What Sleeps – Extrait 15
both.” “That doesn’t help.” “I’m not trying to help.” He smiled, a faint, gentle curve. “I’m just here.” “That’s not enough.” “It’s all I have.” She watched him, the brush moving, the blue twisting, melting, a dark, thick shadow pressing against the pale cloth. And the ache twisted, sharp, a slow, hollow knot beneath her chest. “Do you ever think about leaving?” she whispered. “Leaving what?” “Here. This place. This city. Everything.” “Sometimes.” His voice was calm, quiet. “But everywhere is just somewhere else. The shadows follow.” “So why stay?” “Because here, I know the shadows. I know how they move. How they twist. How they never really leave.” His fingers brushed against the canvas, a faint, trembling touch, the blue spreading, a dark, thick stain. “And because here, you come. And you watch. And you stand there, and you talk to me, even when you don’t say anything.” Her breath caught, a faint, thin thread, the ache pressing, sharp, a slow, steady pulse. “I don’t know why I come here.” “I do.” He turned, his eyes catching hers, dark, sharp, the pale light a faint, silver gleam. “Because you’re afraid. And you don’t want to be alone.” “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, her voice cracking, a faint, thin thread. “But I am.” “No, you’re not.” His fingers brushed against hers, a faint, warm touch, stained blue, soft, careful. “Not here.” She didn’t pull away. Didn’t move. Just stood there, the warmth pressing against her fingers, the ache a slow, sharp twist beneath her ribs. “What if I can’t…” Her voice caught, tangled. “What if I can’t… let it go?” “Then you hold it.” His voice was a quiet, gentle hum. “Until it lets go of you.” “I don’t think it ever will.” “Maybe not.” His fingers pressed, warm, a faint, trembling touch. “But maybe it doesn’t have to.” She leaned against the wall, her breath a slow, faint mist, her eyes drifting across the room, the shadows twisting, the pale light spilling across the floor. “I saw something,” she whispered, her voice a faint, thin thread. “I know.” “Something I shouldn’t have seen.” “Maybe you were meant to see it.” “I don’t want to be meant for anything.” “Maybe that’s why you are.” Her fingers tightened around his, the warmth a soft, slow pulse, the ache pressing, twisting, but a little less. Just a little. “Will you keep painting?” she whispered. “I always do.” “Even when it’s just shadows?” “Especially then.” The rain pressed against the window, a faint, steady whisper. The blue twisted, melted, a dark, thick shadow bleeding against the canvas. And for a moment, she closed her eyes, her fingers warm against his, the ache a little softer, the cold a little farther away. “Will you stay?” he whispered, his voice a faint, quiet breath. “Yes.” The word slipped out, soft, thin. “I’ll stay.” Alexei smiled, a faint, gentle curve, his fingers warm against hers. “Good.” And then his hand slipped away, the brush pressing, the blue twisting, a faint, trembling arc against the pale cloth. But she didn’t leave. She leaned against the wall, the ache a slow, steady pulse, her eyes watching the shadows bleed, melt, twist. And for a moment, she was just there. Just quiet. Just breathing. Just almost… safe. Chapter 12: The Call That Comes Too Late Kalina doesn’t sleep. Not really. Not for more than a few minutes at a time. The ache is still there, a slow, twisting knot beneath her ribs. The cold won’t leave. The shadows won’t leave. Not even Alexei’s warmth can reach her now. She’s home. The window is closed. The curtains are drawn. But she’s not safe. Not even close. Her phone is on the table, a pale glow in the darkness, the screen faint, silent. No messages. No calls. Nothing but the cold blue light pressing against the dark. She stares at it. Hates it. Hates the silence. Hates the quiet. Hates the way her name is written, twisted, crumpled,
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đź”– Labels : What Sleeps, What Sleeps – Extrait 15
