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"When I hear the music, all my troubles just fade away/ When I hear the music, let it play, let it play",

"Let it Play" by Poison.

jueves, 12 de abril de 2012

"I don't want to be your friend"

Good evening again, my dear followers. Hace un mes que subí el "último" capítulo de FFR y hoy se me ha ocurrido, como ya dije que haría, traeros un relato independiente de la historia, en este caso escrito en inglés. Se trata de una hipotética situación entre Armand y Iuta y lo que será su tormentosa relación. Espero que os guste y (sobre todo) que entendáis el texto. ¡Un besito y gracias de nuevo por estar ahí! :)

He had stridden away without saying a word. Should I have held my tongue? Memories of the days gone by suddenly came to my mind. We have been playing with fire, especially me, acting like fools without thinking of the consequences. I was very confused, I had been since he came into my life, and his childish behaviour wasn’t helping me to make up my mind.

“I’m a person, you know? You don't have the right to treat me like shit!”

I lit a cigarette and took a seat at his kitchen table. Having a key to his house wasn’t fair since he hasn’t one to mine, and, of course, breaking into his house without permission was definitively blameworthy, but I couldn’t help myself. We needed to clear the situation, and waiting for him to come back home seemed to me the best way to achieve my goal.

But what was I gonna say to him? We had had sex a couple of times and it was great, but I wasn’t sure whether I had feelings for him or not. After all, he was a man and I was a lesbian. I liked to spend my free time with him once in a while, especially in bed, but did that mean that I liked him? He was nothing more than a French posh, a lawyer to whom my brother and his friend had directed all their anger, a mannered gentleman who had treated me like the Lady I’ve never been since the first time we met. The truth is that I didn’t deserve a person like him. Moreover, I’ve never asked for a person like him.

I heard the key in the door and a moment later the penetrating scent of the cigar led him to the kitchen. My heart started to beat at full speed. Would Armand kick me out of his house or would he show me some mercy?

“What are you doing here, Iuta?”, he inquired, irritation taking control of his voice. “By the way, I want my key back”.

He took out his coat and left it on the table without looking at me. I swallowed hard. This wasn’t gonna be easy at all.

“I don’t want things to end up like this”.

Alors tu m’aimes?”, he asked ironically. I hated when he talked to me in French ‘cause I didn’t understand shit. He knew it and that seemed to amuse him.

“It would be very kind of you to talk to me in a language I could understand, you know? My mother tongue is German, but I try to…”

“You have forgotten the German language, my Lady”, he interrupted me, emphasizing with disdain the word “Lady”. “That’s why you don’t use it anymore”.

“I was seven when my parents brought me here. Since then, I have always spoken English. Even with my family…”

“I don’t give a fuck about your linguistic problems, you know”, he interrupted me again, agitation growing stronger inside him. “The only thing I really care about right now is that I want you to get the fuck out of my house”, he added, shouting at me with all the insane fury he was capable of.

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend, Armand”, I replied, with weak voice, tears filling up my eyes.

A long silence between us followed those words. Armand’s eyes were fixed on mine, devouring with them my flesh and soul, making me feel as a vulgar peace of cake. I wanted to yell at him, I wanted to cry, I wanted to run away from him… But above all, I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck, with a desperate need.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Iuta”, he finally said, this time in a faked quite tone. I could tell he was trying to control himself, his French chivalry reminded him that I was a Lady and therefore he had to show me his respect.

I nodded once, feeling my heart breaking into small pieces.

“Very well. Then, farewell, monsieur”.

He didn’t answer. I didn’t care. I turned towards the door, Armand’s last words resonating in my mind with all their intensity: “I don’t want to be your friend, Iuta”.