And the rest, as promised. Her screams were heartbreaking, her face ravaged. She stared at the floor, shaken by spasms, before looking up at me again, tears streaming down their cheeks. "And I thought you loved me... that you... damn it, but... I'm such an idiot..." Her voice broke. She picked up her bag with a trembling gesture, backed toward the door without taking her eyes off us, then turned abruptly on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her with a violence that made the doorframe shake. Silence fell again, crushing, sticky. My heart was about to burst, and I could still hear her muffled sobs drifting away down the corridor. I stood for a moment, unable to move. My throat was so tight I could scream. I felt as if a part of me had just been ripped out. I slowly turned my head toward him. He was looking at me with large, dark eyes, full of a mixture of guilt and fear. His mouth was trembling. I… I'm sorry… he whispered, his voice breaking. I felt my tears fall, silent, hot on my temples. I didn't even know why I was crying anymore. For her, for me, for him, for what had just been destroyed, for everything I had just understood about myself. For the first time in a long time, I felt naked, truly naked, raw to the core. I stood up slowly, picked up my shorts, and put them on without a word. I could still feel the dull ache in my lower back, the imprint of him inside me, his hands on my hips, his hot breath. Everything was mixed together, shame, shame above all, but also that desire, intact, terrible, which lacerated my stomach like a white-hot blade. I left the room. In the hallway, I saw her, sitting on a low chair, her face buried in her hands, wracked with sobs. I wanted to take her in my arms, to tell her I was sorry, that I didn't mean to hurt her. But I realized it was too late. That no words would change anything. I crouched down in front of her. She raised her head. Her eyes were red, swollen with tears, and yet painfully clear. "Don't touch me..." she breathed. Her words fell like a condemnation. I stood there, not daring to move. Then she stood up, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and left without looking back. I watched her walk away until her silhouette disappeared at the end of the hallway. And only then did I feel my shoulders slump, my breath come short, as if all the air had been emptied from my lungs at once. I remained crouching, my face in my hands, overcome by a mixture of shame, sorrow and a dark, heavy, unspeakable desire that still beat in the hollow of my back.Then I felt a hand on the back of my neck. I jumped slightly. He had gotten out of bed and knelt behind me. His bare skin brushed against mine, warm, reassuring, and terrible all at once. “Hey…” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Hey… look at me…” I didn’t move. His fingers slid gently through my hair, stroking it like soothing a wounded child. “I’m sorry… so sorry… I didn’t mean for it to happen like this… I didn’t mean to hurt you…” His voice broke with each word. I felt his hot breath against the back of my neck, his forehead resting against it. I remained silent, my gaze blank, fixed on the cold tiles. “You… you’re sorry?” he asked hoarsely. The question pierced me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Yes… no… I didn’t even know what I was sorry for anymore. I was just broken, raw, lost between shame, desire, and the dull ache of having lost her. I felt his arms around me. He pulled me against him, my back against his bare chest. His warmth enveloped me. I didn't resist. I let myself go, my tears falling silently as he hugged me tighter. His hands trembled against my stomach. "I'm here... I'm not letting go..." he breathed. I felt his heart pounding, his breath hot against the back of my neck. Despite myself, I shivered. A wave of guilt washed over me, but beneath it, a stubborn desire continued to pulse, even stronger, as if all this shame, all this pain, was feeding a black fire that was consuming me. I slowly turned my head towards him. His eyes were full of tears. He rested his forehead against my temple. "I don't want to lose you..." he whispered. I closed my eyes. I wanted to scream, to push him away, to erase everything. But most of all, I wanted to stay there, against him, in the warmth of his arms, far from the harsh light of this morning that had just destroyed my life. I placed my hand on his forearm, without moving. I was drained. My whole body ached, exhausted, as if I had fought all night. And maybe it was true. I had fought against myself, against what I felt growing inside me for years, against this desire that scared me but kept me alive. He shifted slightly behind me, tightening his embrace. His bare chest pressed against my back, I felt the reassuring warmth of his skin, his warm breath against the back of my neck. "Hey..." he whispered hoarsely. "Are you okay?" I was silent for a moment. My lips trembled. Then I breathed, almost speechless: - Hold me... hold me very tight... please...He didn't answer. He put his arms around me, hugging me with an almost painful tightness. I felt his hands bury themselves under my chest, his biceps straining against my sides. He pressed his cheek against mine, closed his eyes. His scent overwhelmed me: sweat, semen, sheets, and that light perfume he always wore. I felt my stomach unwind under the gentle violence of his embrace. Silent tears welled up in my eyes. I stayed like that for a long time, breathing in his scent, feeling his heart beat against my shoulder blades. Then, in a broken voice, shattered by exhaustion and the truth, I whispered, "I... I want to take responsibility... I want to stop hiding... I'm tired of lying. Tired of lying to myself." I felt his breath quicken against the back of my neck. His arms tightened even more, as if he wanted to protect me from everything, even myself. “Then… stay with me…” he breathed in a trembling voice. I closed my eyes. And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what I felt. I wasn’t ashamed. There was only him, his arms around me, his warmth, and that strange, deep peace rising in my chest. I turned slowly in his arms. Our faces were very close. His eyes shone in the morning light. I ran my hand over his cheek, stroking the rough line of his beard. He closed his eyelids at my gesture, a trembling sigh escaping his lips. I leaned down and kissed him gently. A kiss without tongue, without urgency. A kiss that said thank you. A kiss that said sorry. A kiss that said I accept you. When I pulled back, he was looking at me, his eyes clouded, and whispered, "You're handsome, you know..." I stared at him, without looking away. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. I could still feel the sting of shame, the sharp pain of betrayal, the dizziness of having lost everything in an instant. And yet, here, now, in his arms, I felt... whole. Broken, but whole. My voice came out hoarse, trembling, choked with unshed tears. "I... I feel so lost... So... I've messed everything up... I've destroyed my life... And despite everything... despite all of this... I look at you and... I think... maybe you're my life... Maybe it's you... I've been looking for... forever..." He rested his forehead against mine, his tears falling on my cheeks, then he kissed me again, a wet, trembling kiss, a kiss that said it all. I stayed curled up against him, my eyes closed, listening to his breathing calm. His hands slid slowly down my back, tracing invisible lines on my skin, as if he wanted to imprint me on him, as if he were trying to engrave every millimeter of my body into his memory.He kissed me on the temple, then on the cheek, his lips warm and trembling. He murmured against my skin: - You have no idea... no idea how beautiful you are when you cry... how real you are... how I want you here, now... but not just your body... I want you... all of you... I felt a sob rise in my throat, but it wa ...

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