Chapter 5 Chapitre 5

His hand lingers a second too much on my wrist.

I feel it, this electric shiver that crosses me, which runs along my skin as a silent alert. Not a danger warning. Something else. Something unknown.

I remove my hand suddenly and go back, looking for my breath, looking for a logic to all of this. It's not normal. None of this is.

Maxime looks at me.

He says nothing.

But in his eyes, there is a disorder that I did not know him.

And that's where it strikes me.

He's not a kidnapper. Not only.

I clench my fists.

- Who are you really?

He slightly look away, his jaw contracts. I see the fight he is leading in itself.

- Maxim...

My voice is softer than I would have liked.

He expires slowly.

- You don't want to know.

Too late. I already understood that there is a breach, a tiny space where it is no longer this cold and controlled man, where something else is outcroped to the surface.

I can't go back.

I have to understand.

So I am approaching. I fix it, seeking to read beyond this mask of indifference that he persists in carrying. There is something behind his eyes, a barely perceptible flaw, an emotion of emotion that he tries to hide.

- Tell me the truth, Maxime.

He does not move, but I see his fingers tense slightly on the back of the chair.

- The truth will not change anything, Émilie.

His voice is more hoarse than usual, as if he was fighting against something buried too deep to be expressed.

I take one more step.

- It will change everything.

Heavy silence stretches between us. He looks away, as if he weighed the pros and cons. Then, in a barely audible whisper, he lets go:

- I lost them all.

My heart tightens.

- How?

He inspires, then expires slowly, his shoulders lowering slightly under the invisible weight of a burden for too long.

- They died. Because of me.

A thrill travels to me. It's not just the regret I hear in his voice. It's something darker, deeper. A guilt that eats away at him, which haunts him.

- Maxim...

He turns away suddenly, cutting me access to his gaze.

- Don't try to understand.

But it's already too late.

The air between us is charged with something indefinable, a tension that oscillates between pain and attraction.

I should flee. Detach me from all this.

But I can't.

Not now.

I wake up with a start. The silence that surrounds me is heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself has stood out. A feeling of discomfort invades me, a feeling that something is wrong. My gaze arises on the door, on the low moon department which filters through the curtains.

And that's where I hear it.

A cry.

A cry that tears up at night. Not a human cry. Something more primary, more visceral, as a suffering too deep to be contained. It's Maxime.

I suddenly straightening up in bed, my heart beating to break everything. A wave of panic invades me, mixed with a strange need to understand. From an irrational need to know what he hides behind this cry, which torments him to this point.

He shouts again. This time, I distinctly hear his name, a broken whisper that tears me away. I know he's not just dreaming. He is reliving something. A memory, a trauma, something that engulfs him.

I rush hastily, my bare feet striking the cold floor with a thud. I approach the door of his room, my hands trembling with hesitation. Should I enter? Should I help him, despite everything? Or would it mean that I enliven myself even more in this complex, dangerous relationship, which is gradually consumed me?

Another cry. This time, he is stronger, more desperate. I feel the pain in his voice, a suffering that tightens my throat. It is more that he cannot bear. More than I can understand.

I put my hand on the door handle.

I should leave. Flee him, leave, escape me, regain my freedom. This is what I should do. But basically, I know that I would not be able to leave it alone in this state. Not now.

I push the door slowly, my tense muscles, my suspended breathing. The room is plunged into darkness, but I see it. He is there, on the bed, curled up, a glow of deep pain in his eyes.

He doesn't see me at first. He is lost in his nightmare, in this other reality which seems to be playing behind his closed eyelids. I dare not get closer. I look at him, helpless, trying to understand what is hidden behind his pain.

Then he wakes up, in a start, breathless, his body shaken with tremors. He turns his head in my direction, his gaze crossing mine. A flash of confusion passes in his eyes, as if he had just realized that I am there.

I approach slowly, unable to look away from him. He looks broken, more vulnerable than ever, and that's what upsets me. I had never seen Maxime in such a state. Everything I thought I know about him cracks before my eyes.

- How are you ? I ask in a trembling voice, unable to hide the tension in my words.

He looks at me, for a moment, without saying anything. Then he straightens up slowly, his breathing always irregular. He clears his fists on the sheets, as if it helped him stabilize, find his control. It seems almost ashamed to see me there, as if he feared that I discover too many things about him.

- You shouldn't be here, he said finally, the hoarse, broken voice.

I fix it, not knowing what to answer. But he doesn't seem to be in his usual state. Not the maxim I know, this authoritarian and impassive maxim. Tonight it is different.

He rises suddenly, heading towards the window. He looks lost, as if he were looking for something in the dark that is not here. I hesitate for a moment, then I advance.

- Maxime, you can talk to me ... if you want.

I see him freeze. He turns his head slowly, his dark eyes watch me with an almost frightening intensity. I see the war playing in him. He wants to push me away, he wants to go away, but I know that he can't. Something, something in him, wants to let me in.

- It's too dangerous, he said, the weak but firm voice. You don't know what you ask.

I take one more step, stopping right in front of him. He doesn't move, but his gaze burns me.

- I know you are suffering, Maxime. I saw it. And I can't leave you in this state. Not like that.

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if he was fighting so as not to give in. Then he sighs deeply.

- This is not what you think, Émilie.

I frowns, perplexed.

- So explain to me. Explain to me what's going on. Why do you have these nightmares? Why are you ... like that?

I see a splendor of anger in his eyes, a glimmer of frustration that burns at the bottom of his gaze. He turns away suddenly, as if he couldn't bear this question. I know I'm crossing a line, but I can't help it.

- You don't want to know, he repeats, dry. You can't understand.

I am silent, reflecting on what he just said. There is more. I feel it. There is something he hides, a secret that is too heavy for him to wear it alone. And yet he refuses to tell me.

Heavy silence settles between us. It seems to avoid my gaze, while swing slightly from front to back. And yet, despite everything, something in his attitude has changed. It's not just resistance. It's pain.

I take a last step towards him, putting a trembling hand on his arm.

- You are not alone, Maxime.

He remains frozen for a moment, then he turns to me, his dark eyes looking for something in mine. The tension between us is almost unbearable, a strange alchemy which only accentuates the confusion that binds us.

- You are much more than that, Émilie, he whispers, almost like a confession.

I feel my chest tightening these words.

I want to tell him that I'm not going to leave him, I'm here to help him, but something he holds me back. Something insurmountable in the whirlwind of our conflicting emotions.

He then turns abruptly, heading towards the door. He says nothing, but I know that he is trying to escape from this moment, to flee this vulnerability which he fears so much.

- Maxim...

But he does not answer. He disappears in the darkness of the house, leaving me alone with what remains of him, with this secret that he refuses to share.