"People think that dreams are made to come true. That's the problem with dreams: they're made to be dreamt"
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A new evening, a new opportunity to hurt his wimpy little heart.
9h15 -
With my stomach tied up in knots by the apprehension of spending an evening with him, I take one last look in the mirror, simple and unadorned, grab a mascara that's almost dry and try to apply it to my lashes with difficulty. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, my hair slicked back, wearing a black T-shirt and an open-zip sweatshirt, jeans with holes in them and white trainers. I haven't really made an effort and it's perfect.
I can't wait to see his face, his big eyes crinkling slightly, his heart racing, his hands shaking and his lips curling into a grimace as he sees me walk out of the dorm, against all the odds. I'm sure he can't really imagine seeing me, and to tell you the truth, I can hardly believe it either.
9h30 -
With my heart racing, I left the flat, determined not to let myself be thrown off balance. In the icy park, the wind rushed through my clothes, making me feel even more vulnerable. Ian's burning gaze fixed me as soon as I arrived, as if he'd really expected me to arrive from the impassive expression on his face.
Sitting on a bench, Ian offers me an enigmatic smile. Dressed in his usual black shirt and chino trousers, he looks at my sweatshirt, then drifts to my eyes. I scrutinise him, trying to decipher his intentions. Disappointed by his lack of reaction, I sit down beside him, a heavy silence settling between us.
— Welcome to our little party, he announced in a soft voice.
I shudder at his words, tense up and look far ahead.
— Here, take this, I bought a second one for you. He says, offering me a packet of cigarettes, the touch of his fingers making me jump. I take the packet from his sweaty hands.
— So... he begins, lighting a cigarette.
— What?
— What are your dreams?
I stare at him as if he's just told me he's from another planet. If he's going to ask that sort of thing, he might as well keep his lips zipped.
— Does not being here count?
— No, it doesn't. I'm sure you'd like to go to the ends of the earth, for example.
I suddenly stand up and look away, anguish squeezing my chest. I'm about to leave, careful not to attract attention, I've got a reputation to maintain in this residence, you see.
— Why are you getting up?
I gasp in exasperation and turn my head towards him.
— I feel like I'm being tricked.
He smiles, amused, like a cat that's caught a field mouse.
— In that case, let me give you a few details. I'm not going to hurt you, whether you want me to or not. There's no way I'm going to manipulate you and, above all, there's no way I'm going to let you shut yourself up at home, alone, moping around.
Damn, this guy's tough, but he piques my curiosity; it's like he already knows me and my past. I hesitate, he seems sincere, that's the scariest part... I puff and unwrap the plastic wrapper from the packet and take out a cigarette that I put between my lips.
He brings his hand up to my face and a flame appears in front of my eyes, before igniting the tobacco. I take a deep puff and he pulls back the lighter before looking into my eyes.
— I'm all ears. He continues
— About what?
— If you want to talk about the things you'd like to do or see, I'll listen.
I remain silent, unable to share my shattered dreams. He encourages me to open up, but I remain as closed as an oyster, glued to my rock. I make a nervous gesture as I run my hand through my hair.
— It's been a long time since I had a dream. I whisper these few words as if the mere fact of saying them out loud would crush me.
He must sense my discomfort and before the silence between us settles again, he pulls two cans of beer out of his brown leather bag, the same brand we drank together in the lift. I'm even wondering whether he liked that brand of beer so much or whether he remembered that I liked amber beers.
— To your future dreams, Xiona.
He knocks his can against mine, a dull echo is heard, a vibration spreads across the surface of the metal, a few drops of amber beer escape and slide onto my handle. I sit down again.
— You have no dreams, but what if I told you that I think I can give you back your joy of living, that I would give you the opportunity to start all over again. What would you say?
His question is rhetorical, he knows very well what I will say.
— I do not need anyone.
— Wanting and needing are two different things, but you could use a helping hand.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a notebook and a pen.
— Write everything you need to get where you want, see it as an exercise... Or as a release.He hands me the notebook and I grab it with a firm hand.
— It will go straight into the trash. I replied, looking at the notebook and dangling it in front of his eyes.
— You do what you want with it, it belongs to you now. By the way, why did you decide to come? He rejoices, taking several sips of his beer.
I think for a few long seconds. Maybe because I wanted to understand his motivations and also be able to have contact with the tattoo artist. I finish my beer in one go without answering his question.
— I imagine it must be difficult, being you. He added, smiling.I turn my face towards him, surprised and confused by his words.
— How so ?
— The first time I saw you, on your balcony smoking, I felt all your insecurity, all your desire to disappear on the same level as your desire to live.
I didn't expect this, to the point that my breathing stopped at hearing these words, while he continued:
— I felt distress as well as a strength of resilience. I saw a young woman, consumed by life, pretending to be an aggressive lioness, devouring everything in her path in order to fill a gaping hole. A woman, beautiful, independent and mysterious while you try as best you can to lie to yourself about the visceral need for affection. I think that's what made you so charming at that moment. He confesses to me, putting his beer down on the bench, leaning forward, intertwining his fingers and squeezing them until his knuckles lighten.
— Why are you telling me all this? I said in a low voice, without really knowing how to respond to what he had just told me.
— Because I like you. A lot, even. He finishes as if it were the easiest thing to admit.
My throat tightens with nervousness, never had anyone said such things to me. I was planning to disappoint him with my personality, show him all my bad sides but I understand now that it won't work on him, this guy is definitely a psychopath for him to like me...
— I-I have to go. I stammered before finishing my beer and quickly getting up, trying to escape my emotions.
To stutter ? What the fuck am I playing at! Love...I don't even know what it really is. I promised myself I wouldn't feel anything like that, I don't know what I feel, but the fact that my heart might race, that my breathing might choke, that my stomach might twist slightly, yes, that scares me. He quickly grabs my wrist to hold me back.
— Don't go, please. He blurted, looking at me like a puppy. Did you ate ?
— Yes. I lied so he would leave me alone.
— I'm sure not, what do you think of a Japanese restaurant?
Damn... Asian food is my weak point. My stomach is gurgling at this very moment and mentally I'm getting angry at my stomach, you dirty traitor.
— Hmm.
— I know a quality restaurant not far away, I invite you. He boasts, winking at me. I respond with a nod and we get up.
10:10 p.m. -
The restaurant is quite small, very long. A few high tables are lined up against the wall and Ian sits on one of the stools, inviting me to do the same. The place is full despite the late hour. The dim light of the space is pleasant, but the smell is even more pleasant. A tantalizing scent of Asian cuisine invades my nostrils, making my mouth water.
A waiter approaches us and hands us the menu. Sushi, yakitori, onigiris, sashimi, gyoza, okonomiyaki, ramen, katsukaré, tonkatsu... And many other appetizing dishes that literally make me drool. I'm spoiled for choice, everything looks so delicious! He orders first, choosing yakitori with a bowl of spicy miso ramen, extra egg and tofu, not forgetting to get a bottle of sake with a large bottle of beer.
I indulge in a bowl of tonkatsu ramen. Famous for its creamy broth made from pork bones slow-cooked for hours, this dish is enhanced with thick slices of pork, soy-marinated eggs, garlic and shiitake mushrooms. Our order arrives very quickly and the smell rushes into my nostrils, filling me with fleeting happiness.
— Enjoy your food.He said before wolfing down a big mouthful of noodles.
I also start my portion without further delay and I must say that it is as good as it is beautiful, a real delight, I would have to come back here with Cassie. Our eyes meet and I try to send him a silent message that can tell him that this is excellent. He smiles slightly and nods to show me that he understands.
Taking advantage of this gourmet break, I decide to change the subject and for once start the conversation, believing that eating well actually changes a person.
— Why were you wearing a suit this afternoon? I hesitated to start the conversation, just slightly curious as to why he was walking around outside in this outfit worthy of a business leader.
— I had an interview for a job.
— What kind of job ?
— A position as a psychologist, I have finished my studies and I am looking for a job.
I take a sip of soup and give him a surprised look. A thought also occurs to me, that of wondering how he has so much money to be able to afford the rent of an apartment in this residence, when he has just finished studying. Wait, wait. How old is he ?
— You ? Psychologist? I burst into laughter that made my eyes glaze over.
I become aware of my laughter as the sudden movements of the contraction of my stomach pull the stitches and awaken the pain of my wound again. Ian drops his chopsticks, surprised, as am I now, to have let such a childish reaction escape. I never laugh, no, well that rarely happens to me with Cassie, but that's it! Damn, this guy is doing something to me that I have trouble controlling...
I clear my throat, immediately putting back on the mask I've been wearing for so many years. Ian, with his mouth half open, looks at me intensely with his sparkling eyes, without moving an iota. I dig back into my bowl of soup.
— Do that again!
I give him my middle finger without bothering to look up from my food.Ian puts his finger on my chin and gently lifts it, forcing my gaze to connect with his. His eyes seem to probe my soul.
— I know you are afraid, to be happy Xiona. Whispers in a sweet and bewitching voice. I know you're fighting against inner demons that are gnawing at you. But I'm here, and I won't let you down. Let me help you heal, find the light you deserve, give me a chance to hear your laughter again.
Its touch is soft and electric, sending chills through my body. I feel torn between fear and misunderstanding of my own emotions towards this man.His words resonate with me, and for the first time in years, a little hope is born deep in my heart of stone.
He quickly changed the subject to prevent me from escaping.
— My favourite colour is green, and yours?
— Black, I replied, without needing a moment's reflection.
— Oh, how strange, I would have bet on pastel violet! He said, mocking. If not, rather cat or dog?— Cat.
— Luckily, I picked up an abandoned kitten two days ago on the road, you can come see it! Ian yawns, approaching his body a little closer to mine, a big smile on his lips.
I blink quickly, imagining for a moment Ian shirtless, caressing a kitten, which is not unpleasant.
— You picked it up on the road, does that mean you have a car? Why did we walk here!
— I have a motorcycle, but I thought you wouldn't want to be so close to my body, hugging my waist, even if I admit it, I would have liked to feel you huddled up against me.
— Good thought, but don't hope too much, I still prefer to walk 100 km. How old are you, by the way, the psychopath?
— 26 and you?
—23, I replied, without knowing why I gave him the privilege of knowing my age.
We finish our dishes and our glasses when suddenly, a thud sounds behind us. I turn around and see a tall and imposing man, his face hidden in the shadow of a hood. He approaches us, a cruel smile drawn on his lips.
— I have finally found you. Whistle a gravelly voice. You will pay for what you have done.29Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP1hDx0LiQc
