Perfect II: The Art Of Living

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Psychology 101: Atelophobia is the fear of imperfection. If one has such, then it is theorized that the person also possesses Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder.

           Fear is a factor. It can hold you back or it can push you to excel. Fear can ingrain you in contentment to never take risks or it can empower you to gain more than what you desire. Hence, you are a reciprocal factor. You can hold your fear back and excel or empower it and ingrain yourself in contentment. Once you multiply yourself and fear, you produce a whole tangible thing called life.

            It feels so good to be home; where things are great and worse at the same time. The New York air feels so rejuvenating. It goes into my nostrils, suffocating me with hospitable animosity.

            “Ethan, what do you plan?” Becky inquired as she got out of the hangar dragging her own suitcase.

            The noisy engine hindered Ethan’s farouche voice to be heard. He, instead, inhaled and turned away from Becky. He braced himself as the automatic glass door paved him the way into the airport. He paced fast. His suitcase grumbled as it brusquely moved its way down the tiles. Ethan pursed his lips and ceased his breathing. He murmured, I can do this. I will do this. He closed his eyes and determinedly opened them again. He looked back at Becky and trotted out of the edifice.

            This is it then.

            “Sir,” a chauffeur greeted. “Do you wish me to take your luggage to Sir Rosa’s penthouse?”

            Ethan shook his head and smiled. “No. I prefer to carry it around.”

            Mr Rosa got out of the airport with his phone on his ear. “Okay. Yes. Precisely. We’ll be on our way. Bye.” He dropped the phone and widely grinned at the chauffeur. “Is there a problem, sir?” he asked and the man froze while shaking his head.

            “Ethan, I sent you the FBI’s number. If you found yourself troubled inside or outside or wherever the hostage takers might have brought her, contact them. This is for your good,” Mr Rosa advised but Ethan calmly shook his head.

            “No, sir. I will go there alone. I refuse reinforcements.”

            “But Ethan, I asked the FBI to surround the place already.”

            He gasped. “With my greatest respect, sir but you what! Y-You can’t do that! T-T-The phone! The messenger just told us to only go there alone! W-Without all the escorts and gunpowder shenanigans! I’ll go there myself. Tell the police to stay out of the way, sir. Please. I need to do this for my friend,” he said and dragged his suitcase with his cardigan on his other arm. A taxi halted before him and he quickly got in. He inhaled and a tear slid down his cheeks. His body quaked. He glanced out of the window and there by the door were Mr Rosa, Becky and the chauffeur watching the taxi sped off.

            “14th street, sir, Wired Store NYC,” Ethan told the driver.

            He fished his phone from his breast pocket and a beaming number flashed on the screen.

            “Good day, sir,” he blurted after three successive rings. “Please retreat.” He inhaled. “The hostage has been retrieved.”

            Ethan ceased to breathe. He wondered how that sentence could echo in his head if it was true… made true by a person like him; wearing a gray poncho to a hostage taking crisis all by himself. That wasn’t a smart move. He sighed and noticed himself drifting to slumber.