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Ryan and Delmore out on a date, part 2

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It’s almost sunset time now, they’re a few minutes away from the beach in his convertible 2006 Aston Martin DB9 Volante, his dream car since his younger years, which he got from a sweet deal. She asked him for a tissue and he, without thinking of any consequences, told her she’d find some in the glove compartment. She got her tissue, but she also found a journal. His emotional let out. His refuge from reality. His personal best-friend. It was old with yellow-ish pages. He bought it years back from a garage sale. He was attracted to its medieval cover patterns. He even uses black ink and a feather as writing tools. She took it out, inspected it and asked what it was. He was startled when he caught a glimpse of his secret keeper in her hands. A mixture of stress, anxiety, and embarrassment swirled in his stomach. Cold sweat covered his forehead and his throat went dry because he wrote about her in there. He was petrified that he’d come off as creepy if she ever read the parts concerning her. He thought about lying to her, telling her it was just an empty journal that he liked to keep for its cool cover but how could he do that to the woman he fantasized about proposing to her in his diary? With hesitant resolve and an uncertain voice, he managed to reply:

– That’s a journal. Cool cover, isn’t it? He tried to sway her from dropping the sensitive question.

– Indeed it is. It has the medieval era aura.

For a moment, it felt like he had dodged a bullet, matrix style, but hang on, says life.

– Yeah… Yeah, that’s right. I’m impressed. Are you into old cool stuff with awesome drawings and patterns?

– You can say that. So do you actually write anything in it?

And there’s when life strikes. Head-shot. All the previous symptoms were back but sharper. He was cornered and he couldn’t think of a slick way to weasel himself out of answering the question. And just when he was about to answer, life smiled again at him with « your *ss is saved this time » sign.

– Oh look, we’ve arrived at our next destination. He said, exhaling, secretively, his miraculous escape out of his system.

She looked ahead and saw a magnificent sunset-y beach view. Quite fascinating, they both thought and she suddenly forgot about the diary. He parked somewhere near, next to a Chevy. She returned the journal to the glove compartment as he opened the door for her. They took their shoes off. He rolled his pants upward and so did she. They held hands as they strolled on the sunset-colored sand. They kept talking about themselves and cracking jokes, you know, those things you’d do if you were on a date with your dream girl/man at the beach alone. He’d splash her with the water and she’d run away giggling. Can you recall a happy beach scene from a movie where the guy and the girl are all alone there doing all sorts of cute stuff from running to splashing water with their feet, to him giving her a piggyback ride, etc… Well, they’ve done them all. One item off of Ryan’s bucket list, if he ever had one.

They finally sat down. Ryan offered his jacket so they wouldn’t sit directly on the sand. Gentleman etiquette, you know. Out of the blue, an exciting thought came to her mind. She had this wide naughty grin on her face as she turned facing him and said in a determined tone:

– Let’s go skinny dipping!

WOW… He surely was not anticipating that at all. Not from the beauty queen herself. She stood up, took all of her clothes off. He… just sat there motionless in awe, eyes glued on her like a just-hit-puberty boy discovering porn for the first time. His mind went pitch black, unable to focus on one emotion. He was surely confused, unsure whether he should be aroused, on guard or old-fashioned. Was this a test? One of those things that girls do to test a man’s principals and material? How could it be, though? It’s too extreme to be a test. Now she’s gracefully butt naked for his eyes to devour. ‘Such a sight for sore eyes’ Ryan thought. Boy oh boy, if she could ever hear the thoughts starting in that perverted head of his or see the scenes he’s imagining… A flawless godly naked masterpiece was exhibiting itself for his own pleasance was stretching a hand towards him urging him to join her and he obeys, partially hypnotized. Clothes off.

Off running to the warm water they went. She instigated a splash war against him which he won for being physically stronger and taller and it ended when he dove under the water and resurfacing from beneath her legs to pick her up in his muscular strong arms under her fading screams being replaced with her ear-soothing giggles.

‘God her laugh’s intoxicating! It feels like a magical health potion from one of those RPG games or a vitality elixir from the old myths. I wonder if it’s only affecting me or everyone around her. Oh, those little dimples on her cheeks adding radiance to her laughter and holiness to her whole presence. If this were a dream, I wouldn’t want to wake up, I would want to be left alone in a peaceful trance stasis where I get to keep rewinding the whole day over and over and over until I decompose and die. Could you think of a better way to perish? Spending the rest of my life with her surely is the perfect answer but…’ That’s when the train of his thoughts darkened but he quickly drove them out of his mind. She was there. With him. Not anyone else. And he intended to do whatever it was in his powers to keep it so.

They both went silent, staring into each other’s eyes, the sun’s going down behind them, her arm wrapped around his neck, his grin as wide as the ocean, her eyes beaming adorability. A wholesome Utopian panorama for a painter to draw, a million-dollar picture for a photographer to shoot and an endless universe of words to describe the scene for a writer, but only both of them could relish perfectly the satisfying taste of the flooding emotions pumping through their veins. And there it is… His lips sealed on hers… The overflow of lust, at last, unleashed and it’s simply and utterly… Picturesque. Neither of them wanted to stop, so it took about 5 whole minutes until they broke it off to catch their breaths. Their breathing was ragged and heavy, the looks in their eyes were hungry for more. Her hands were still digging in his damp messy hair. He eventually broke the line of silence by a mere admission « You.Are.Amazing ». To that, she smiled and went back to kissing him. I won’t tell you what happened afterward. I’m skipping it to let your imagination run wild. Maybe they’ve done it in the water, maybe they stopped at kissing, maybe they kept it at something in between. You’ll never know.

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Moi et Moi

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Si obscur, le monde si silencieux. Seule dans le vide éternel qu’est mon propre être. J’observe ma vie, qui je suis. Cette identité façonnée autour d’un être qui n’existe point. Je ne suis peut-être pas cette identité. Je ne sais pas vraiment. Une errance éternelle entre les ruelles de mon cerveau. Une brume de confusion qui refuse de se dissiper. Recroquevillée sur moi-même, j’ai peur de même respirer trop fort. Le monstre hait lorsque je perturbe son règne de terreur. Je regarde devant moi les pièces éclatées de ce reflet de moi-même et que j’ai brisé de mes propres mains. Le sang dégouline encore tachetant le sol miroitant de ma conscience. Ce combat infini entre qui je suis et qui je veux être. Une cause perdue.

Voilà ce que je suis. Je crois que mon existence même est une erreur. Un calcul de trop. Je disparais alors dans les recoins les plus enfouis de mon tréfonds. J’offre au monde cette version toute parfaite. Tout ce qu’il faut pour cesser d’exister. Qui suis-je ? la réponse ne vient jamais. Cette question retentit, un écho impossible à ignorer. J’hurle pour l’étouffer mais je ne réussis guère. Les larmes m’étranglent et les souvenirs me hantent. Des rêves que j’ai cru morts me revisitent, des mirages troublants plus que tout. Je veux m’en aller. Partir. Ailleurs. Quelque part où personne ne me connait. Quelque part où je peux me débarrasser de cette peau qui m’écœure tellement. Sauvez-moi de ce monstre qui est mon âme même. Ce monstre me tue en douce. Chaque jour un peu plus de poison. Il me tient par la gorge. Ses griffes contre mon cou. Son souffle dans le mien. Je le ressens à chaque respiration. Une personne à part. Honnêtement. La paranoïa est sa carte maitresse. Sa voix si dominante dans mon esprit. Je fais la sourde mais sa voix refuse de lâcher prise. Il me fait peur, éperdument peur. Il se moque de moi. Regardez-le. REGARDEZ-LE. Il rie de ma détresse. Ce désarroi qu’il orchestre d’un sadisme accru. Je frôle une folie dangereuse.

Au bord de la rupture. Je me torture à coups de questions qui refusent de cesser. Je tiens ma tête pour me calmer. Je regarde le sang devenu un flacon. Sur ce flacon, je me vois enfin. Brisée que j’étais. Hantée, perdue, penaude mais étrangement lucide. Ce genre de lucidité qui brule, un arrière-gout amer après chaque effondrement. Une clarté qui me maintient ici malgré tout. Un ange gardien, oserais-je le terme. Méritais-je réellement autant de souffrance ? méritais-je même un peu d’amour ? de la compassion ? Un sentiment qui n’est pas le dégout et la haine envers ma personne. Un dilemme existentiel, cornélien. Des choix impossibles. Une vie insupportable.

Comment apprendre à un cerveau qui a toujours été sensé haïr comment aimer ? pourquoi aimer ? puis-je quitter cette transe, cet état épouvantable dans lequel je vis ? puis-je me libérer des chaines qui me retiennent à la merci du monstre ? Est-ce que je peux ? quelqu’un ? répondez-moi ! encore la réponse refuse de venir. Cette fois…cette fois je comprends que la réponse doit être mienne. Nul autre. Ridicule. Horriblement ridicule. Une ironie qui n’échoue pas à m’émerveiller. Comment l’être qui n’a connu que le silence et l’étouffement peut s’exprimer ? Les mots, cet être a oublié. Son humanité, il a enterré. Comment, après tout ce temps, ose-t-on lui demander une réponse ? Pour la première fois, je me relève. Je ne suis plus recroquevillée même si le monstre me possède. Je discerne avec une perspicacité authentique ce monde morbide qu’est ma conscience. Cette noirceur obsédante n’est pas moi. Ce silence terrifiant n’est pas moi. Ce sang infini n’est pas le mien. Ces pièces éclatées ne sont pas moi.

Je sais la réponse à toutes les questions. Je mérite d’exister, de m’aimer et de guérir. Ce corps est mien. Cette vie est mienne. Dans cet équilibre fragile induit par cette résistance jamais connue, le lieu cesse d’être lugubre. La lumière de la vérité l’éclaire et je comprends enfin. Je ne suis l’esclave de personne, le reflet de personne, l’ombre de personne. Je suis moi. Une personne qui a une existence et une volonté indépendantes. Cette évidence tombe sur moi un salut délivrant. Je me libère ainsi des griffes du monstre qui hurle, chassé par la glorieuse lumière de la victoire. Aujourd’hui, je choisi d’exister, moi, nul autre. Je décide d’être celle que je souhaite. Je décide de faire de qui je suis celle que je veux être.

Ecrit Par: Malek Jarboui  

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