When we enter the breakfast place named QB it’s two past nine. I waited seven minutes outside the door so that we wouldn’t be disturbed by the big collection of working cuckoo clocks in this establishment. It is sort of a gimmick; one that clearly put the place on the map. But also one that made it into a place you don’t want to stay in for more than an hour. Why they name it QB I don’t know; I never saw the point in asking.

Apart from the big oak reading table, there are about thirty middle-sized, made to look second hand, tables with each two to four chairs. Still, because the space is divided into different quarters due to different floor heights, the place has a sort of cosy atmosphere. The food is good, but that’s not what we’re here for now; we’re here for the new and improved Linda. We’re here for Tiffany.

She’s sitting at a table in the back looking at her laptop as if hypnotised. She’s wearing glasses in an attempt to get rid of her sex doll look. Not that she minds being perceived as a sex doll; she just doesn’t want to be perceived as a girl who is trying to be one. Leggings, sport shoes, and a university sweater; everything just to pretend she’s not pretending.

“Hello Tiffany, nice to see you here. Are you in need of QB’s famous cappuccino?” I ask while touching the top of her left hand.

‘Hey, don’t just touch me creep,’ Tiffany replies without really raising her voice. She looks a little disorientated and fearful.

“Tiffany, you look afraid and confused. What happened? It’s me, your saviour Jesus,” I say when I sit down at her table.

‘Sorry Jesus, it’s just that your voice still reminds me of my father,’ she replies while looking down at the touchscreen keyboard of her nostalgic looking laptop. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s why I… Sorry.’

In case one of you is wandering, Linda’s soul isn’t fully integrated with the new body yet. I made it so that the Tiffany character has a strong friendship with me. Linda will land within a few seconds taking over the program of Tiffany. I think we will be in for some conflicted emotions.

“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask her making my voice as low as possible, “why is it bad that I remind you of your father Linda?”

Tiffany’s eyes suddenly spread wide open. And while her pink cheeks turn white she yells out:

‘What the fuck Jesus. How could you!? Oh man I need to puke!’

Tiffany makes a retching sound getting more and more people to raise their head and focus on us.

‘I can feel him doing it to me. It’s so…,’ Tiffany’s words get interrupted by a shower of early morning breakfast. The food I gave her before Linda entered, flies out; combined with a gross collection of hurling sounds that in contrast with the glasses do effectively get rid of her sex doll aura.

‘Are you okay miss,’ some nitwit calls out from one of the tables.

“Of course she isn’t you shit face. She’s puking all over the floor,” I reply angrily making sure that no one else grasps this opportunity to get into her good book.

‘This was not what we agreed upon. How could you,’ she tries to interrupt the flow of vomit.

“Linda, you gave me pointers. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to take some creative freedom in working out the fine print,” I reply calmly.

‘Fine print!?’ she grasps for air, ‘my father raped me for 12 years while lending me out to his influential friends. That’s no fine print, that’s a life defining tragedy.’

“But he is really rich like you asked,” I reply with a smile.

‘How could you? I don’t deserve this. How can I ever make this life worth living? I’m ruined from the start. I knew I never should have trusted you,’ she yells out while stepping into her own puke in an attempt to move away from this embarrassing situation.

I stay silent and look at her without any emotion, in the hope she herself will realise how wrong she is; how much she actually deserves all this.

Her second step makes her loose her balance completely. The grip of the in puke standing foot is lost and as if in slow motion she falls down in her own sickening creation.

I kneel down making sure the slimy goo doesn’t touch my leather coat. With my right hand I lean on her back pushing her even further in her own sick, and then I move my lips in the direction of her left ear.

“Okay Linda, and now it’s time to shut your stupid self-righteous mouth for once and all,” I whisper in her ear, “When Lisa was twelve she came to you, she confided in you, she told you what you actually should have known for years. Your daughter finally found the strength to share her horror with you. And what did you do?” I look up for a moment.

“She’s okay people, she has one of her panic attacks, she will calm down soon, just pretend as if nothing is happening,” I yell out to the crowd who started looking anxious again.

I move back to Tiffany.

“Isn’t that the solution for everything Linda? Pretending that nothing is happening? Your own husband was molesting your daughter. And when she finally found the courage to come to you for help, you asked her to keep it all quiet because you needed to be an exemplary ‘good’ family for mummy to keep her position at the top.”

‘How did you know that, nobody knows that,’ Tiffany replies with a crying whisper that is almost inaudible.

“Because I know who you really are Linda.”

I get up while Tiffany is still lying on the floor.

“Sorry people,” I say to the people in the bar, “I have to get some of her medicine. If she tries to leave just let her be. The last guy that tried to stop her in this state is still recovering from his wounds.”

I walk towards the door without looking back. It’s a sunny day.