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
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