LOGINLinaThe park is a rustle of life this Sunday afternoon. The happy cries of children, the distant whistle of a train, the murmur of the wind in the young leaves of the chestnut trees. I am sitting on a bench, my hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea. I watch the scene before me.Clara is kneeling on the grass, a few metres away. She is helping her son, Léo, adjust the small stabilizer wheels on his first bicycle. Two and a half years old. Blonde curls bouncing under his red cap. He fidgets impatiently.— Almost there, sweetheart, hold the handlebars steady.Her voice is soft, firm. A mother's voice. A serene voice.I observe her, my sister. She is wearing a light dress, her hair cut in a bob that lights up her face. She is smiling, truly. It is no longer the tense smile, waiting for the next disappointment, that I used to see. It is a smile that comes from the belly, a smile that has reconciled with the light.She did not stay with Evan.This truth, she delivered to me a year ago, dur
LinaThe coffee flows into my cup. A brown stream, steaming, spreading its aroma in the sun-drenched kitchen. Through the window, our garden is a picture of peaceful greenery. My tulips, planted in the autumn, raise their bright colours against the wooden fence.Two years.My fingers brush the rim of the stoneware cup. Solid. Earthy. I am wearing a simple woollen jumper, jeans. My hair, longer now, is tied back in a low ponytail. I no longer wear perfume. I prefer the smell of soap, coffee, fresh air.My phone vibrates on the counter. A calendar alert: Dress fitting appointment – 3pm. A smile, small but real, comes to my lips. Not the shadow of a triumphant smile. A smile of presence. Of being at peace with the moment.I hear his footsteps in the hallway. Simon enters the kitchen. He comes up behind me, places a kiss in the hollow of my neck, a hand on my shoulder. His touch is warm. Frank. He does not seek to possess, to mark. He simply affirms: I am here.— Did you think about the l
LinaThe day enters the room like an intruder. It sweeps the corners, dissolves the complicit shadows of the night, catches the dust dancing, heavy and slow. It strikes my closed eyelids first, a coppery, insistent light. I wake by degrees, a consciousness rising reluctantly from the depths of a leaden sleep.My body speaks before my mind. It is a map of dull aches, sore muscles, memories inscribed in the flesh. The coolness of the sheets against my naked skin is a violent contrast. Too clean. Too empty.I turn my head. The other side of the bed is empty.The sheets are rumpled, still imprinted with the shape of his body, his weight. But Evan is no longer there. The space is just an abandoned territory, a crater after the explosion. The silence, now, is different from that of the night. It is no longer charged with desire, threats, or stolen confessions. It is simply… empty. Aired. Dead.I sit up. My head spins for a moment. The room spins with it. The disorder jumps out at me, more v
EvanThe coolness of the parquet seeps into my back. The weight of her head on my arm, the curve of her shoulder against my chest. Lina. She breathes more calmly now, a deep, regular rhythm that barely lifts her ribcage. Her scent , sweat, sex, and that essence unique to her, salty and sweet permeates the air, clings to my skin.I look at the ceiling, the high, silent shadows. My arm around her is a bridge of flesh, a link I did not order but do not break. The silence of the apartment is an entity unto itself. It absorbs the last echoes of our bodies, the growls, the gasps, the silent cries. Only this heavy, charged calm remains.Inside her, it was an abyss. A fervour that drew me in, an openness so total it resembled a capitulation. I took. I possessed. I marked. Each moan torn from her, each shiver under my hands, each contraction around me was a victory. An affirmation.So why this cold shadow in the hollow of my ribs?She moves slightly in her sleep or half-sleep, a rustle of skin
LinaThe air in the bathroom, still saturated with hot steam and the smell of us, cools slowly on my skin. The mirror is fogged where my forehead and hands pressed against it. I trace a furrow in the condensation with my finger, revealing my dark eyes, a face marked by hunger and brutal satiety. My thighs are heavy, trembling slightly. Between them, a persistent warmth, a slow trickle I no longer try to stop.It's like an echo throughout my body. A deep hum, where he possessed me, filled me. And yet, beneath the muscle fatigue, beneath the numbness of repeated pleasure, a nervous vibration resumes. An awakening. The night is young. Evan is somewhere in the apartment, that silent and unpredictable force. His departure is not an end. It's a pause. The promise of a resumption.I move away from the mirror, from the crime scene. My steps are silent on the cold tiles. I pass through the bathroom door, naked, the air of the other rooms drier, sharper, caressing the traces of sweat and water
LinaI touch myself harder, my fingers thrusting, circling, pressing where I know it will make me come. My hips sway on their own, seeking a rhythm, a friction. The water slaps against my skin, my breasts tremble with each movement. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as the orgasm rises, hard, brutal. My fingers push deeper, and I arch, my toes curling, the fingers of my other hand gripping the tiles. I come in silence, my thighs clenched, my body shaken by spasms. Evan's semen and my own juice flow down my fingers, mingle, trickle between my legs.I stay there a long moment, gasping, eyes closed, savouring the last waves of pleasure. Then I straighten up, rinse off, turn off the water. I step out of the shower, grab a towel, dry myself quickly, not bothering to dry my hair. The air is cool on my warm skin. I look at myself again in the mirror flushed cheeks, bright eyes, parted lips. I look like a slut. Like a whore. And I love it.I don't even have time to put on a robe. The bath
ÉricI came home.Clara was still asleep. The house was silent, peaceful. I closed the door without a sound, took off my shoes, walked down the hall like a thief. Headed for the bathroom. I turned on the light, eyes squinting. The mirror reflected a man I no longer recognized.I took a scalding sho
ÉricThe room is bathed in warm semi-darkness. The curtains are drawn. The silence is almost unreal, as if this place belonged to another dimension. A world outside time, outside laws, outside myself. A world she built beyond morality, a sanctuary where everything I thought I was becomes ridiculous
ÉricI stayed on my knees for a long time, even after she had drawn back, even after she had disappeared into the bathroom again. The floor is cold, my back is tense, my thighs burn. But I didn't move.Because in that moment, something inside me gave way. A thread. A line.A thought that I was stil
EricI don’t sleep.I let my body rest against hers. I breathe slowly. I let it seem as if I’ve surrendered to sleep. But in truth… it’s the opposite.I am on fire.Her hand is in my hair. Her breath against my forehead. Her scent. Her silence.Everything is too real.Too alive.Too…Her body again







