She could pretend that she hasn’t been waiting for him. That she has been staying up in order to make further preparations for the PhD she’s been awarded, come next semester. Too many factors speak against it, though. How she has been taking leave from university the past 9 months, since she finished her Master’s. How the book currently lying open before her is a worn copy of Fleurs du Mal rather than the works of Michel Lentz, safely stored away in her office at CNL. And a lie is one issue, of course - a lie so poorly concealed that one must be blind not to recognise its nature another, entirely. Jean Louis should be aware of this already; it isn’t necessary for her to mirror the observation, because he is reflecting it. As is
( ... )
He could have written her, perhaps, and presented her with a lie. A cover-up. It's a trick he hasn't practised yet. In general, Jean Louis tries to lie as little as possible - not because of any moral hangups, but because a lie is also another risk of exposure. Sometimes, lying is necessary. Their marriage is the greatest proof of that, isn't it? In this case, however, it's her responsibility as well; to not involve herself in things that don't concern her
( ... )
If she had believed the possibility of him acknowledging her attempts inexistent, she would have refrained from asking. When one is familiar with the answer, the question becomes redundant in comparison to the conclusion which might have been drawn instead. Even so, he refuses to accept the responsibility and she could have expected it. Did expect it, statistics taken into account. And seeing how her implicit inquiry was ignored, she shall respond to his choice of subject with one of her own
( ... )
Her dress rustles as she turns towards him, her question hanging in the air between them uselessly. Empty words, almost completely unrelated to the context. The present, the conflict he can feel in the air between them; unspoken for now, but looking at her, at her impassive expression and her unrelenting stance, it won’t remain so. She won’t leave it be this time. Then it’s up to him, isn’t it, to close it down. Before it grows unnecessarily. He doesn’t want this discussion, not tonight and - he realises, somewhat belatedly - preferably not ever
( ... )
2nd of April, 2009unreadabilityMarch 9 2012, 20:01:16 UTC
The day before, she’d stopped in the doorway. Before leaving. Today, she finds herself framed in the same manner, the doorway different and her intentions matching the dissimilarities. Watching him wordlessly, the pace at which his eyes move across the page, she doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge her presence. His impact has had its effects already and the decision that has come of it -- is of her own making. Thus she shall also carry it out, bear its consequences regardless of his reaction
( ... )
It’s taken him the better part of the day to realise it, to understand that she hasn’t left. He’s been home the entire time, waiting for the atmosphere to... diminish. To lose that valuable feel of togetherness, the sense of companionship that’s been so unfamiliar to him before their marriage. Before moving in with her. But this change hasn’t occurred. Her car is still in the drive-way and the living room has remained locked, barred for entrance and exit alike. He hasn’t tried to disturb her - he’s been busy, after all, convincing his mind that yesterday actually happened. That he hit her, completely unintentionally, out of control and out of order. It still hasn’t quite sunken in yet. Probably because he doesn’t want it to
( ... )
The last words she spoke to him formed a definite conclusion on her involvement. In all aspects of his life. Emphasised only by what followed next. Its physical proof has been drowned in cosmetics, for now - powders, mascara, gloss and shine. Tonight she won’t remove it, like she usually does before going to bed. It shall have to remain subtext, saved for a lecture which hasn’t been derailed. One that won’t be interrupted
( ... )
He looks at her. Considers her indirect question only briefly, superficially. It’s a request like any other because they aren’t fond of disturbing each other’s daily routines, as rarely as it happens. Usually, they give each other space. However, she’s erecting a barrier of normalcy between them now that he can’t seem to look beyond. Instead of emphasising domesticity like her sentence would have done before (he hit her), it turns the atmosphere between them... foreign. Distanced. By the absurdity of it
( ... )
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