She feels her eyes clear even before he opened the door. Few seconds, leaning out the window, she threw the key to the door below. He looked up the mischievous look, his hand outstretched. And there under the street lamp, Maxime and his smile to make you weep with emotion. It's silly, damn it to the scene of the smile again. Mentally, as he has already entered the hallway, she sees him again get serious air searching for her house number. And then, the image is accelerating, he lifts his head and sourit. Un léger effleurement, elle referme la fenêtre et se précipite dans le dédale de couloirs pour lui ouvrir la porte d'en haut. Le sourire s'est évanoui, mais c'est pire. L'instant est presque grave. Elle se ressaisit, le laisse entrer. Le thé est brûlant.
...
Mathilda est tendue. Elle sait, elle sent qu'à un moment ou à un autre il va s'arrêter de parler. Il laissera le silence envahir la pièce jusqu'à tendre les murs. Il lui prendra la main, ou bien se lèvera et s'approchera. Elle n'aimera pas ce moment là. Elle est déjà trop fragile, répandue sur l'assise de sa chaise. Elle s'imagine. Pourtant encore droite, le geste gracile, the voice a little low and safe. But his expression? His eyes should betray her grave. Indeed, it is already there, standing before her. The gaze is troubled, but his hand is soft. He is the face. In his head it was panic. Flee, to cry with emotion as strangles or quickly compose and improvise, as she learned to do it, "the femme fatale." She has no time to choose. It will take the lead, so does its survival time. The
moment.
Their mouths are, their bodies are mixed with astonishing mastery, intimacy, complicity immediate ... They will
pas l'amour. Ce garçon là, lit dans ses pensées enfouies, archaïques. Il est tard, le énième thé est brûlant. Elle l'invite à dormir près d'elle. Elle n'a pas besoin de préciser. Il s'endort.
Elle retrouve enfin le cours de ses pensées. Une étrange lumière de nuit nimbe la chambre. Elle le regarde émue. Que lui arrive-t-il ? Elle est submergée.
Elle s'écarte un peu. Il gémit et commence à trembler légèrement. Qu'a-t-il ? Elle touche son front, il est trempé de sueur. Il gémit toujours. C'en est presque inquiétant. Elle lui caresse les cheveux. Il se redresse brusquement et lui dit la voix enrayée : "j'ai rêvé que je tenais mon enfant dans les bras et qu'il m'échappait, me glissait des mains, c'était affreux !"Il retombe sur l'oreiller et se rendort alors que Mathilda lançait déjà une ébauche d'interprétation. Elle reste étonnée et dubitative. Il se remet à trembler. Elle pose une main rassurante sur son épaule, il se tourne et s'enroule à elle, s'apaise et reprend une respiration lente et profonde.
Mathilda ne peut plus bouger, elle n'a pas eu le temps de prendre une position confortable. Son bras commence à "mourir". Elle tente de se dégager, il s'accroche un peu plus. Elle le garde là au creux, résignée. Elle ne s'endort pas. Entre deux eaux, it opens. He enters, he enters. She falls asleep within minutes
early morning. Already the sky is tinged with pink. She wakes with a start, he said last night he had to leave at 7.30 to the art gallery. It is 7.15. She tries to wake him. Impossible. It opens and closes one eye.
Mathilda gets up and make coffee. It passes into the bathroom to wash his teeth, looks. She looks mornings that go well. Hair tousled to perfection, rings pretty. My faith, no need to do more. Again she tried to wake him. He growls. She reminds him that he should already be gone, but after all, she cares. He deigns to open his eyes. She sits on the bed in a bathrobe. He offers a smile while asleep, and said: "What you're beautiful morning" ...
Slowly, he takes his time. He drinks coffee with her, light and relaxed. Mathilda has a heavy heart the idea that it goes away. She did not want to. She wants to stop time. She already anticipates a "night-night." She recounts her strange behavior at night. He was surprised, he does not remember.
He hugs, kisses and leaves. She leans on the balcony. He smiled. He's gone. Mathilda
almost furiously wipes her eyes misted. Shit, but what is this devastating emotion. This is nonsense! The impression that he snatched from a song.
to follow ...
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