로그인Diane
He tilts his head. I think he is going to kiss me. I freeze, ready for the violation of my mouth. But he merely rests his forehead against mine. A gesture of heartbreaking intimacy. A lovers' gesture.
— I will remind you, he whispers against my lips, his warm breath mingling with the steam. Every day. Every night. Until the only word on your lips, in your head, in your blood, is my name. Until "love" and "me" are the same thing to you.
The water
AURÉLIEI check the table. I relight the candles that blew out somehow. I look at the lasagna in the oven. I smell the scent of tomato and cheese filling the house.It's perfect.Everything is perfect.The front door.My heart leaps.I almost run. I open the door.Lorenzo is there. In the doorframe. He has his jacket over his shoulder, his backpack, his tired look from every evening."Hi," I say, hanging from his neck.
AURÉLIEI get up. I go to Lorenzo. I wrap my arms around his waist, I press my belly against his back, I rest my cheek between his shoulder blades."I'm glad you're both here. Both of you. That's all I wanted. To bring you together. To have you near me."He doesn't answer right away.His muscles are hard under my arms. He doesn't relax against me the way he usually does.Then he places his hands on mine."I'm glad too," he says.His voice is strange. Strangled. As if he were holding something back.
AURÉLIEThe day begins like a lie.I'm in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. My gestures are mechanical. Butter on the toast. Coffee filtering. The sun enters through the window, casting circles of light on the tiles, and all of this should be beautiful, should be peaceful, should be exactly what I dreamed of for months.We are all together.Béatrice and Lorenzo under the same roof as me.My belly against the table, my two loves within reach.So why do I have this knot in my throat?Why can't I stop th
BÉATRICEShe approaches. She takes me in her arms. Her belly against mine, our children separated by so little flesh, so little tissue."Thank you for being here," she murmurs into my neck. "It does me so much good to have you."I hold her tighter. Too tight. As if I could hold back time, hold back the confession, hold back everything that's going to collapse."Me too, it does me good."Lie.She goes upstairs.I stay downstairs, in the darkened living room. Seated on the couch, hands on my belly, eyes in the
BÉATRICEDay is here. Full. Cruel. It enters through the gaps in the shutter, draws bars of light on the floor, on the bed, on me.I haven't slept. Not a second. My eyes are dry from having cried so much, my head is heavy, my belly is taut. The babies stir as if they sense my disorder, as if they want to remind me they are there, that they heard everything, felt everything.I should get up. I should go take a shower, erase this night from my skin, from my hair, from everywhere. But I remain there, nailed to the bed by the weight of what we've done.His scent is still on me. In my sheets, on my pillow, between my legs. Everywhere. I breathe it in despite myself, I soak in it, I d
BÉATRICEHis hands leave my back, come to rest on my belly. With infinite gentleness. As if I might break. As if my children were made of glass.He closes his eyes. He concentrates. He feels their movements beneath his palms. A tear slides down his cheek. Then another.He places his lips on my skin, there where our children are growing. A kiss. Two. Three. He kisses my belly as one kisses an altar, as one kisses a miracle."I'm sorry," he murmurs against my skin. "I'm sorry for not being there the way I should be. I'm sorry for all the hurt I'm causing. I'm sorry."Each kiss is a prayer. Each kiss is a forgiveness he asks
DianeSilence is an open wound, purulent with the echo of my own moans. The air is heavy with the smell of sex, sweat, domination. His weight on me is not an anchor, it is a seal. It presses me into the fur, into humiliation, into the irrevocable.Shame does not seep.
DianeHe lifts his head, his lips glistening. A cruel and magnificent smile floats on his face.— What is it, Diane? Do you want something?I shake my head, incapable of forming words, rolled over by a wave of shame and need so intense it is painful.
DianeThe silence enveloping us is not peaceful. It is charged with the echo of our kisses, the short breath of our breathing struggling to find a normal rhythm. Lying against him, I feel every part of my being vibrate with a new alertness. The truce is a deception. It is the eye of the storm.His
DianeHesitation paralyzes me. It is the leap into the void. The acceptance of everything this means: the betrayal of myself, the entry into his game, the recognition of this twisted attraction.But the memory of his caress on my skin, of the fever he ignites, is stronger.I close my eyes one last



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