Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 11 - Chapitre 20

ÉricThe morning stretches on, without real light.Or perhaps it's me who can no longer see it.Outside, the sun is rising, and I remain trapped in an inner darkness. A darkness that has nothing to do with night.I wake up in her sheets, naked, still burning from her.The room is strangely still.A heavy silence, threatening, saturated with absences.She is no longer there.I reach out my hand, searching for her body, her breath, a sign – but my fingers only brush cold sheets.How long has she been gone?Did she even sleep by my side? Or did I only dream her presence, her scent, her skin against mine?I get up, legs numb, my head drowned in a nameless fog.I feel like a castaway washed up on an unknown shore, too far from any landmark.I despise myself a little.I love her too much.My clothes are scattered around the room.As if she had methodically thrown them everywhere, with that mixture of contempt and care that is hers alone.Every unbuttoned button, every stray sock tells a sto

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 shower. As if I could wash something away. The sweat. The memory. The scent of her skin. But the burn isn't from the water. It's the one she left. On my skin. In my gut. Beneath my eyelids.I stayed under the spray for a long time, hands pressed against the cold tile, eyes closed. The water fell on me like a punishment. And in my head, over and over: her voice, her gestures, her body twisted around mine, her breath that said everything she refused to admit. The way she looked at me, as if I were both the weapon and the target.I got out, soaked, numb, empty.I dressed slowly, like someone piecing themselves back together after a storm. I remade the bed of normalcy. I put the faithful husband co

ÉricI didn't sleep.Not a single second.The living room is a battlefield. The wrinkled rug. My shirt, torn. My body, marked. My mouth, still warm from hers. And yet, she vanished like a mirage.I stayed there, frozen, naked, for an eternity. As if my body refused to return to reality. As if the very air had changed consistency after she left.Clara got up at 7 a.m. as usual. She found me in the bathroom, looking tired, eyes avoiding hers. A fake headache as an excuse. She kissed my temple. She smiled. She asked if I wanted coffee. I said yes.Lie upon lie.And me in the middle, a puppet of flesh who no longer knows who he belongs to. Or rather, I do know. I know perfectly well. But I keep pretending.At noon, I'm in my office. Curtains half-drawn. Shutters slightly open. Cold light. Long shadows. I stare at the wall, unable to focus on anything.I want her. Again. I need to see her. To smell her perfume. To hear her voice. Even her silences I miss.I can't go on like this. Begging f

JadeTonight, I'm not playing.Tonight, I don't want to humiliate, to provoke, to twist.I don't want to make Éric bend, nor test his limits, nor smother him with my silence.Tonight, I just want… to look at him.To be here. In this room, with him. Nothing else. Nothing more dangerous than that truth.Sometimes, I surprise even myself.I had sworn to never give in to this. This creeping tenderness. This dangerous warmth. This slow poison that takes root in the simplest of gestures. It's more insidious than hate. Deeper than desire. It's… a flaw. And I'm falling into it, eyes wide open.And maybe he's not the trap.Maybe I am.Maybe this is where I lose myself, where I falter, where I betray myself.He's here.And in the way he looks at me tonight, there's no more fear. Just… a gentle fatigue. A pure surrender. An almost childlike need.And it disarms me.And him, tonight, he's not playing either.He is kneeling at my feet.He isn't trembling. He isn't seeking my skin.He's seeking my

ClaraI wake up before him.That's rare. Almost strange. Usually, it's Éric who gets up first. Discreet. Organized. He likes that moment to himself, before the turmoil. He goes to the kitchen, makes coffee, reads the newspapers online or glances at emails from the firm. But this morning, his arm is still on me. His steady breathing. His chest rising and falling softly, as if trying to convince the world he is sleeping peacefully.But I can feel it.This isn't normal sleep.There's something in the tension of his jaw, in the arch of his eyebrows, in the stillness of his arms. A calm that isn't rest, but escape. A silence that doesn't soothe, but suffocates.And me, I don't move.I stay here. Frozen.I watch him, like you watch a room locked twice over. There is a door inside him that won't open anymore. A new distance. Something that wasn't there, just yesterday. Or else… that I refused to see.I reach out my hand.I brush his cheek with my fingertips.He startles."Éric?"His eyes ope