"All discussion is reduced to giving the opponent the colour of a fool or the face of a scoundrel'".- Paul Valéry25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpw3ErFBvPH
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- Pfff haha.
Ian clamps his hand over his mouth, trying hard not to laugh. My cheeks flush red and I turn my back on him, run back into my living room and sprawl out on the sofa. Shit, I'd almost forgotten about the wound, which I can feel opening slightly. I roll over onto my back and rest my arm on my forehead.
What an evening... Tired, my eyes closed on their own, and I didn't need to take any sleeping pills. The sound of an incoming message snapped me out of my slumber. I try to go back to sleep, but to no avail as my phone starts to vibrate again.
I reach over to the coffee table to retrieve it, unlock it and find three new messages from 'Psycho'.
- Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you.
- I didn't want to look at your breasts either. Not that I didn't want to, but... you get the idea.
- I hope you're well, don't hesitate to ask me if you need anything, like disinfectant for example..
Who does he think he is, a mate? What a joke. I was just deciding not to reply when a message appeared.
- How bad is it?
- How did you do that?
The sound of the phone vibrating all the time was getting on my nerves, so angrily I unlocked the screen and wrote to him.
- I didn't ring you.
- Yes, you did. You just made my phone beep, gorgeous.
Her reply makes me laugh slightly. Am I starting to take an interest in him? No, you're not!
- Beauty? You crazy bastard, do you want a life of your own?
- If you're not in it, I don't want to live.
- Ciao, farewell, RIP, forever.
- Ouch! Xiona, I thought we'd gone beyond that!
- We're not past anything, I don't know you and I don't want to.
- Maybe a little drink would help?
- I don't think so.
A few minutes go by and I still see his 'writing' status.
- I thought I was finally going to make a friend... You seemed cool to me.
I'm still puzzled by this message. A friend? Cool? Me? Give me a break.
- Looks can be deceiving, man. A word of advice: stay away from me.
- Don't get me wrong, I wasn't talking about your rebellious teenage looks mixed with your adorably rabid chinchilla head. I was talking about your inner self.
- I'm not a teenager, I'm nearly 23, you buffoon.
- A Chinchin-what? At least fucking speak correctly.
I avoid that part of me that's deep inside, in the depths of my abyss, where there's nothing but blackness even deeper than a night without light. A deafening silence and sometimes even faded screams that make the hairs on my arms stand on end. The smell of blood is omnipresent, and water sometimes runs down, drowning everything in sight, stifling any possibility of escape.
Dark. Damp.
My inner self is nothing more than a pile of rotting bones and flesh. My body has this constant sensation of snakes, rats, maggots and spiders crawling into every wound. I'm disgusted. So, beautiful, no, what I've got inside me isn't as cool as all that.
He sends me a photo of this tiny animal and I'm left sitting on my arse. He really knows how to hold my attention.
- You've got shit in your eyes, I don't look like that!
I take the opportunity to look at more photos of this totally cute animal on the Internet, and I find myself wondering if his fur is as soft as it looks.
Ian sends me an illustrated gif of this creature, which this time is enraged by food. Ho-Ho. I can see a slight resemblance... This small, frail creature is fighting against the whole world, against its human, the proclaimed master, who has imprisoned it in this silver cage. The animal, now used to being locked up, becomes aggressive as soon as anyone tries to get him out of his cage, his home. Outside, it's the unknown, it's danger, and it understands this, perhaps better than I do. Safety takes precedence over freedom, and what's the point of being free if you're not going to die two seconds later?
- You know what I mean? He's the spitting image of you, thinking about coming for a drink with me tomorrow.
- How about that?
- Come for a drink tomorrow night, I'll be waiting for you at 9.30 in the park. Good night, Xiona.
I read over and over again the latest messages asking me what I should reply, then shake my head, nonchalantly swinging the phone on the carpet while pretending to shout silently. After all, I'd promised to fulfil one of his wishes in exchange for the tattooist's contact, so why not?
What the hell have I got myself into?Is it too much to ask to be left alone?
My solitude doesn't depend on the person or the absence of company, on the contrary. I prefer to be alone because I know full well that I'll hate anyone who steals my solitude without offering me real company in return. That's why I'm so reluctant to say a simple yes, a simple ok, a simple yes.
I'm complex, complexed and afraid of what might happen, of what might happen to me. I'm pitiful, just like that chinchilla that won't escape its cage when it gets the chance.
The difference between him and me is that I'm not afraid to escape, I'm used to it. Another little thing that makes us different is that I won't let anyone lock me up, no-one but myself. That's a promise I made to myself.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxhgpytL6lX
