Chapter 5 — The Weight of Silence

Éric

It's almost four in the morning when I leave the hotel.

The corridor is silent, covered in thick carpet, muffling my steps as if even the place was ashamed of me. The elevator descends slowly, too slowly. My reflection in the metal panels sends back a troubled image: red eyes, crumpled shirt, mouth marked by another's kisses. With a swipe of my sleeve, I try to erase what I've become. Pointless.

The city sleeps.

Lyon stretches in a spectral calm. The rare cars cross my path without stopping. The shop windows are dark. The trees tremble softly in the night wind. Dead leaves slide on the sidewalk like confessions you try to flee.

I walk fast, hands in pockets, coat collar turned up. Not to warm myself. To hide.

I didn't take a taxi. I don't want to go home too fast. I want to feel my legs burn, my heart pound under my ribs. I want to deserve some of the pain I should feel. But everything is confused. What I feel is something else. A damp torpor, a tension between shame and desire.

I can still feel Jade on me.

Her skin, her smell. That invisible and indelible trace. I can run my hand over my neck, but she's there. There, everywhere. Even the cold wind doesn't chase her away. She clings to my skin like a sentence.

When I look up, I see the first lights of the neighborhood. My neighborhood. My building. My other life. That of the faithful husband. The serious lawyer. The discreet neighbor.

I slow down. My legs become heavy.

The building's elevator is silent, and each floor makes me want to go back down. To flee. But flee where? To her place? That would be worse. I'm in this nauseating in-between where no return is possible, but nothing ahead is really clear.

When I reach the door, the keys tremble in my hand. The metal clicks in the lock. My stomach tightens.

The living room is plunged into darkness, as if night had also settled inside my home.

I close the door softly behind me. I take off my shoes on tiptoe. I move like a thief in my own house. A familiar smell envelops me, that of clean laundry, waxed wood, cold coffee. And this silence… it's heavier than any scream.

I approach the bedroom.

The door is ajar. Clara is lying down, back turned, in the semi-darkness. A lock of hair escapes from her pillow. Her breathing is slow, regular. But I know her. It's not sleep. It's silent waiting. Control.

I stay there, a few seconds, frozen. Looking at her. Feeling the bite of remorse go through my bones.

She's beautiful. Even there, motionless. A soft, familiar, silent beauty. Nothing to do with Jade's raw electricity. Clara is the stable light, the one you forget to admire. Jade is lightning. And I went towards the lightning, knowing it would burn me.

I head to the bathroom. Turn on the light. I can't stand my reflection. My eyes avoid the mirror.

I run ice-cold water. I scrub. Hard. My skin is red, raw. But I continue. As if the pain could redeem the act. I run my hands through my hair. I'm shaking. I feel like vomiting.

When I come out, Clara is awake. She doesn't look at me. But I know she's not asleep.

— You're home late, she says.

Her voice is steady, flat. Not a reproach. It's worse than that. It's a diagnosis.

— I had… a discussion that ran long. With a colleague.

Lie. Dry. Ugly. Poorly formulated.

She says nothing. Doesn't react. She keeps her eyes open towards the wall.

— You smell of alcohol.

I stay silent.

I could tell everything. Right here, right now. Unburden myself. Cry. Beg. But the words get stuck in my throat. Because I know that the moment I speak them, there will be no return possible. Clara will see me as I am. A cowardly man. And I'm not ready. Not yet.

I slip into bed. The gap between us is immense. Not in centimeters. In truth. In pain. In silence.

— Good night, she breathes.

But it's not a wish. It's a sentence.

I stare at the ceiling. Shadows dance softly, cast by the outside light. I replay the scene. Jade. Her sighs. Her look after making love. Her smile of a woman who knows what she's done. What she took. What she now holds.

I gave myself. Body and heart. I didn't just betray. I surrendered.

Clara is there, so close. But she's far. Very far. Her shoulders are tense. Her breath is held. She's not asleep. She's waiting. Or she's taking it.

And me, I'm drowning.

I feel that I've just broken something deep. A sacred line. And the worst part is, I don't even want to go back.

I am emptied. Dispossessed. Deformed.

I didn't sleep, not a minute, because I think of that woman, she drives me crazy.

When dawn arrives, it's cold. It illuminates too many things. The folds of the sheet. The empty hollow between our bodies. The pillow Clara no longer holds.

She gets up without a word. Crosses the bedroom like a stranger. Not a glance. Not a sigh. She closes the bathroom door behind her.

I stay there. Lying down. Motionless.

I've become a man I no longer recognize.

And the worst…

Is that I know I will see her again.

Jade.