All Chapters of Remember me naked: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

The silence after her exit was a living thing, a thick, suffocating blanket woven from the echoes of her accusations. It was broken only by the ragged saw of my own breath and the phantom sting on my cheek. But her absence was a lie. She had filled the room with a presence more lasting than her physical form: a poison, slow-acting and cruel.“I was looked at as the guilty one.” Her words from moments before seemed to hang in the air, written in the dust motes dancing under the sickly neon. “My freedom was taken away. I was torn away from months, from years with my Alexandre. And you?”I could see her fingers in my mind’s eye, tightening around the spine of that cheap notebook. Not with rage, but with a cold, possessive hunger, as if each page were a fragment of my life she could crush into pulp. The madness in her eyes wasn’t the hot, flailing kind; it was glacial, tectonic. It was the absolute, unshakable certainty of a creditor whose debtor had squandered the entire fortune. She bel

CassandreI do not want to kill her in ignorance. Ignorance would be mercy, and mercy is not what I am here to dispense.I want her to know.To understand.I want the moment when comprehension dawns , slow, reluctant, irreversible. When her eyes finally meet mine and the world rearranges itself in her mind. When responsibility ceases to be an abstract notion and becomes a weight crushing her chest. That is where justice begins for me. Not in the act itself, but in the recognition that precedes it.This is a calculated cruelty. I am aware of it. I accept it.I will let her hover between life and death, not as a spectacle, not as an orgy of suffering, but as a suspended sentence. I imagine the arc of her thoughts as she falls: disbelief first, then confusion, then that naked terror reserved for moments when the body realizes the mind can no longer save it. I refuse the pornography of pain. I will not indulge in gore or screams. I do not need them. The idea is enough. The clarity is enou

DanielI'm driving too fast. The headlights bite into the night like fangs; each curve brings me closer to a house that is no longer a home, to a place shattered into pieces. The call hit me like a slap: Lyra has been kidnapped. The word sticks in my throat, sharp and undeniable. Kidnapped: intent, organization, no possibility of accident.I stop the car in the gravel driveway, the engine still coughing. Through the windows, glimmers and silhouettes: the rumor has settled in before me. The door barely opens before I’m already inside. The warmth of the lamps makes the features harder; fatigue hardens the faces.People are crying, holding each other. Lyra's mother trembles, curled against an old man whose gaze has suddenly aged twenty years. Around them, neighbors, cousins, figures huddled around an emptiness. Lucas is stiff as a rope, ready to spring; Alexandre appears tense, as if shame has taken flesh. At the sight of Alexandre, something inside me shifts: it’s not just anger; it’s t

At the police station:The ticking of the clock becomes a drum in the policeman's chest. The neon lights on the ceiling flicker, accentuating every crease on the faces of Cassandre's parents. The mother trembles, her pale hands gripping the cold metal of the table. The father tries to remain stoic, but his shoulders are tense, as if bearing the weight of a secret too heavy.— Listen to me, the policeman says, calm but relentless. Even a detail, no matter how small. Every word counts.The mother swallows hard, her breath short.— I... I think... she murmurs. She received a call. A strange call... I didn't know what to do...The father, furious but tense with fear, interjects:— That's not what you think.His voice trembles, but he tries to mask the crack. The mother continues, panting:— They talked about... Lyra. That they were keeping her... somewhere... far away.The policeman takes notes, silence falls like a lead curtain. Every word hangs in the air, heavy with gravity.— Where? t

CassandraSilence is never as dense as after a stifled scream. The sea has taken everything, swallowed it all. Lyra is gone. And I stand here, breathing this emptiness like a victory.At last.A shadow has left my life. A shadow I did not choose, but which had clung to me like mold. Her pleas, her trembling looks, her promises that were nothing but threads of silk ready to snap… all of that now belongs to the abyss.I sit on the bridge's bench. My fingers glide over the damp wood. I feel as if I still hold, in the hollow of my palms, the weight of her body. A light, insignificant weight. As if all of that girl, all her voice, all her so-called importance, had been nothing but a bubble of air waiting to be popped.And yet, there remains this silence. This silence that gnaws.I close my eyes. Her last breath comes back to me, that word pity which slipped from her mouth like a worthless whisper. It was not a prayer; it was a confession: she knew she had nothing left, that she was nothing