Terrifié.
Honnêtement, j’ai rarement été aussi terrifié de ma vie, parce que je sais. Il s’agit de regarder sa maison, celle qu’on aime et qu’on chérit, celle qu’on a construit et vers laquelle on rentre tous les soirs, fatigué mais bouffi d’amour et de reconnaissance face à ces murs…

.. et y foutre le feu.

Ouais, y foutre le feu sans savoir si l’intégralité va flamber où si le porche seulement partira en fumée. J’en salive de stress et je déglutis pour la millième fois, le crâne pris dans un étau sévère. Heureusement qu’elle n’est pas empathe. Peut-être aurait-elle senti la détresse et l’amour, mais sûrement qu’elle me trouvera bien con de me sentir terrifié.

Parce que je l’ai cherché, que c’est de ma faute et que je me suis rendu misérable moi-même.
Tout seul, sans excuses.
Les mains crispées au bar à m’en blanchir les phalanges, je souffle doucement avant de lâcher mon ancre et me diriger à pas lourds vers elle. La culpabilité me file la gerbe, mais c’est un peu tard. C’est un peu tard aussi pour l’avouer : je sais.

— Autumn ?

Le trémolo dans la voix m’angoisse, j’aimerais pouvoir poser platement ce qui est. J’ai fait ça, et la vérité t’appartient désormais. Mais j’ai un sanglot rauque et enfantin dans la gorge, le menton qui tremble.

Les paumes trempées.

— Je, je, je

J’aspire de l’air entre les dents, le visage intégralement crispé. J’ai l’impression d’être en train de détruire ma propre vie. Je suis certain qu’elle ne l’aurait jamais appris.
Je suis absolument certain qu’elle ne l’aurait jamais su et qu’en disant ça, je menace également Carla. Louis finira peut être par l’apprendre. Mais leur relation ne me concerne pas et Autumn mérite mieux que quelqu’un qui garde un secret. Elle mérite mieux que moi, mais la solitude m’a poussé a des extrêmes et des portes de sortie que j’aurais préféré ne pas ouvrir. Mais c’est trop tard.

Je ferme les yeux et la larme glisse jusqu’à mon menton. Je relève les yeux vers elle. Les siens, immenses.

— J’ai couché avec Carla i-i-il y a quelques mois.

Je baisse le regard, j’vais vomir. J'ai l'impression d'avoir les yeux en flammes, les iris crevées, les poumons remplis de goudron. J'ai prévu ce que j'allais dire des centaines des milliers de fois et pourtant, maintenant qu'on y est, j'ai rien à dire. J'ai conscience l'absurdité de tout ce qui peut sortir à ma bouche maintenant. Je t'aime ? Je m'en veux ? Je suis con ? J'ai pas d'excuses que des explications ? Ne me quitte pas ?

— Je suis désolé.

Bien sûr que je suis désolé. Bien sûr. L’évidence d’avoir menti et trahi me soulève le coeur, me presse les épaules.
Baisser les bras est un langage universel. Me laisse pas s’il te plaît. Me laisse pas me laisse pas me laisse pas, me laisse pas quand t’aurais toutes les raisons d’le faire.
Me laisse pas.


Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!
Laissez-le-moi
Encore un peu
Mon amoureux!
Un jour, deux jours, huit jours...
Laissez-le-moi
Encore un peu
A moi...

Je souffle sur l’allumette tout juste allumée, la petite flamme vacillante de la bougie sur la table ayant pris le relais. Déjà une douce odeur de cannelle, d’épices et d’automne se fait sentir. Doux et chaud, comme notre chez nous.
Chez nous. Des fois j’ai encore du mal à réaliser alors que cela fait déjà plusieurs mois. On ne l’aura pas volé, arraché à la guerre, au massage du Mystery Orphanage, aux luttes internes d’Orpheo… Ce monde est fou mais ici nous sommes en sécurité, au moins pour un temps. Ici, rien ne peut nous atteindre.
Ian m’appelle, je me retourne. Sa voix tremble, sa détresse apparente et soudaine me fait faire un pas en avant. Sa phrase suivante m’empêche d’en faire un second. Surement, j’ai mal compris. Un murmure non voulu m’échappe :

- Pardon ?

Les mots s’entrechoquent avant que la réalisation ne me frappe et que la surprise ne s’inscrive sur mon visage.
Ian m’a trompée. Avec Carla, si ce n’est mon amie, à minima quelqu’un que je connais même vaguement. Mon cœur se serre, mon estomac monte jusqu’à ma gorge pour s’enfuir et mes pas me dirigent, seuls, vers le balcon, le temps que mon cerveau les rattrape. J’agrippe la rambarde, l’air et le métal frais permettent de me ramener, de m’encrer sur terre tandis que dans ma tête c’est la noyage.
Trahison, douleur, pourquoi ? Ma faute ? Qu’est-ce que j’ai fait ? C’est mon apparence, je ne lui plais plus ? On ne s’est pas assez vus ces dernières années mais, sûrement, il faut être deux pour se rendre coupable de ce pas assez, non ? Je veux vomir, fermer les yeux et oublier.
Colère. S’il veut rompre, qu’il ait les couilles de le dire directement plutôt que de me forcer à le faire. Pourquoi me dire ce genre de chose, si ce n’est pour me faire du mal. Tu n’auras pas ma chute Ian Coley, pas comme ça. Et combien d’autres sont passées entre tes jambes pendant que j’espérais te revoir au plus vite, exactement ?
Peur. Mon –notre ? A-t-il jamais existé - monde s’écroule et je prends conscience que son barycentre était peut-être un peu trop en équilibre vers Ian.
Doute. Et maintenant ? Je fais quoi ? Puis-je encore lui faire confiance ? Qu’est-ce qu’il me cache d’autre ? C’est tellement facile….

- C’est tellement facile pour toi. Tu me trompes et ensuite tu me le dis et puis c’est à moi de gérer l’information, à moi de prendre les décisions qui suivent. Toi tu soulages ta conscience ou tu te facilite la tâche d’une rupture, je ne sais pas trop, et moi j’encaisse.

Ma voix n’a presque pas tremblé. Presque. Je sais que je suis au bord des larmes, alors je continue de tourner le dos à Ian. De toute façon, je n’ai pas très envie de le voir. Je ne peux m’empêcher une pique, mi colère mi dégoûtée. Entièrement triste :

- J’espère que ça en valait le coup.

Le vent se lève et je ferme les yeux. Puisse cette conversation n’avoir jamais existé lorsque je les rouvrirai.

Elle dit « Pardon ? » mais je sais que j’ai plus qu’à attendre que les mots fassent leur chemin au lance-flamme jusqu’à son cerveau, puis dans son corps. Je me ronge les lèvres, totalement coupable. Elle sort et je ne la suis pas, enraciné dans cet appartement. L’impression que si elle part maintenant, si quelqu’un qui cet endroit tout est fini me laisse tremblant. Heureusement qu’Autumn n’a pas claqué la porte après avoir fourré quelques affaires dans un sac. Je souffle doucement, la respiration saccadée.

Est-ce qu’elle va seulement me reparler à un moment ? Je sais pas ce qu’on aurait à se dire à ce stade là mais tout — n’importe quoi — plutôt qu’un silence dur et froid, là où mon don capterait tout. Mais elle ouvre la bouche au moment où une autre larme roule jusqu’à ma bouche.

- C’est tellement facile pour toi. Tu me trompes et ensuite tu me le dis et puis c’est à moi de gérer l’information, à moi de prendre les décisions qui suivent. Toi tu soulages ta conscience ou tu te facilite la tâche d’une rupture, je ne sais pas trop, et moi j’encaisse.

J’assassine tous les mouvements d’ego. Comment ça, FACILE POUR MOI ? FACILE ?! Mais c’est ma faute et je suis du bon côté : de celui qui a choisi et mal.
À la poubelle la colère d’être pris en faute.
À la poubelle le sentiment brutal de peine quand elle croit que je la quitte comme ça. Pense-t-elle vraiment que je pourrais la quitter ? Pense-t-elle vraiment que j’en serais capable, un jour ?
Absolument pas.
À la poubelle tout ça, je baisse les yeux et me tord les main. Je contemple son dos, détaille ses cheveux bruns qui prennent le vent, sa nuque claire, son petit gabarit qui me semble se rapetisser. Je sens le tourbillon qui l’entraîne vers le fond ; je devrais couper mon don d’empathe, ne pas savoir ce qu’elle traverse mais j’en suis incapable.

Puis je le mérite, honnêtement.

— J’espère que ça en valait le coup.

J’accuse le poing dans mon ventre sans bouger. Ne pas la rattraper, ne pas l’envahir, ne pas essayer de physiquement la retenir. J’avale la salive acide qui me ronde les joues, la langue, les gencives ; passe une langue sur mes lèvres fendues d’être massacrées par mes dents. Je préfèrerai être n’importe où que ici, n’importe qui que moi, habiter n’importe quel autre passé que le mien.

Avoir fait n’importe quel autre choix que celui-là.

— Autumn je |

Je renifle. Si je suis honnête, je ne sais pas ce que je devrais mettre à la suite de son prénom et il y a trop d’enjeu. Et si, en fonction de ce que je disais, elle restait ou elle partait ? Et si j’étais en train de jouer le reste de ma vie là, maintenant, là, tout de suite ?
Elle sait à quel point je suis nul avec les mots, à quel point j’aime et j’ai besoin de parler mais à quel point ça ne traduit jamais ce que j’ai dedans la tête, les poumons, les os.

Putain.

— Je te le dis parce que je te le dois, que j’ai été malhonnête et lâche et que j’aurais pas dû. Que c’est trop tard, mais que je, je , jee jje

Ma voix part dans les aigus.

— Je préfère que tu quittes quelqu’un d’honnête plutôt que tu restes avec un sale menteur mais s’il te plaît m-m-me quitte pas Autumn.

Je me force à ne pas lui donner le moindre surnom, à rester neutre, misérable mais pas pathétique. Bien sûr que non ça ne valait pas le coup. Je me retiens de lui dire « j’aurais dû te le dire tout de suite » parce que bien sûr que non, j’aurais surtout pas dû le faire.

— Je suis tellement désolée je.. enfin j’ai cru à mon moment que valait mieux la boucler plutôt que te raconter que j’me sens tellement seul des fois que j'me tirerais bien une balle.

La vérité dite ainsi m’éclate à la gueule ; j’avais jamais fait l’effort de formuler ces pensées jusqu’alors.

— Enfin, c’est pas des excuses pour ce que j’ai fait c’est.. c’est.. j’sais pas je.. enfin j’suppose que tu veux pas d’explications. J’voudrais juste jamais l’avoir fait, jamais avoir cru un instant que ça pourrait.. j’sais pas.

Que ça pourrait remplir les béances qui se creusent quand je suis seul, quand je dors seul, quand je me bats seul, quand je mange seul, quand je cauchemarde seul, quand je mute seul, quand je rentre chez moi seul, quand je repars seul, quand je me douche seul, quand je mate un film seul, quand Carla est la seule proximité bouillante qui m’ait été donné d’avoir.

Que le sexe me manque et que si je suis honnête avec moi même, ça me ronge aussi.

Mais voilà.
On en est là, et j’ai l’air d’avoir soufflé comme un château de carte les années de relation construites jusque là.

— Autumn je |

Un tremblement m'échappe en entendant sa voix. L'espace de quelques secondes, perdue dans ma peine, j'avais oublié sa présence. L'air est frais et je serre un peu mes coudes contre moi pour m'en protéger. Ou me protéger de Ian, peut-être. De lui et de ses mots, qui soudain sont tous potentiellement faux.

Il parle d'honnêteté et de lâcheté, de solitude et de réconfort qu'il est parti chercher ailleurs plutôt que de m'avouer la vérité. Ses mots s'entrechoquent dans ma tête, mon cœur se serre un peu plus. De ma douleur, mais aussi de la sienne, même si en cet instant je me hais d'avoir de l'empathie pour quelqu'un qui n'en a pas eu. Est-ce qu'à cet instant précis je suis encore capable de me souvenir de ce que ça fait, de l'aimer ?

- Honnête ?

Le mot m'a échappé en rouvrant les yeux. Mes mains enserrent la barre pour m'empêcher de vriller et de me retourner. Ne pas le regarder. Mon cœur pourrait me trahir. Il ne sait pas bien ce qui lui arrive et tout ce qu'il veut, c'est aller se réfugier dans les bras de celui qui est en train de le lacérer.

- Comment est-ce que je peux te faire confiance ? Dis moi, Ian, comment est-ce que je fais pour ne pas passer le reste de notre relation à me demander si tu ne vas pas recommencer ?

J'ai conscience que la fin de ma phrase est presque criée. Et que la suivante l'est :

-Pour ce que j'en sais, Ian, ça s'est mal passé avec Carla et tu reviens la queue entre les jambes !

Mes mains lâchent prise et mon corps se retourne sans mon accord alors que je prononce la fin de la phrase. J'ai si mal en la disant, comme si le fait de la formuler à voix haute la transforme soudain en vérité. La colère se noie dans la peine, mon estomac ne s'est toujours pas détendu. Il ne fait que se serrer toujours plus fort. Je ferme à nouveau les yeux. Ne plus voir Ian. Lui tourner le dos. Serrer les poings. Si je ne le vois plus, il ne s'est rien passé, peut-être. Ma phrase suivante est prononcée bien plus calmement que les deux précédentes. Bien plus tristement aussi, fichu cœur.

- Qu'arrivera t-il la prochaine fois que tu te sentiras seul ?

Une larme m'échappe. Puis deux. Puis trois, puis toute une rivière. Trahie par mes yeux, mais aucun sanglot ne passera mes lèvres. Tu n'auras pas ma peine. Pourquoi suis-je triste alors que je devrais être furieuse, partir en claquant la porte, ne plus jamais vouloir le revoir. Je n'ai jamais su contrôler mes émotions, elles apparaissent toutes clairement les unes après les autres. Choc, tristesse, colère, chagrin, désespoir.

Un murmure, plus pour moi que pour lui :

- Si tu avais été honnête, tu m'aurais parlé plus tôt. Avant.

Avant d'avoir décidé de nous faire autant de mal.

Elle est toujours là — sans fuite, j’ai l’impression, peut-être naïve, qu’on peut parler, et qu’en parlant on peut se retrouver quelque part. Même loin, même dans longtemps, même si je dois courir pendant qu’elle fait des pas de fourmis : quelque part. Pas plus jamais. J’imagine mes mains vides pour toujours, les poings pourtant fermés ; à trop serrer, ai-je abimé ce qu’on avait ?
Mais je me mens à moi même : j’ai ouvert les mains, je le sais, et c’est pour ça que j’ai perdu ce que je tenais.

Parce que j’ai fait le choix de délier mes doigts à un moment. Le prix qu’on paye, toujours, pour tout. Quel était le coût de ma solitude, de mes démons, de l’absence, la distance, de l’acide qui me rongeait ? Je crois avoir eu l’impression que c’était plus supportable à un moment, mais je savais pas le coup d’après, plus tard.
Comme un piège, j’ai voulu manger ce qu’il y avait au centre et je contemple maintenant mon membre amputé en ayant des désirs de machine à remonter le temps. Pourtant je le sais, je le referais en boucle parce qu’alors, je ne savais pas ce que je sais maintenant.

— Honnête ?

Elle va vouloir me poignarder avec mes mots maladroits ; Ian, celui qui ne sait ni parler ni écrire, qui ne sait pas dire ou encore moins expliquer. Je déglutis en inspirant : je me rends compte que je suis en apnée, les abdos serrés depuis des minutes et des heures maintenant.

- Comment est-ce que je peux te faire confiance ? Dis moi, Ian, comment est-ce que je fais pour ne pas passer le reste de notre relation à me demander si tu ne vas pas recommencer ?

Je n’ai rien à dire. Je n’ai pas la réponse. Je savais que c’était important pour elle.

- Pour ce que j'en sais, Ian, ça s'est mal passé avec Carla et tu reviens la queue entre les jambes !

Je serre les poings, appuie les ongles un peu trop long contre la peau en micro mouvements. On guérit plus facilement que les autres et c’est devenu une routine, entamer le cuir, scier, puis regarder les cicatrices s’estomper. Les faire partir par un ami quand Autumn revient, recommencer. Alors, pourquoi ai-je commencé alors que je n’avais pas encore perdue ?

Parce que je ne l’avais pas encore.

La sortie s’estompe. J’ai mal au coeur.

- Qu'arrivera t-il la prochaine fois que tu te sentiras seul ?

Parce qu’il n’y a pas de solution, à vrai dire ? Elle continuera à être partie et je continuerais d’attendre, d’aller jouer à toi tu vis et toi tu crèves à l’autre bout du pays ? Parce que ça va ré-arriver et je serais là, exactement où je me tiens, les ongles à creuser mes paumes ?
Mais je jugule ma colère à moi, elle n’a pas sa place.

Elle se retourne et ses yeux noyés me donnent envie de crever. Après les années, j’ai l’impression d’être câblé pour ouvrir les bras, je me sais entamer le geste d’aller la serrer fort fort fort mais je le suspends, je tire sur tous les câbles possibles pour m’empêcher de faire ça.
Plus le droit, surtout pas maintenant.

Mais j’avais pas plus le droit les semaines d’avant ; la distance lacère aussi efficacement la tendresse que mes défauts. Je sais, je sais, je sais. Ses émotions balaient les miennes, je ne sais plus qui appartient à qui, je me revois, apprenti, sûr de ressentir ce que Bastet possédait. Mais qui peut parler de maîtrise ici ? Parce qu’elle réutilise mes mots contre moi et que rien que je ne pourrais dire sera assez intelligent pour sauver le navire qui coule, assez bien dit, assez vrai, je me tais.

Mais elle rajoute :

- Si tu avais été honnête, tu m'aurais parlé plus tôt. Avant.

Je ne sais pas ce qu’elle veut dire. Avant quoi, avant dans le temps ? Avant de coucher avec Carla ? Avant ton concours, tes exams ? Avant mes missions ? Encore plus tôt, avant, avant, avant quoi ? Une partie de mon estime de moi est immensément satisfaite : enfin ! Enfin elle se rend compte que ça ne vaut pas le coup, que je fais trop mal, que je suis pas un prix qu’elle est prête à payer : personne ne devrait l’être. Que toutes les pensées glauques et maussades m’avaient prévenues : j’aurais dû lui dire qu’un jour ça allait arriver. Pas que je suis pas parfait, mais que j’allais nécessairement m’auto-saboter, détruire ce que j’ai pour mieux le regretter.
Me saigner les mains pour, le lendemain, contempler les marques ridicules qui brûlent sous la douche, les planquer et me sentir très con.
Tromper Autumn pour, le lendemain, contempler la peine immense causée, la culpabilité qui me fait détourner le regard dans la glace, le dire un jour et me sentir…
ne plus vraiment me sentir, pour être honnête.

Suis-je venu dire au revoir ?

Je me serre moi même dans mes bras vides, le visage trempé.

J’ai envie de lui dire, je ne sais pas, je ne sais pas où tu pourras trouver un océan de pardon, immense, long et gênant, moi je vais nulle part si tu veux bien venir avec moi, je sais que c’est une longue, longue route jusqu’à toi, j’attendrais, je tiendrais bon en espérant voire un peu de soleil, que je vais nulle part si, si tu veux bien venir avec moi, t’es tout ce que j’ai en tête, j’ai pris cette route du pardon parce que je cherchais un peu de paix, une place dans ton histoire et dans la notre à nouveau, je savais bien ce que t’allais penser, je sais exactement ce que tu veux dire
je ne serais plus
jamais
serré
dans tes bras
jusqu’à ce que je sois
clean
à nouveau,
mais j’attendrais, j’attendrais, j’attendrais.

Je prends une inspiration hachée, essuie mes larmes ; peut-être que ce sont les siennes qui dévalent mes joues.

— Je ne sais pas, je réponds doucement. Je ne sais pas.

The grief is like a miasma, seeping through my clothes, clinging to my skin, and clawing inside my throat. It is suffocating and yet my legs cannot seem to be able to move, leaving me rooted to the spot. I want him to say something, anything, to stop looking like this poor, pathetic kicked puppy I have in front of me. As if waiting for his punishment that I should, somehow, deliver to make it all go away. Punish, wipe the slate clean, start all over again, and then what. Wait for the next slip-up ? Can you even mend a broken trust?

I swiftly wipe my eyes with the back of my right hand, looking anywhere but at him. Of course, I have to break down in front of him, never have been able to keep anything bottled up. Not in front of him, never in front of him. A small part of me is actually viciously happy that I let it all out. If he still cares, it will hurt him, right? Serves him right.

Through blurry eyes I see him hugging himself, though I do not if it is because of guilt, shame, pain, sadness, or a little bit of everything. Or just plain cold, if he can even feel the temperature, which I always doubted. I think he is also crying, which makes my traitorous heart clench in pain. There goes my hope of hating his guts for the rest of forever, I guess.

“I don't know,” he says softly, “I don't know.”

It breaks me a little bit more.

“If you don't, how should I ?” I whisper back.

More tears fall down my cheeks and I do nothing to try and stop them this time. They go all the way down and crash to the ground, leaving behind little gray spots on the balcony floor. I stare at them for a few seconds, my mind going blank. There are so many things I want to say, yell really, and yet my tongue feels heavy and numb. As if it was too shaken to move. I want to punch him in his stupid lying face that I still somehow find beautiful. I want to throw him over the balcony. I want to throw myself over that fucking railing. Maybe it will ease the burning agony in my lungs, and it will probably do a hell of a lot of a better job at drying my tears than anyone else in this space.

My knees finally seem to unlock themselves, allowing me to go back inside where I drag in a shuddering breath before going to retrieve a tissue. Holding something actually helps to ground me and I am vaguely aware that I may be holding onto it a little too tightly. With my back to Ian, my thoughts clear a little though not to give me anything useful. I don't know what to do. Try and salvage this relationship? I know a part of me desperately wants to. Another part wishes it could erase everything, forget about him, walk out the apartment door and never look back. Like a bandage, you have to reap in one go to feel all the pain at once and then recover. Without looking at my – ex? - partner, I ask :

“What do you want? What do you want from me? From us?” The last two words are barely a whisper, spoken so low he may not even have heard them.

I refrain from adding that there is not much left I can give him.

I feel her annoyed — or is it me ? We have lived so much together that it seems like her colors are blending in mine. I can’t make a difference anymore.
Is it fine, though ? It used to be. I can’t recall the last time I wasn’t a little bit her, even far away from her. Oh wait, yeah, I remember now. When I kissed other lips.

Yeah.

If I told her that I wanted other things, other bodies, other experiences… would she had understand ? I didn’t cheated against her, I cheated for me. To fill my needs and cracks.

« If you don’t, how should I? »

I’d like to be so unfair and ask her ‘do you love me?’ or even worse, ‘do you even still look at me, whereas we’ve been together for so long ?’. But that would be ruining everything for the pleasure of saying that I’m not worth a penny.

I bet a fiver you can destroy everything Ian because self-sabotage is a sweet romance.

I can only see her back but since when do I need to look at her face to know what’s written on it ? I’m the monster of the story, I am causing the pain, I am creating this bubble of suffering that I’ll never swallow. Maybe I’m condemned to chew on it forever. It’s so stupid. It’s like, this pain wasn’t existing at all in the world and to ease my sorrow, I created our own hell out of nowhere.

« What do you want? What do you want from me? From us? »

I exhale a very long breath, gasping to settle my feelings to the ground. Actually, I don’t know. I don’t want her to stay with me if she never forgive me.
But how could she ?
I don’t know. If I had her shoes I would be very hurt by the lies. By the fact that she thought that she couldn’t talk to me about her desires. About everything. I love her entirely without that much ego, she can have sex with someone else, have a crush on someone else. I would like to know it, to laugh with her about this other person and the butterflies that she feels.
But that’s easy for me to say those kind of things : she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t do those things so of course I can have this biiiiig mouth and say out loud : I don’t care about other bodies against yours.
Because it won’t happen.
It won't. And I'm the douchebag of the story...


Are we even meant to be ?
Imagining that maybe we aren’t makes my heart race all of a sudden ; black spiders on the window seal.

« I don’t want us to break up. »

I bite my lips so I don’t say : please. I’m miserable, not… not what ? Brave enough or stupid enough to beg my girlfriend to stay ? I think about the fact that Carla can’t even leave my life — it's just not possible. What do I have to offer, really ?
I can manage not to sleep with anyone else but her for the rest of my life, though. But is it what she wants ? Or does she want my honesty, always, about everything ? I don’t know.

I really don’t.

But I’ll settle for anything, really.

My mind is like a chicken without a head. I don’t know what I want but I love her and even though I have desires for other lives sometimes : lesson learnt. I’ll have other lives when I’m dead. After I’m dead.

« But we can’t stay together if you hate my guts forever, I know that. »

The salt on my lips, her brown hair, our flat that used to feel so, so safe.
I’m so, so guilty.
Can't I make real sentences like the rest of the world, complicated ones that would explain me ? The whole me ?

« I’m the problem I know that. I’m so sorry, Autumn. I’m so sorry. »

But she can feels that, right ?
That I'm sorry.
Not that I'm the problem.
Although she can feel that too, yeah.

« I’d like us to be able to… I don’t know, to talk about everything because I have the feeling that if I told you I was unhappy you would have to carry my pain while you were already v-v-v- »

I shut the fuck up because it seems like I’m accusing her for being in the life she chose ; accusing her of the cheating. I didn't talk about my loneliness not to bother her to finally do way worse than burden her.

« That’s not what I wanted to say, I’m sorry. »

I pinch the bridge of my nose, tears overflowing my fingers. Imma die. That it.

« I’m an idiot, I… »

I never knew how to talk, won’t begin now. I’d like to be Rhyan sometimes, all about chating, having words for every fucking situations so I can bend everything for me. But if course I don’t wanna bend the will of the love of my life, I just… want her to know how it’s like in my head — because she asked. Right ?

« I won’t ever again cheat on you. »

I won’t. I swear I won’t.

« I want us forever. I know I acted like it’s not true but it is. I-I-I just, I just… »

Stop crying for fuck’s sake, you’re the cheater, you should be quiet.
But it’s like a bottle had been open and now I have to pour it out.

« It’s not excuses, okay ? It’s just explanations. And bad ones. Okay ? »

Don’t leave please.

« Sometimes it’s like we have two very separates lives and it’s very, very hard for me to be alone — always has. I’m on the road all the time, fighting and bleeding and death and friends are... anyway and you’re studying all the time and I-I-I have this, this voice in my head that I… I don’t know I’m always so frighten to be abandoned that it drives me mad, it drives my behaviours sometimes just to have release and a glimpse of « safe » and « belonging » and stupid stuff. »

I make zero sense, right ?

« And this time I made wrong choices, I know that. It won’t happen again. Ever again. I’m terrified of being alone and I just wrecked my own home that makes no sense and I’m sorry I was careless and selfish and I just… »

Yeah, you say that a lot Ian.

« If you still want me in your life. Even just a little. Even in a different way I’ll make adjustments so I can be closer to you I- he realises he said "even in a different way" like he’d have them as friends and that’d be fine, which is a total lie. He breaks in ugly, ugly cries. Please, I love you, I’m sorry d-d-don’t break us. »

BUT I BROKE US. I KNOW THAT.

Here goes my hope of not begging her.
What a beautiful lier you make, my boy.

Not even conscious that he can make as much adjustments he wants to, war will drive him away.

I can practically hear him think from here, as he probably hesitates to answer. All the while I'm wondering whether I should stay here or go as far away as I can. The only thing keeping me here is that I know, somehow, that I can't run away without knowing where we stand. I – used to? - care so deeply for him that even now, I know I can't do that to him. That thought reminds me that his, allegedly, love for me did not prevent him to go stick it up inside Carla. Makes me want to throw up just thinking about it, a mix of fearangerpain, so much pain, twirling inside my guts.

”I don't want us to break up,” Ian finally manages to say.

I close my eyes, trying to summon some sort of will back in me, clenching my tissue a bit harder against my chest. Ian keeps going, though I can hear his voice waver, probably from shedding tears.

”But we can’t stay together if you hate my guts forever, I know that.”

Oh trust me, I wish I could hate your guts forever. I want to so bad, but I'm a silly girl. Looks like I can't switch from love to hate that fast.

”I'm the problem I know that. I'm so sorry Autumn. I'm so sorry”

I finally manage to summon enough courage to turn around and face him. He seems to have opened some flood gates that were previously closed because words come tumbling out of his mouth before I can think of an answer.

”I’d like us to be able to… I don’t know, to talk about everything because I have the feeling that if I told you I was unhappy you would have to carry my pain while you were already v-v-v- ”

What is he talking about?

”That's not what I wanted to say, I'm sorry,” he keeps going and I am confused.

”Ian, what are you talking about?” I ask, but there is no stopping the flow of words coming out of his mouth right now.

”I want us forever. I know I acted like it's not true but it is. I-I-I just, I just...” A few more tears interrupt him before he starts again. ”It’s no excuses, okay? It’s just explanations. And bad ones. Okay?”

I take a step towards him, frowning in confusion though he doesn't seem to be on his way to stop.

”Sometimes it’s like we have two very separated lives and it’s very, very hard for me to be alone — always has. I’m on the road all the time, fighting and bleeding, and death and friends are... Anyway and you’re studying all the time and I-I-I have this, this voice in my head that I… I don’t know I’m always so frightened to be abandoned that it drives me mad, it drives my behaviors sometimes just to have release and a glimpse of « safe » and « belonging » and stupid stuff. And this time I made wrong choices, I know that. It won’t happen again. Ever again. I’m terrified of being alone and I just wrecked my own home, that makes no sense and I’m sorry I was careless and selfish and I just…”

He keeps going, keeps asking for me to not break “us”, whatever that us means right now. But this is not what I'm focusing on. He said... He said he felt lonely, that we're leading separate lives, that he's scared of being pushed away by... Who? When did I lead him to think that I would abandon him? Why did he never mention this before and how long has it been going on?
Bracing myself, I take several more steps towards him, stopping just short of an arm's length away from him. His face is stricken by tears, his eyes blurry and in an overall state that I've never been privy to before today.

”Why...”, My throat feels rough and I lick my lips, trying to get back some countenance and probably failing spectacularly. ”Why am I hearing this only now? I thought... I thought that being us also meant that trust had to go both ways.”

I close my eyes for a moment, a new feeling creeping through my core. Guilt. Hi there newcomer, welcome to the party, please take a seat right next to Anger and Pain. I feel like... Like this is my fault, somehow. That I've been neglecting him too much even if that was never my intention. He never told me before today, which makes me wonder. Did I ever really knew him at all? As I open my eyes and see him, I've never been less sure of this in my entire life. Funny how easy it is to take things for granted.

”I can't... I can't be with someone I can't trust, Ian. It's not even about going around fucking old accointances of mine, it's...” God it hurts to say that aloud, makes it all the more real. But I persevere. ”It's about you doing it even though you knew it would hurt me.”

Maybe I should ask him if he still sees her but to what end. More pain? Could I even believe the answer to that question anyway? I don't know anyone or anything anymore.

Slowly, I cross the remaining distance between us and put my free hand on his forearm, before reaching on my toes and gently putting my lips on his. It's just a peck, barely a brush of his lips against mine, and yet I can still taste his tears. As I draw back, to where I was, my hand leaving his skin, I softly say:

”It's as if I don't know you anymore.”

For all I've kissed him over the years, it never felt this estranged.

She’s not that far away anymore. I can feel her getting closer but that’s not for the best. I have a strong sense that we’re not through. I’m afraid — can she feel how I’m afraid of her ? How much power is in her hands ? If I still had the right to say that I know her, I’d say she doesn’t care. She doesn’t lust power. She’s more into peace you know. Who am I to break that whole into pieces ? I don’t know myself anymore whereas I’ve been here all along. It’s like I’m looking into the mirror, taking the punches that I throw.

I shiver.

She’s looking at me and I’m still amazed by the shades of blue in her iris. Never seen anything like this, not even in skies or glitters.

« Ian, what are you talking about? »

But I’m not finished. I’ll never be finished I think because if I ever stop talking she’ll leave.
She’s a listener, you know. I’m just not much of a talker.

« Why… Why am I hearing this only now ? »

We’re like children : we don’t know how to do this. How to get through this. Can I have the manuel ? Skip skip skip skip until I find the title « peace ». But I’m stuck to burning sorrow as I face the apparition of guilt in her guts.

« I thought… I thought that being us also meant that trust had to go both ways. »

It’s like she’s making a lecture about being a couple. I know I should’ve known, but I couldn’t know it before I've learnt it. Know what I mean ? I’ve learnt it the hard way. Twenty-ish years of being an impulsive animal taking its toll.
I look at my feet, ashamed. It’s like I’ve spoken all the words that I had and now I’m just dead silent — about to throw up, actually. She looks at me in a funny way and it’s a bit to much for me. I force myself to stand still and stay silent but I want to runaway from this huge moutain of pressure and pain.

« I can’t… I can’t be with someone I can’t trust, Ian. »

My name in her mouth telling me it’s over ? Even in my nightmares my brain ain’t pairing « Ian » and « go fuck yourself ». But it’s happening ! It’s real ! Ha ! I’d like to un-live some parts of my life. Put the game on pause. It's like by far the worst thing I ever heard.

« It’s not even about going around fucking old accointances of mine, it’s… »

Ok, that is the worst. What the fuck ?
It’s what ?! Going around fucking old accointances of mine ? I’m sorry ? It was so not about that ! It wasn’t like that at all, it was about miserability. I’d like to tell her how it felt, really. How it is, really. Can she be the empathetic one, for once ?
But she doesn’t need power for that. But… I’m always within her feelings while I’m trying to protect her from all the bits of humans spread across my nightmares from my missions. All of it.
Imma throw up for good.
I can't even fend for myself you know, trying to explain her again. She got it I suppose. I fuck an old friend of her. But the old friend of her build a complex relationship with me that I still cherish. We're a bit alike, a bit odd.
Did she think of me while she was studying and I was away, literally killing people ?

« It’s about you doing it even though you knew it would hurt me. »

I didn’t knew that, actually. I didn’t think this through while doing it. Not a second, and that’s the whole problem, she wasn’t in the equation. She wasn’t there at all, not a whisper, nothing, it was all about the very very selfish me. I look at my feet — they’re blurry. But then, she twists the situation like a knife in my belly. The blade in my guts takes it all. She comes closer, floor is cracking cold. I know the carnage that it’s gonna be but I let her lips encounter mine. It’s shaking me to my core. She tastes my tears and I’m beginning to ventilate a little bit to much while she lets my hand go.

« It’s as if I don’t know you anymore »

I let go a painful sigh between my lips, followed by a sound of astonishing grievance — I don’t know how can my brain handle such sorrow. He can’t actually and I feel like flies in my fingers. I won't ever be able to cope with this sentence.

« It’s not about trust », I say.

My voice is white because I have nothing left to feel now. I’ve said it all and she too. She can’t be with someone she can’t trust. It’s as if I don’t know you anymore.

« It’s about me, loving myself too little and loving you too much ».

But I’m not really there, in my flat, with her. It’s as if I don’t know you anymore ? I’ve said my most shameful trust and poured myself on the floor to be the most honest version of myself, I’ve told the truth, the ugly truth and promised not to ever do that again, but I’m still like the boy without a mom anymore, the boy who killed his father, the boy on the floor of his room learning his mentor is dead, his other mentor is dead, his comrades are dead, always coming back to loneliness and my prison mind.

I let my legs take me to the bathroom because I can’t stand the shakes. I throw up in the toilets and get a grip on the sink, wash my face, spit out a bit of water. I’d go into the shower if I knew this cold blue water could scrub me up and wash me clean. But I just say exhausted, very, very softly.

« I’m sorry you feel this way. »

But I don’t add I never stopped knowing you. Even in decades I’ll still know you, I still feel what you feel, I’ll still feel the prints of you on my internal map. But I shut the fuck up.

« I’m sorry you feel like you can’t trust me anymore. »

Leaving me stranded all in love on my own.

« Is it the time where I must pack my bag and I leave ? »

Out of my home, out of my life.

“It's not about trust” he answers. Except for me, it is. At least, I think it is. His pain is on display on his face, for all to see and it physically hurts me, forcing me to look down towards the floor. Too many conflicting emotions run through my head, each one raging to take control and leaving me with less and less confidence. Should I be angry, sad, desperate, guilty, pained, and in love all at once? I don't know. I've never known so little in my entire life. Never been so lost, not even after my parents' death.

”It’s about me, loving myself too little and loving you too much.”

My eyes snap back up to his face at this, right on time to see him moving through the balcony and to the bathroom. My legs won't move, right up until I hear him reaching. Then, instincts take over and I'm right beside him, a hand running soothing circles in his hair before I can even register that I moved. His hair is as soft as it ever is, my brain distantly notices. What do I feel like I was expecting something else?
I let him empty his stomach, only removing my hand when he moves back to stand and go to the sink. All the while I don't say a word, not because I do not want to but because I have no idea what to say. I simply watch him as he rinses his mouth and cleans his face, all the while earing my own emotions as if they suddenly had voices. It's as if his last sentence knocked something loose on its way out. I want... I-I want...

”I’m sorry you feel this way.”

You and me both. I still can't seem to find my own voice.

”I’m sorry you feel like you can’t trust me anymore,” he adds quietly. ”Is it the time where I must pack my bag and I leave?”

That pulls me right back in. I hear myself reply before I even know what I'm saying.

”No.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and avert my gaze to look at him in the mirror.

”No, it's not,” I add more softly.”This is the time when... The time when...”

I close my eyes, take a breath through my mouth and unleash it slowly through my mouth. In, out. A new resolve forms in me, amidst the turmoil of emotions. Almost too quiet to notice, but it has been there all along, waiting for me to notice it, to accept it. To take a chance.

”Remember, back at the Orphanage, before everything,” I say, opening my eyes and looking directly at him.”I have no idea how old we were but you were already the most impetuous person I knew,” I recall with a barely-there smile before adding: ” For the record, you still are.”

I let one of my hands lightly brush its knuckles against his thigh before I keep going.

”We were outside, it was a nice summer evening and I don't really remember what we've been doing before but we were sitting on the grass, close by the Orphanage. What I do remember is that you made me a promise, that day.” I let my eyes look into his for a couple seconds before adding: ”You said that there weren't a place you wouldn't visit without me. That wherever I went, whenever I went, you'd be right by my side, even if I didn't want you to at some point. You promised me the world if I ever wanted it.”

I let a real smile on my face.

”Turns out I do.”

But only from you.

As easy as it probably sounds, it's not. His betrayal hasn't suddenly flown out the window, it's still pretty sore actually. Will stay that way for a while, I guess. Having said that, there is a sense of peace flowing through me that I never thought I would feel when this nightmare of an evening started. Better make the best of it while I can.

”We... Need to speak. Openly. No more keeping pains to yourself, I can't and I won't go through a repeat of this. I hope the implications are clear,” I say staring levelly at him. ”If you have any demand to make, now's your chance.”

No more leaving things to chance.

She still touches me and it’s cruel, I must say it’s cruel. Because even if she doesn’t kick me out he put a knife in me and twisted it with her words : kissing a stranger. I know I will do everything in my power to save what’s left, but it will take months, year maybe to go and the bottom of this sea. I mean, how can she doubt me this much ? It’s like we have build a huge castle and all the property around with it, and because I flooded the kitchen, it was estranging her from all the place ?

I don’t know.

I’m hurt but I don’t have the right to be.

As I close my eyes, tears are back.

”No.”

C’mon ! i want to say, you bet on me when I was nothing but stupid, all about fun and games, you can’t withdraw the money now ! Don't hold it please let me stay ? I don't know where I stand actually. I’m angry not to be sure to be worthy. She forces herself to breathe ; me too.

”No, it's not,” What a struggle, just because of me. ”This is the time when... The time when...”

She doesn’t end her sentence but I’m too tired to be scared now. Is she leaving ? She could be. ”Remember, back at the Orphanage, before everything,” I don’t know what she’s about to say because her before everything is already full of hopes, and it’s like salt on the wounds. ”I have no idea how old we were but you were already the most impetuous person I knew,” I smile as she smiles too. ” For the record, you still are.”

Her skin on mine. But I’m waiting for her to finish.

”We were outside, it was a nice summer evening and I don't really remember what we've been doing before but we were sitting on the grass, close by the Orphanage. What I do remember is that you made me a promise, that day. You said that there weren't a place you wouldn't visit without me. That wherever I went, whenever I went, you'd be right by my side, even if I didn't want you to at some point. You promised me the world if I ever wanted it.”

It’s complicated to look at her because something has change. Right ? Something must have change because I’m feeling horrible. I want to give her the world, but I was being cocky. Now I know how it is really, outside. When she stepped out of the war so it wouldn't break her, I didn't. Cocky, again.

”Turns out I do.”

I see her sincerity, I feel her sincerity.

« Yeah ? » I let out, all miserable with a small laugh of relief. I’m as brave as a puppy. « That's cute » I say, « U cute » I add, trying just to make her smile.

But she sounds sure. I’m not out, I haven’t destroyed my whole life, why am I not all happy and dancing around ? I must’ve broken things more insidiously. Right ?

”We... Need to speak. Openly. No more keeping pains to yourself, I can't and I won't go through a repeat of this. I hope the implications are clear, if you have any demand to make, now's your chance.”

I look at her and I know I need to say stuff. All the stuff. The fact that it’s really painful she told that to me, about me being a stranger, it hurt her lips on mine just to check, to check that like I’ve done that to her while it wasn’t at all about her.
I swipe my tears.
I need to ask her why are you warning me, it’s like I’ve done something bad, just bad because I’m a bad boyfriend without explications, like it’s that simple, like things can actually be that simple with all the love I have for her. I’d like to explain how I can’t really accept myself and that’s a whole part of the problem, a huge part of the problem, how I feel like a mess when she seems to have figure out everything, how I feel like I’m put against a wall here, how I feel bad, how I’m gonna be sick again maybe, surely. I open my mouth, I need to be brave now, to ask why is she actually reacting like that (she has every rights of course but why, I need to know why) but as I gasp for a bit of air in my lungs, I know Imma say nothing. I won’t put my anger between us, I won’t say how unfair it feels to me the way this is going. Because she’s still here and my words are always twisted, never, never, never explaining what I want, what I feel on the inside.

« I’m sorry I’m making you go through this. »

Am I the bad part of this couple ? The crooked piece, the rotting part of the amazing cake ? The flawed one, the all-but-normal. I know I went to Carla because we feel the same.

« I’m really sorry. »

I lick my lips, I’m really, really hot in here all of a sudden.

« I’m not taking you for granted and know how much I hurt you. »

Why is it so important for me to have her understand why I cheated ?! Do I want to ask her and twist the knife ? No, of course not. It’s not her job to figure the mess that I am, I should really be seeking for help actually. Not professional help — still not believing in this crap. But help nonetheless ?
I think of Sakura and I shiver. Ok, now I’m cold.

« Do you really feel like you don’t know me anymore? »

Please say no. Say you didn’t mean it. I need you to. Come on, lie to mean if requested.




How miserable a man can be ?

I... Have to know that everything I thought was real still is. I used to think that I knew him like I knew how to breathe. I could do it blindfolded, in my sleep, passed out from drinking too much and, even half beaten to death in a dark alley – that's a whole other story. It was so deeply ingrained in me that it was like a second skin. Then he comes here, tells me about betrayal, and of course, I feel pain, anger, sadness but, above all, confusion. Ian only ever meant love, warmth, home. And he tells me about his own pains, his own personal hell that I've never heard of. Cue the guilt and the growing turmoil. Even if it stills my frantic heart to voice out loud that I want to take a chance on us, it is still a chance. A gamble. What if I've never really known him the way I thought I did?


He says « U cute » and I can't help the faint smile on my lips. Really, did I ever thought I could get him out of my heart?

« I’m sorry I’m making you go through this, » he says. « I’m really sorry. »

Before I realize it, my eyes track his tongue as he licks his lips and seriously what the hell. Fortunately, he resumes speaking.

« I'm not taking you for granted and I know how much I hurt you. »

« I believe you, » I answer because I do believe that he is sorry.

Then he asks :

« Do you really feel like you don't know me anymore? »

Well, I had it coming, didn't I? I won't lie, not when I am asking him to literally bare his soul at me. The least I should do is bare mine in return.

« I feel like... There's a part of you I don't know or wasn't aware of. Look, I've always felt like you meant home, like you were home. You've always been safe for me. I kind of hoped I was the same to you. »

I hate that I sound like I'm making this about me more than it is about his pains but I don't know how to express myself properly. So I keep going :

« But then first you hurt me as you've – or anyone, for that matter – never hurt me before,» I wince internally at how harsh those words sound as I hear them, but they need out and they need out now. « And then you tell me about a world of pain you've been in and that you've apparently never felt like telling me about ever if it wasn't for today's events. »

So... Yes. Kind of a stranger, who's still carrying my heart with him.

« How would you feel like, if I told you I don't feel safe enough with you to tell you about my own griefs? Right after dealing you a blow to the gut like that Carla stunt you did. I know that lost isn't that strong a word to describe how I feel. »

I take a brief breath before adding :

«I want to believe that you're still the man I love and I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk. I know it's still you, there's... Just a part that I don't know yet.»

Hi stranger.

I still feel on the edge of something, but I can’t figure out what it is. It’s not our relationship I think : it seems like something else’s at stake. Like imma grow all of a sudden, pushed into adulthood.

« I believe you »

My lips like a thin line. She’s not finished, we are not finished and this conversation is far from being over. The wolf inside of me is so lost I’m pretty sure I couldn’t mute right now. Human relationships are so complicated compared to animals’ ones.

« I feel like... There's a part of you I don't know or wasn't aware of. Look, I've always felt like you meant home, like you were home. You've always been safe for me. I kind of hoped I was the same to you. »

This is actually the worst thing anyone ever said to me, and the worst part is : it’s not meant to hurt me. At least, it’s said out of sincerity because I ask her to.
Were, home.
Past tense.
Never ask questions you don’t really want the answer. I cherish the fact she can be all about honesty right now, but I’m really not grateful about the twist in my guts. She’s saying she’s not home for me whereas she is. She truly is, she’s the family I never really had, she’s safety, she’s everything. She’s doubting that because of me but she’s wrong. I want to say how much she’s mistaken but she adds :

« But then first you hurt me as you've – or anyone, for that matter – never hurt me before, and then you tell me about a world of pain you've been in and that you've apparently never felt like telling me about ever if it wasn't for today's events. »

I’m staring at her, eyes wide, wide open.
I close my mouth.
The words I needed to say falls back into my stomach like stones I’ll never digest.
Full sorrow mask on my lines.

« How would you feel like, if I told you I don't feel safe enough with you to tell you about my own griefs? Right after dealing you a blow to the gut like that Carla stunt you did. I know that lost isn't that strong a word to describe how I feel. I want to believe that you're still the man I love and I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk. I know it's still you, there's... Just a part that I don't know yet. »

Okay, I need to sit. My legs are like cotton but I nod quietly. She said yet, that's good, right ?
Oh man, I get it as much as I can’t get it.

« I can’t understand how it would feel like ; my empathy is a gift as much as a curse. I always know what’s inside of you, but this part is a lot of the time overwhelming mine. Over-flooding mine. Like… »

It’s hard to admit that, because I never said it out loud. I’ve never even tried, like ever, to put words on this feeling, to wrap my head around why it’s that complicated to talk about me when I’m with her. Or when I’m with anyone for that matter.

« It’s like, I come home, and there’s a part of me that gets your colors. I’m blending into your feelings and because I love you so much and know you this much, and I can’t really separate mines from yours and… »

Ok, this is getting complicated to explain.

« And there only so much I can take. I can’t feel more than any other human so, there are parts that go numb when I’m with you. »

And that’s amazing, because I’m kinda always feeling okay and happy and secure when I’m with her but that’s cheating. That’s like taking drugs at night so you never feel any loneliness, it’s like smoking pot at night so you blurry your mind and never need to think anything through.
I whistle — I’m frustrating.

« You make my dirty and rotten parts go quiet and I’m forever grateful for that. But that’s not really something I can escape, I mean… I can’t lock you out of myself. I can’t seem to stop feeling you. »

I actually don’t know if I’m always choosing her feelings instead of mine, but right now, I'm not thrilled to being seen more as a coward than I’m already am. But I’m kinda suspecting myself to need her feelings to hide mine. She never smells like war and rape.
But I cheated her with Carla who, well, is all about this very destruction. It’s like I could feel her, and her feelings were juuuuust like mines. Like I've found myself in her.

What. A. Mess.

« Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to… talk, you know ? About me. To dig out of the mud what’s been hidden by your shiny shiny shiny presence. »

We'll be a fine line, I promised.

I listen without interruption when he starts talking about his empathy and how it affects him. I never knew, probably never could've guessed. Actually I never really thought about powers that you cannot... Turn off. I mean, I choose to transform. Or to create illusions, for that matter. Sure I know about powers that are difficult to control, but I always thought that they were difficult to control after being called upon. What Ian is describing, or what I understand at least, is that his empathy has a mind of its own and comes forwards even when not called.

It does kind of hurt to hear that I've been sort of drowning him all those years without realizing it. That brings my anger right back up before I quell it down. I did ask Ian to speak up. I can't get angry at him for complying. So instead, I nod to show that I've been listening and grab his arm to get us to the living room, where I make him sit down on the couch. Then I go grab a couple of glasses to fill them with water – he just threw up after all. Also using that excuse to stall a little while I ponder over my next answer, I'll admit. Because as of now, I am drawing a blank. I don't know how to help him nor where to start though I know I owe him an answer, both because he finally talked and because I want him to keep going. That's what healthy relationships are about, right? Talking.

I bring back both glasses to the living room, handing one over to Ian before sitting next to him and taking a sip out of mine. Not really liquid courage, but I'll take it.

« Thank you for telling me this, » I start hesitantly. « I'm sorry I never noticed, really. » I lick my lips before I continue. « I... Should we... Should we keep on living together? And before you panic, listen. I just don't want you to never be able to feel like yourself and this is your home too. So I want you to tell me, and I mean really tell me, if this, » I point at the Appartement around us for emphasis, « is ok. I will not take it badly if you say that you'd rather live alone, I swear. I'll be fine either way as long as it's best for you. »

I don't really want to live alone but if it's for his wellbeing then I'll suck it up. Another thought occurs to me so I add it before he has time to answer.

« Also, maybe it would actually help if you started to tell how you feel out loud. You know, so I can tell you if what you are experiencing is really you or if it looks like it's me. Maybe with training, you might be able to dissociate. »

And because I have to ask.

« Do you... Really think that you can never be you around me? Because of your empathy, I mean. »

Pushed into adulthood. Just like I’ve been pushed into teenagehood, just like I’ve meen pushed into magic, into becoming a murderer. No one held grudge or justice against me for this act and that’s when I really understood our world.

I sigh.

She’s not not safe for me, I’ve just learned the hard way to be on my tipytoes at all times. I think. But can I really trust myself, can I trust my brains ? Can I trust my powers if I’m forced to blend into her every time I’m around ? How am I suppose to learn how to.. how to socially disadapt ? I mean, I’m always a people’s pleaser, trying to be liked at all costs, trying to make others okay, and fine, and happy, and unworried and I’ve pushed that really far. I mean, if I have to unalive some humans along the line, it’s fine.

I sigh.

« Thank you for telling me this, » She shouldn't. Guilt-trapped into this scheme, I bite my lips. « I'm sorry I never noticed, really. »

My heart goes in my throat and I swallow it.

« I... Should we... Should we keep on living together? And before you panic, listen. I just don't want you to never be able to feel like yourself and this is your home too. So I want you to tell me, and I mean really tell me, if this, » I sigh because otherwise, i’d puke. « is ok. I will not take it badly if you say that you'd rather live alone, I swear. I'll be fine either way as long as it's best for you. »

I raise my hands, panic going through my veins. We’re sick, soldiers, we all are. Whenever I feel threatened by something, anything really, I feel adrenaline pumping my heart and the only rush I have is to fucking fight. The blood makes my face all red while my words get all mixed up on my tongue.

« Also, maybe it would actually help if you started to tell how you feel out loud. You know, so I can tell you if what you are experiencing is really you or if it looks like it's me. Maybe with training, you might be able to dissociate.
— I’ll say them out loud. I’ll tell you my feeling out loud. »

It comes in a blurry of fear, true and rotted fear. Because I know now, she has solutions — that’s Autumn after all. She’s all about solutions and finding what’s right and going forward and having fucking peace in her life. But we won’t escape after midnight thoughts and memories and imagination of me being miserable and kissing someone else. Will she ?

« Do you... Really think that you can never be you around me? Because of your empathy, I mean. »

My eyes go wider and I scratch the skin around my nails as my emotions drown me. I’m sick of being that intense and I have no fucking idea how she can manage to live with. She wants to be okay. She never asks for things to be outrageously amazing or to be, an absolute, fucking, blast, she wants to be fine, and laugh, and learn and live peacefully and I’m me. Am I the rollercoaster ?

I sigh.

« I don’t want to move out. »

That’s the first thing that I can express, but immedialy, I think : what if it’s for the better ? What if she, she, she is better off without me ? But as this thought makes its way through my body, I know I won’t have the courage to pursue it. I’m too selfish to even consider me without her, really. So I mumble again, on the verge of crying :

« I don’t want us to be apart. »

Grow up, for fuck’s sake. It’s like people are going forward in life, climbing the scale while I’m just putting efforts to go sideways. They’re all mammals, learning how to stand and then to run and to hunt and I’m a fucking crab.
A fucking crab.

« I mean, we’re already appart a lot of the time, we don’t live that much together and-and-and and Imma learn. Imma do it. »

I’m not promising I’ll change because it’s too cliché.

« I’ll do better. That’s what I’m gonna do. I’ll do better. I’ll learn to cut of my empathy and me with your colors and feelings are still me, you know ? I’ve spent more of my life knowing you than not knowing you and I - I - I … I… »

I lack words.

« I’ll identify self-sabotage better. »

Was sleeping with Carla self sabotage ? Self sabotage is a sweet romance indeed but, while kissing her, while taking her clothes off, was I thinking about losing something ? Escaping something ?

« I like who I am because of you, it's what my job's putting me through, my my my past, I dunno, I don't wanna make excuses and  »

I wish I had the answers.

« I’ll love myself a little more. »

And I shall forever seek forgiveness for what I’m putting you through.
And for that.
I shall swear something to you. A promise that make my insides go liquid at the fear of even thinking about'em. I know my mind's a sick and rotten and dark place. I can't let Auty light'em up and then pay the price for when I'm away.

« I’ll seek for help. »