The other strip tease.
I
I am beside him, lying in bed, as I never had before. I'm naked, completely naked as you can possibly be. Have we made love? We are we torn? These two kinds of violence, I do not know which bares the most. He did not say a word. I can not blame him, he does not know me after all and I am shy. The silence is killing me, but what answer could I give to his words, at least of his words? Therefore die in silence, at least for tonight. Dawn will be more eloquent.
to movements of the mattress, I guess his position. He sits on the bed for a few minutes for some hours from time diluted. I turned back, and I do the same. It might be curious, I just reveal myself. But I do not exist yet in his eyes. I'm fighting in his mind against a dying fantasy. I do not know if this fight a winner. Maybe we both will disappear from his mind. I feel tired of these battles. I agree
difficult nudity, I never liked my body, I've never really lived. And here I am, naked in front of a man who was also every reason to hate me. I imagine his thoughts, a feeling without words, certainly, that mud indiscriminately in him. A flood of anger, contempt, pity mingled. Anything that hopes to inspire undressing. I can not move. In my veins in my members, runs a cold liquid. I feel it, starting from the soles of my feet sweaty, back to My head, heavy, nailing me in bed, petrified.
I had spent almost a year as a tightrope walker. I expected the fall, hoping it would not happen. When the morning light finally entered the room, it seemed that I finally had the legs on the ground. The fall was over, atrocious, but now everything was quiet, everything was stable. I rubbed my naked body against the floor, just to feel grounded. I had nothing to lose, everything to build. One question though. What would I do with this dark bag, overflowing with wounded memories, ready to jump in my face ...
II
I always enjoyed watching life. There are as many worlds as individuals. I like to explore. To see the world of it, I put myself in his skin, I take her features, I absorb its history, and I see before my eyes slowly metamorphosing life. So that day, as often, I sat at the bar. And that day, as sometimes, I chose this character a little child-wife's fatal. Cleverly, I left my clothes reflected in what is poisonous to innocence, fragility and purity. I wanted to understand the loneliness of beautiful women. Of things not seen. And I began to know it. For two months I was camped regularly this character. Not a man had pierced sheet if end of my lame, not a man had looked deeper than my skin. I was about to store the costume.
And then it passed to the showcase of coffee, but lost a hurry. It was very beautiful, I think I fixed it a little. I do not know if it's for that, but he turned around, he entered the cafe, and feigning some everyday purchases, he moved near me with an espresso. He stared at my eyes, turned away abruptly, embarrassed, and returned to me. He stammered Automatic language, as if it was a challenge to himself. He had nothing to lose. It moved me very much. I am using the usual weapons of my character, I crossed my legs, my back Cambrais subtly. But nothing seemed to deter him from my sight, and our conversation. From the bottom of my costume, so I entered myself in this game for a while I forgot where I had the illusion locked, I knew that I was not visible, hidden in my viewpoint.
Nothing was simpler, more intoxicating. From time to time a glance in the mirror coffee reminded me of my deceit. I invented an excuse to leave, but he held me. I do not fight with great fury, indeed. But somewhere, I tried to save. I have given her a chance. He also wanted to play. It seemed at first to have won. My trick was triumphant at last I loved these novels loves photo where everything is sealed and two three-bubble shots. The intoxication of that joy too expected annihilates totally my reason, and I plunged heart and soul into this fantasy romance.
III
What began as a sweet dream is subtly changed, day by day into a nightmare bitter. For a while I managed to enjoy our exchanges. It was the beginning and at the beginning of each relationship, the other is hidden behind the idea we have of him. There were two screens of us. His fantasy, and my costume. Miraculously, fun, and even love I think, managed to cross. The illusion of sincerity was troubling. It is normally the reason for happiness, she was the cause here. Our feelings completely prevented blinding us to consider the presence of a lie any of us. We shall persuade each other of the miracle of our meeting, and purity our mutual inclination. I had convinced myself sometimes. When I took off my clothes at night, I thought I tore my skin. I love me less, I mean my real face. And I locked myself every day a little more deception in this suffocating.
Over the months, however, I began to feel kicks under my caresses. I felt I relaxed my vigilance, too comfortable in my character can be. Inconsistencies appeared in my speech. First unnoticed, they soon triggered questions from her increasingly insistent. I avoided them, for a pirouette, a word of love, a kiss. But my heart beat faster in each of his doubts. I know intelligent, and each of these questions skinned my costume.
Opium of my charms became less sedated. I suspected him of seeing someone else. I could not hold it against him. I was hoping somewhere that another contender would kill my character, and he forget me politely, gently drunk with other loves.
It was very lonely. Very lonely, but not enough to satisfy her loneliness. He was a dreamer, waking soon had to finish it. Yet he really wanted to believe in miracles, and the miracle for him was the reality. That's the only thing he had ever had. I was dying not being able to give.
Stubbornly, began his quest, or rather its investigation. I felt feverish, tormented, frustrated. Yet every night, alone in his bed, he turned to me again, and he counted on me to kill silence. Suffocating under the demands of my immeasurable character, heavy on the purple of that love.
IV One evening we had seen, I was seized with a sort of panic. The long ritual of preparing, incarnation, exhausting. I had to change my intonation, my recollections our previous discussions, to omit any detail of the fiction I wrote. He had become so picky, each inconsistency was born a comment or an argument. Each of my faults engendered in him a dismal disappointment. I caught my fall, I felt imminent.
I put off, I can drop it. He kept me on the edge of the cliff. His arms restrained my fall, but his body was pushing me toward the rim. I strolled over the void as I strolled past. And all this time, the mistress of this lie, what was I wretched infidelity inflicted ... I was wrong myself, since I had made a mistake, I forgot myself, I neglected, despised myself, I prefer the double he loved.
That night, in my mirror when I started my makeup, my reflection brought me a look scary. The grievance and pity mingled. I felt ugly and miserable. It suddenly seemed that I would collapse if I took off the costume. What remained with me as the character? Probably a ruin. Abandonment.
I stayed tired before the mirror, the brush between the fingers, looking at my reflection. The room around the mirror, seemed to float, disorder and vibrant. It seemed I awoke from a long sleep, and my life was the remains of a confused dream too realistic. The time
turned, he would join me. I knew it would be perfectly on time. The minute agreed, I will hear the engine of his car stopped outside the house, slamming the door, and no hurry to beat the pavement wet pavement. The urgency does not m'affolait. My anesthesia resisted minutes alarming. I will prepare myself, I still have time. Not playing any games, making no effort, I thought I was sleeping, finally. My breathing was slow. The needle was spinning. I watched, insensible plunge the knife into the flesh of my perfect character.
I thought of him, his anger, his contempt if he knew the truth. Yet I reveled in the silence of the dead lie. 5 more minutes. What to do? Low, I decided to regroup, pick up the costume dying on the ground and resume my brushes once more. In 5 minutes I could do it. 5 more minutes, I'm not ready. He was never late, he has also never been ahead. He will come to 20h. 7:56 p.m., it rings, I'm almost naked, no makeup, my wig sleeping between two pillows.
V
I did not hear the car. Had he come on foot? I had not closed the shutters. What had he seen through the window? He had noticed at least a presence, seen the light squared. Maybe more. Therefore impossible to feign absence, dropping into silence.
I approached the door and glanced through the bullseye. I saw him gasping in the dark corridor, his fingers knotted and unraveled trembling, driven not a kind of painful spasm. His eyes were fleeing, panicked. He knew. He had seen me. It was over, there was nothing left to try. Impossible to reverse. I emptied a kind of unhealthy tension. I blew a long, almost despite myself my hand grasps the handle and opened the door.
I expected to pounce on me all the hate in the world. I saw a question mark. His whole body seemed to wonder why. It was there, like a lost child, having nowhere else to hide. Mechanically he entered, I felt clear, I crossed. I felt a pain in his throat knotted. He had just lost a loved one, he was alone in the world, he wanted to talk to the first unknown. I was the unknown, but he did not speak. He sat on the bed. When hell were silent in him, I think he complained, quite violently, all kinds of crimes for which he was the victim. He accused me does not really, not knowing me.
I had nothing else to show that my person. I wanted to explain something, but everything seemed so trivial and so obvious. He already knew everything and all the explanation was posed as an idiot. The coolness of the night was due to her fever, and he sat on the bed, motionless. It does not look at me. I know what he was doing. He planned on my body like the one I claimed to be. As the hours
image is diluted, ghostly, and evaporated slowly. As I began to exist in his eyes, I felt made a mad modesty. I curled up on the other side of the bed, silent.
I breathed a reality with caution too fresh. Part of my skin was left with my costume, I felt like flayed. The lightness of lies coming out of the window ajar. In reality, every gesture became oppressive, almost unbearable, but so much more meaningful.
VI
I was looking at me what he liked, I was looking for the remains. He could finish me. His blade pierced my costume. Why did he spared? If I listened, I'd hope for forgiveness. Maybe the tires are not they all pulled out of what he loved ... But I'm not stupid enough to hang on to my delusions. I let him go if he wishes. If there is someone I have yet to win here, not him. That's me. Resound in my head, on haunting piano chords, words that haunted me long:
"I would get, I stay, I hate myself. "I
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