"He was Armstrong on the Moon. That kiss being such a big step for his humanity."
- David Foenkinos
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The way he's standing in front of me doesn't bode well, no, he has the posture of a man with nothing left to lose, his fists are clenched and trembling, which means adrenalin is starting to take over and the pain won't reach him just yet. Ian stands up and positions himself in front of me, shielding my body with his.
- I've got two things to clear up with the lady.
Ian gives me a worried look, but stands ready to face his attacker.
The man moves closer and lifts his head before locking eyes with me. I realize who it is. The big guy from the bar with whom I had a fight. What I don't understand is his face, completely swollen with bruises and scabs of blood, he looks like a boxer who's just lost a match, almost unrecognizable, and it wasn't me who inflicted those blows on him, even if I wanted to.
- It's all your fault! My comrades are nowhere to be found, unreachable, and I'm sure you'd make a good bait! After all, it's all your fault. I don't even know if they're alive... so you're going to follow me, without any fuss!
A shiver runs down my back, and my body tenses up.
- I'm not going anywhere with you.
I lunge at him with my shoulder to get through the door, but he catches me with one hand and grips my wrist tightly.
- If you try to leave, I won't let you go unscathed.
My fist goes forward and crashes into his cheek, but he doesn't move at all, being far too heavy. He grabs me by the hair and slams me against the wall.
- I'm going to fucking break you, he rants, clenching his jaw.
Ian grabs the man's free wrist and twists it behind his back so he grunts like an animal but doesn't let go. I receive a knee blow to the stomach that sends a few stars into my eyes. My wound reopens and my blood pressure rises at the thought of having to get stitches again.
The restaurant's customers have taken refuge at the back of the room, avoiding our gaze, unable to escape through the front door.
It takes me a few seconds to regain my sight and my hearing from the blow that makes my ears ring. I catch a glimpse of Ian making a complicated grab for a man of this caliber, before giving him a light tap on the neck, preventing him from breathing for a few moments. Ian grabs my wrist and pulls us outside. He starts running in the now pouring rain, and I run alongside him without whining.
His hand is now in mine, our fingers intertwined, so that he doesn't let go of me, or rather, so that I don't let go of him.
We run out of the restaurant, leaving behind the angry man and the smell of the Asian food Ian had happily paid for when he took his order. The screams of the wounded colossus echo up to us, mingled with the sound of the rain pouring down on the city as our running footsteps unite.
We run, through the cold, dark night, turning left, then right, along narrow, winding paths I'm not familiar with. Ian seems to have a precise plan in mind, as if he knows every nook and cranny of this labyrinthine city. Short of breath, muscles aching, I struggle to keep up with Ian, whose athletic build seems to keep him from running out of breath.
The rain, falling from above, beats down on our faces, enveloping us in a veil of mist. My dazed mind sinks every second into this cerebral fog. His hand, still clasped in mine, becomes the only fragile link, my only bulwark, to keep me from fainting from the pain my stomach wound is gently assaulting.
Meanwhile, the rain continues its dizzying fall, its incessant murmur playing the role of melancholy confidant. Its tear-like drops punctuate the tempo of my previously solitary thoughts. They trickle down my skin, creating a liquid curtain that separates me from the outside world. In this intimate space, dreams and solitude merge, feeding off each other, disintegrating me.
Far from being a burden, solitude can become fertile ground for the imagination. I've experienced it in my paintings, I experience it in my thoughts, every day. I cherish this solitude, which offers me a space of freedom where my thoughts can flourish unhindered, where I can invent anything, and even destroy anything if I so wish. It's in this inner silence that I find myself at the moment. My ears are ringing, my senses are exhausted and, despite the situation, I don't have the strength to leave Ian's grip, almost begging him not to let me go.
Fuck, I don't feel very well. I can't decide whether it's the raindrops that are running down my face or the drops of sweat from the fever that's still rising.
The darkness that surrounds us at every change of narrow lane is both threatening and protective. It conceals the danger, leaving no shadow, amplifying the feeling of isolation and vulnerability. Tossed about by events, Ian's firm hand reassures me. His touch is an anchor in the storm raging inside me, holding back a buried hope that perhaps refused to be extinguished all these years ago.
Slightly behind him, I stare at nothing but his back, his broad build, his neck, his hair, his shoulders, becoming more and more soaked. My heart drums in my chest, and for a second, the pain fades away.
I don't know what love is, so I have to imagine it with what Cassie is telling me. If the sensations I'm feeling now are anything like it, then Ian is like a protective umbrella, sheltering me from loneliness and allowing me to pursue dreams that are only being dreamt. Hand in hand, gradually filling the broken vial of desire embedded in my stony heart.
Dreams, solitude, rain and love intertwine in a cosmic dance through the backstreets of Puento. I lose myself wondering if together we could form a complex symphony, reflecting the fragile, timeless beauty of the human condition. Will I feel safe with him, as I do when he holds my hand?
Fear, always present, is tempered by the human warmth that emanates from him, warming my cold body despite its high body temperature.
My path has been fraught with pitfalls and dangers, and in the darkest moments I've always managed to find even more gloom. I've never had a glimmer of hope as portrayed in films or books, that famous light that's supposed to pull us through. My gaze drops to our hands, and for a moment, I wonder what would have happened to me if I'd been alone. Would I have been kidnapped, tortured, raped or even murdered?
Tonight's silence is hushed, my mind escaping the constraints of reality. Dreams I'd never allowed myself to have before, dreams that were elusive, now dance in the meanders of my unconscious, drawing fantastic landscapes and undetectable emotions that I can't interpret.
Suddenly, Ian stumbles into a small, hidden square, surrounded by old buildings with decrepit facades, broken windows and tagged walls. In the center, a fountain spurts its green jet of water, illuminated by the dim light of a solitary street lamp from which small orange sparks emanate. We step into the shadow of a porch, seeking refuge. A relative silence settles in, broken only by the sound of crashing rain and my ragged breath.
- He won't find us here, murmurs Ian. It's a place few people know about.
I lean against the wall, my legs trembling. The tension that had gripped me all evening is beginning to ease. I look at Ian, his face dripping with water, his piercing eyes fixed on me.
- Ok, I whisper in a faint voice.
Ian smiles, a shy smile lighting up his worried face.
- You're welcome.
These simple words express a depth of emotion that neither of us can articulate.Ian comes and leans against the wall beside me, our shoulders brushing against each other without a trace of shyness. He sits down, taking advantage of the porch that shelters us, and I do the same, sliding against the tattered wall. Ian seems to be lost in thought, a strange expression on his face.
But I don't have the strength to ask for anything, so I contemplate the waterfall tumbling down from the porch, fascinated by the dance the drops of water offer us as they finish their races on the slippery cobblestones, covered in moss and grass twigs. Somewhere deep inside me, a glimmer of hope lights up, but I can't see it yet.
This downpour, which washes away our footsteps, is not strong enough to conceal the painful, exhausting secrets we both obviously carry inside us.
Attracted by his large, discreetly trembling hands, I lean forward to make him aware of my presence, snapping him out of his seemingly unpleasant trance.
- Is everything all right? I ask.
He blinks frantically and turns his gaze to me, stunned as if I've just returned from another dimension. I've never seen him in this state before, and it arouses my curiosity, the desire to know if, like me, he's a tortured being...
- I'm good... He shows me that he doesn't want to go into that.
His quickly fading smile doesn't escape me, I know he's lying. He looks all around him, observing the surroundings in detail, and finally, seeing no danger, his features relax, serene.
Time seems to stand still, as if only he and I exist. My breath still short, our torsos heaving as we breathe in and out. Ian, as soaked as I am, stares at me with that unfathomable air, as if looking for an answer, an explanation.
His dilated pupils move rapidly, scanning every nook and cranny of my face, settling for a moment on my lips, leaving me slightly embarrassed. He has that desperate look of a lost child. His arms opens and catche me in an embrace and a shiver runs through me, a thought screaming at me to get out of here, but I don't have the strength to move, while one of my hands is on my belly, pressing as hard as I can on the wound so as not to lose any more blood. Ian still hasn't noticed and I'd rather keep it that way.
Strangely, I give in, letting him put one of his arms around my waist and the other over my shoulders, his hands resting against my back and arms, his forehead placed on my shoulder. I feel it deep inside me, this growing need to feel a warm, living body, trying to decipher the echo of our two bodies.
It's here, in the space of the barely lit porch, that I discover what it's like to feel. Heart pounding, senses in turmoil, desires expressed without words, a certain sexual tension grips my skin, bristling my hair. He pulls me lightly against him, and a little moan comes from my mouth, mixed between the pain and pleasure of being held in a man's arms.
He lifts his face, our noses inches from each other, breathing hard, pupils dilated, I watch Ian's Adam's apple rise and fall. Without saying a word, he gently places his lips on mine, while his fingers move upwards, towards my hair, sending a wave of heat through my body, like a spark that explodes and seeps into me before traveling to every inch of my body.
I receive his lips, I don't know what to do, if I like it or if I hate it. I'm taken by surprise. It's a moment that can't last, but which I want to believe in, without really knowing why. By reflex, my hand crashes against his face, which flinches away from me.
I leap to my feet, somehow finding the strength to move. With my back to him, in the rain, ready to run away, I close my eyes and run a finger over my lower lip, remembering every sensation his kiss gave me. His intoxicating musky scent reaches me as he grabs my wrist and turns me to face him. I wish I were drunk, so that my tears wouldn't flow and the truth of what I'm feeling would disappear. For once, I accept everything that's coming my way, I accept it, and that's when he whispers in my ear that I lose all my resolutions of the last few long years:
- Stay with me.
The rain continues to pour down on us and I grab him violently by the collar of his shirt, flying one of the buttons and giving me a direct view of his wet chest.
I raise my eyes after swallowing loudly, frowning as much as I can, expressing an inordinate amount of anger towards him. I'm determined to make him understand that I don't want to see him again, but my body decides otherwise.
Bewitched by I don't know what sorcery, my lips plant themselves against his.28Please respect copyright.PENANAUyHnqUUvFq