جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 270

LouiseMorning knocks against the cracked window of this room that stinks of sex, sweat, and the end of the world. A wan light glides across the dirty floor, slowly climbs up to us, revealing the state of this rickety bed and our still tangled bodies.Thomas doesn't move. Not a muscle. He's half asleep, or maybe he's pretending. His raspy breath scrapes the silence. His arm is thrown across my waist like a poorly adjusted lock. His skin is hot, too hot. Each breath lifts his ribcage against my back, and his odor clings to my throat, acrid and familiar.I keep my eyes open. Unable to close my eyelids. Unable to fall asleep.Everything in me is raw. My hips, my throat, my heart. He left his marks. Everywhere. I feel them all the way to my bones.The slightest movement makes me wince. I'm broken, there, in this shabby room, in his arms. And yet... I'm here. I stayed. Like a fool. Like a woman who no longer knows where hatred ends and love begins.Thomas's weight on me reminds me that thi

 ThomasThe day breaks over a pallid sky, devoid of any warmth. The gray light seeps lazily into the apartment, revealing the remnants of a sleepless night. Louise is still resting, motionless, perhaps asleep or simply determined to shut out the world. I don't dwell on her.I get up slowly, each movement weighed down by what is about to come. A cigarette lights between my fingers, and the first drag scrapes my throat like a cruel reminder of what I've become.I sit at the table, gaze for a long time at the phone before me. This old handset suddenly becomes the weight of everything I never knew how to say. Yet, I must. It's time.I dial Adrien's number. My heart in my throat, I count the rings. His voice, when it finally rises, is still heavy with sleep.Adrien — Father? What's happening?I close my eyes for a moment, then I start, in a deep voice, without beating around the bush:Thomas — Listen to me carefull

 ÉliseI cannot sleep.The white ceiling reflects my thoughts back at me, dirty, forbidden. I toss and turn endlessly in these sheets that are not mine, impregnated with a scent too neutral, too cold. Yet it is his silhouette I see. His gaze. His deep voice pronouncing my name as if tasting it.I get up. Barefoot. I descend slowly.The house sleeps. Not a sound. Yet the light from the kitchen draws a thin line on the tiles.He is there. Sitting. A glass in his hand. Bare-chested.I stop. His broad back, his strong shoulders. The curve of his muscles. It all hits me straight in the stomach.Julien — You're not sleeping...His voice resonates, deep, almost husky. He doesn't turn around. He knows I'm watching him.I don't answer. I move forward. Slowly. The floor is cold beneath my feet. Nothing else matters.Élise — Neither are you.He laughs. A short, muffled sound. He finally turns. Our eyes me

ÉliseDawn slowly slips through the curtains, pale and silent. Yet I remain unable to find sleep. My mind wanders, prisoner of the images from yesterday, of the burning memories of his hands on my skin, his greedy mouth, his fingers profaning what should have remained forbidden.I still feel the weight of his gaze on my body, and that unbearable heat smoldering between my thighs.To flee would be the only reasonable option. But I stay there, motionless, as if frozen by expectation, by that latent desire consuming me that I can no longer deny.When I finally go downstairs, the silence of the house seems heavy, almost threatening. And yet, he is there. Standing facing the windows, a cigarette between his lips, contemplating the garden shrouded in mist.I stop, breathless. His tense back betrays the tension within him.He turns around. Our eyes meet. For an instant, the world stops spinning.Julien— Go upstairs.His voice is deep, husky, marked by a desire neither of us can hide anymore

ÉliseThe white light of morning seeps through the half-open window, caressing the tangled sheets, pitilessly revealing the disorder of the night. I do not move. My body remains stretched out there, heavy with fatigue, marked by his imprint. Every part of me remembers him, his hands, his mouth, his repeated assaults until exhaustion.And yet, it is not exhaustion that grips me this morning. It is a dull burn, an immense void pulsing between my thighs, as if my body already craves what my conscience begs me to flee.I slowly turn my head. Julien is there. Sitting on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, a forgotten cigarette between his fingers. His gaze is lost in the void. He is beautiful with a beauty that kills, a beauty that crushes women and leaves them drained.I watch him for a long time, unable to utter a single word. The weight of our fault looms above us, immense, crushing. But he does not move, and I sense that he is waiting. That he wants to hear what I have to say. Perhaps h