About the book: 2015 / The most difficult thing was not to live the way I lived, no. The hardest part was when he brought me back. During the year and a half that I was on the run, I gradually began to feel. Live. Enjoy every new day. Trust people. The wounds gradually began to heal, scar, and new skin appeared in place of the burned alive skin. And she was too thin and tender, soft when he threw me into this hell again. I promised myself that I would find him and destroy him. This was the only thought that helped me survive. I thought about him constantly; about how I will kill him; about how I will bathe in his blood. I hated him with all my heart, for not putting a bullet in my forehead, but giving me to these jackals. Because of the way he grinned, took the envelope with the money and calmly left without even turning around. They call him Lazarus. And I'll kill him.