3.
583 Words
Another night to go. Bonne mère gave her a bonus tonight. Apparently, a mysterious admirer has been generous with her. Delighted, she closes her locker and sneaks out. Two hundred euros more than expected, without even having to do a private dance. What a surprise! Once outside, she takes a deep breath of air, then heads out onto the paved streets. At the time when night and day blend, everything is deserted. But she is not afraid. On the contrary. She savors the solitude and the calm that only the sound of her steps disturbs. The spring is still very far, as testifies the fog which leaves its mouth. She amuses herself to blow some as much as possible, then laughs at her childishness. She does not notice the indistinct silhouette which follows her, quieter than a shadow, while continuing her road. She crosses the sleeping city, leaving the insomniac Pigalle at her back, then heads for her apartment, or more precisely, her maid's room, in the eighteenth district. She dreams of elsewhere. She might miss Paris a little at first. The lights and the crowds give her a delicious anonymity, but she would get over it. The mountains would offer her the peace she so eagerly awaits. A few more weeks... A few more weeks and she would have saved enough money to hit the road and disappear forever.
Lost in her thoughts, the streets go by without her noticing and soon she faces the door of her building. A slamming sound makes her jump. She looks around, but sees nothing. Suddenly, her vision turns red and her chest tightens. The whole world seems to be shifting. She shakes her head as a strange whisper reaches her. The dizziness passes, she hurries to type the entrance code before rushing into the building. She climbs the stairs three by three, enters her house, then closes the door quickly before leaning against it and letting herself slide on the ground. She waits, breathless. No noise in the building.
She lets escape a small trembling laugh, disappointed by the fright that she has just inflicted to herself. A dizziness, voices which do not exist and a completely disproportionate fright? It was clearly time for her to go to bed.
She sends her tennis shoes waltzing into the hallway, then gets up. She then hangs her coat on the peg, then puts her bag on the small bench at the entrance before heading straight to the bathroom. She turns the hot water tap to the maximum in order to warm up the room, then makes her clothes slide on the ground. She raises her hair in a fuzzy bun, and slowly removes her make-up. Soon, her mirror is covered with a veil of fog and is of little use. The burning water hits her skin and reddens it while she shivers with delight. Her muscles relax. The memory of that umpteenth evening in Paradis Perdu fades. Long minutes pass before she decides to withdraw from the cosy warmth of the small cabin. She grabs her towel, wipes the mirror; two eyes of an intense green contemplate her and, again, this red halo veils her vision. She blinks, observes herself again. Her hazel colored irises return her surprised look. Would someone have put something in her glass tonight? She shakes the head, releasing her hair of its rubber band, wipes herself quickly, then goes to bed.
A good night's sleep will do her a lot of good.
- Writer
