureau with chamomiles inside and said to brew them into tea, that it would help her relax, and Jail lit the available candles in the room.

Once alone, she looked at the envelope with some suspicion. In Della, as in any city in Las Brisas, there were kind and unkind, generous and stingy people, in other words, society was plagued with opposites of each other; however, those belonging to the upper class, no, those who had more money than the rest were so alike, as if they had been molded by some cook in heaven, bringing as a consequence that they lacked kindness, generosity, empathy and love, above all love. For them there was only profit. I don't help you if I get nothing in return. He wants something from you and you know what it is, the voice that always drilled into Alba's thoughts told her.

The creak of the door made her stop paying attention to her impertinent subconscious. In front of her stood Jail with a silver tray looking calmly at her.

-May I sit down? -he asked, pointing to the bed with his chin.

Alba nodded.

On the tray were three small china plates, a silver spoon and fork, and a crystal glass. The first plate had soup, the second some fish with vegetables marinated in vinegar and spices, commonly called pickled fish; and the third was almonds and dried figs. It was all so appetizing. Alba looked up from the tray to rest her gaze on Jail, as if asking permission to grab. The captain was also watching her, noting her uneasiness.

-Go ahead. It's your dinner," he said, smiling.

She delicately ate the dishes in order and drank the rice water at the end. The presentation was impressive, but it fell short of the flavors. With each bite, Alba felt like she was floating back to the warmest experiences in her life. On the other hand, Cárcel watched with total interest every gesture Alba made. They were both enraptured.

For Alba all this was new, since she could remember the only things she had tasted were vegetables and bread, if she was lucky then soup; instead, all that day she tasted exquisite foods that even imagining them she could not imagine the textures or flavors of these. And just at that moment she caught herself smiling broadly in the reflection of the tray. The sight of it made her mouth sour. She looked so disgusting in that dress. She covered her mouth stifling a moan. Startled, Jail removed the tray, moving a little closer to her, but before holding her shoulders, he stopped; he remembered what happened in the early morning.

-What's wrong? Was there something in the food? -he asked anxiously.

Alba kept silent and continued to cover her mouth. The suspicion about the doctor became an affirmation to her, the touches on her body became morbid; and now her head was a whirlpool of memories endlessly replaying. What little peace she experienced was corrupted by her sick mind. The sensation of filth began to suffocate her, but she did not change her hunched posture or remove the hand that prevented the entry of fluid air. Jail's hands were tied, he did not understand the young woman's behavior, nor did he know how to act accordingly; what he did feel was an enormous need to help her. He swallowed saliva and, although he told himself he would not do it again, he cradled Alba's face between his hands, forcing her to lift her face.

Her blue eyes were tainted with anguish, contrary to what she imagined, Alba was squeezing her eyelids shut and biting her hand, yes, the hand she used to cover her mouth. A lump formed in Jail's throat. So, you've been biting yourself all this time, he thought. Carefully he held her wrist and calmly asking her to let go, he slowly pulled Alba's hand, where the imprinted mark of her teeth with blood distilling from them remained. It was not the first time that Cárcel witnessed such atrocious acts, there were even worse cases, but they all came from mentally disturbed people, who were locked up in Hollinad, that was the difference. To Jail, Alba was a serene young girl with deep-seated fears; but she never imagined that those fears would lead her to hurt herself.

Still in a knot, she forced herself to swallow, eliciting a sharp pain that made her frown. Meanwhile, Alba still had her eyes closed and now her lips were locked tightly, one against the other. Jail released the injured hand and cradled her face again. He hid the trembling in his voice and between whispers gave her soothing, encouraging words.

Her heart was trembling, because of a foreign unpleasant feeling that she now felt as her own. Little by little Alba relaxed the muscles of her face, until she ended up snuggled in the arms of Cárcel, who squeezed her trying to transmit the calm she needed....

The drops of water dripping from the pan on the side of the tub echoed. She didn't remember the amount of time she had been in there, but she guessed it was quite a bit, since the woman who helped her bathe didn't return.

Alba's face was so empty, even the sculptures in Corneria Park had more vitality than she did. When will you stop embarrassing others, she wondered. Remembering Jail's distressed face filled her with regret, it was inevitable that she felt guilty for forcing a stranger to help her. According to her, he didn't deserve any kind treatment.

Why? If you're happy with gifts from your family, she thought. She didn't understand herself either. Her thoughts were coupled with the situation she was going through, that's why they were so unreliable, but, still, she took them as a truth that pushed her over the cliff of anguish and despair....

What Alba didn't understand was that she repressed her feelings so much to keep the people she loved from being distressed, but after the episode in the dungeons that pandora's box was opened. She was falling victim to her past again. Filled with rage she hit the water, splashing it all around her. You're so pathetic, she thought. You don't deserve to be alive!

She shook her head, trying to chase away the dark thoughts that were beginning to flood her. She didn't want to die, but she wanted to forget. She was so tired of it all, of hating herself silently, no, of feeling dirty. No matter how many times she bathed a day, the dirt chased her like cats do with rats and it annoyed her. So, do you want to forget about it too? she wondered. No, absolutely not. On the contrary, she wanted to know what became of him and find him; unfortunately, to achieve this she needed the help of someone who had influence, as well as money. The only person who appeared in her mind was Cárcel Aguilar. How brazen, he thought. She was. After all, there was no chance of getting close to any other sailor.

Forget it, he thought, with how little she's known you she's sure to forbid you to come back. The possibility of it happening was great, though the way he'd looked at her made her feel otherwise. Was it right to risk it? She doesn't know him, he's a stranger with good feelings, but so much for that, what if it was a facade? Without noticing, she was already pinching her fingers and some were already bleeding. If you really want him to help you, she thought, stop scaring him and behave. He dipped his hands in the water, the burning was not long in coming, although the sensation was not so unpleasant.

Captain Aguilar was his only hope of finding the master. She needed him and would do anything he wanted to get his support. Does it really not matter, she wondered. No. I endured so much that I wouldn't mind doing it again... Steadily she climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a nightgown that, again, came to her knees, the conviction of her thoughts shaken for an instant, despite this, she forced herself to walk out of the small bathroom with her head held high.

No more relapses. It was time to show her who Alba de la Rosa was and change the disastrous image she had built for herself.