-VII
1825 Words
That sentence made him suddenly insensitive to the world surrounding him. He put the word "end" on everything he dreamed of, hoped or wanted. Their story was over before it could start and, weird to tell yourself how empty he felt, he had not lost anything, she had never belonged to him. Maybe he just wasted his time.
The dream was over.
Their lifes were over there.
Now he really needed the wine.
But he had to lose. He would lose love, he would lose her. He couldn't let that happen.
>
He looked at her, but she was not willing to give her eyes back. And yet he needed it so much.
> The voice was trembling from the emotion.
Would he have been a blameless vacuum to her? Would she have been fine living knowing what she'd given up?
It would have been a dream on his dark nights to stay close to her.
Instead, he would have kept living in her absence, even though he knew it wouldn't be easy, not now that he knew the touch of her hands, the color of her eyes and the perfume she wore.
Would he have replaced her?
Seeing no answers from the woman, he forced hiself to calm.
> He asked resigned.
> She was still keeping her eyes low.
>
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> He forced the voice and Antoinette got shocked by that change of tone and those words, so she went back to look at him.
>
Adrien looked around before he found a better place to talk to the girl.
> He took her hand without glove and brought her beind a wagon left on the side of the road.
Behind their backs the Arc de Triomphe.
> She said indisputably of disrespect.
Adrien smiled sardonic.
>
They both remained silent to contemplate what the other one said.
> the lady sight.
>
> She didn't know why she used that sharp tone as he walked away without looking back.
> Adrien was yelling stood by and watched.
She shook her head in denial and disappeared into the crowd.
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He came to the usual inn, slammed the door ruined and squeaky, he approached the bar with a shiny wood, laid his forearms and called the bartender. He ordered whiskey.
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>
His friend took off the glass from his hand and put it away, where he couldn't get there.
> He made it.
> He Squiffed.
>
Adrien stood up from the stool and patted Bruno on the shoulder.
>
He moved away from his friend, he wanted to tell him why he was so upset, but not before he took the glass and finished the liquid in one sip.
> He put the glass, carefully not to slam it too much, moved by anger.
>
> He bitter smiled by thinking about his illusions. How did he believe that?
> he turned to the blond boy staring at the empty glass.
> he imitated the distance between thumb and fingernails, >
> Bruno was really sorry, he hated seeing Adrien so bitter.
>
Bruno let him go. There was no point in stopping him and forcing him to talk about her again. He would have prepared Edgar the last details of the plan.
He watched him talking to a bored girl lying on a chipped column. He knew he'd fall away through the thighs of some woman, get licked the wound and distract himself from the world outside the sheets. But it wasn't healthy for his soul.
Adrien really wanted to believe in something, in someone so he could pray, and then have whom to blame. He would have wanted a god to blaspheme by screaming at the closed door of a church. Maybe in Notre Dame.
Praying for one more moment with the people he lost, but with the awareness that they would soon be gone. He would have lived those last moments. He wouldn't wait for regrets.
And now that he looked at the sky from a window, he wondered if she, with those eyes so similar to what she was looking at, would forget.
Those eyes had become ice when they said goodbye. Would they melt to see him again?
He sighed thinking about what he had would do that night.
He never did it for money, he didn't care what they said about him, not even that he was one of Paris's most wanted men. His name, his fame preceded him, but he remembered the days when no one even wanted to know him, when an orphan and lonly prayed for a degrading job, when he had understood the beauty of loneliness and, having no home, he closed himself. For breakfast only dreams.
What did people knew about money in jackets?
He started going with different women and wondered who they were thinking during those amplexes, but they would never have told him. They just enjoyed themselves.
The paranoia of those days, the life that was gently buried him, he remembered clearly.
Those nights he was drunk on a bench waiting for sunrise, with the wonderful view of his city, but it didn't seem to return his feelings.
The woman he brought with him, stood by him and started caressing his back and kissing his neck trying to distract him from his thoughts.
Adrien squeezed his eyes and imagined the brunette. He turned and irrelevantly took the girl's face to kiss her, forced her to go back to the foot of the bed and threw her on it. He layed on her and started moving and, as he kissed her, he stripped her. Without love, without sweetness.
He came down with his lips to his belly.
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He heard her panting. He didn't believe her.
She wasn't the first one to justify him like that. But didn't they realize he wasn't interested?
Why have to justify to someone who didn't even remember their name?
As he took his clothes, he thought about the question she asked him that morning. If he flattered all women like that.
He wanted to tell her that it was simply the only way to remove the thoughts and not feel so lonely, that pleasure was to ease the pain, that the taste of a woman's body was better than wine, the smell of s*x drunk more than scotch and that the intimacy that you could reach with a stranger was poetic.
Sometimes he pretended to be loved.
He wasn't a fairy tale hero, he knew, he would never be, his life, even though he was moving from danger, was far from romantic. He didn't want to be the hero, he just needed to be human. With maybe too many flaws and some good he could use. He grew up on the dirty, dark streets of the city between stinking puddles and rats stealing his food, thought he'd die like that, and when he started to realize he wanted to leave, when he knew how to exploit his talent for a living, that's how he got to have a room in this inn.
He stole, brought medicine too expensive to those who couldn't afford, decided that if he couldn't save his sister, he wouldn't let anyone else die just because of the crime of being poor.
But he wasn't satisfied yet.
He pushed harder.
He was no one without a mask.
There was another woman who would have wanted to help, but he couldn't.
A p********e. Beautiful, she was very beautiful.
She always waited for him at the same alley, between clients.
They talked a lot, they confided a lot. Then they made love. So many times.
They discovered them and they killed her.
He held the grip on her hips more.
>
Clovis swore immediately to the room and saw the scene.
> Adrien turned around in a hurry but he didn't get off the woman. He acted like nothing was after he realized it was just Clovis.
Next time, he had to make sure to locked the door.
>
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