Our fallen souls [EN] (High Enough) : VOLUME 1

27 - Joséphine

"Better than hitting people."

I drop this remark aloud, hoping to break the wall of silence that has built up between us.

Blake sends me a sharp look, but quickly resumes his activity.

I sit down on a bench, almost opposite him. From this position, I can make out his entire face. He's withdrawn, full of anger, but I can't detect a hint of sadness. I try to gather my courage and, without thinking, I announce, "I heard about your father."

He stops briefly, but doesn't look at me. He stares straight ahead, refusing to show his emotions.

"What's it to you? You've come to give me your bloody condolences?" he retorts sarcastically, before resuming his strike on the bag.

I stare at him for a moment. "Nah, he was just being a jerk. That would be hypocritical of me."

My words catch him off guard, and he seems unsettled by my honesty. "Because you're not with your ex, hypocrite?" he snaps, continuing to hit the bag harder and harder.

"Are you spying on me?"

"I'm observing," he corrects casually.

I decide to take my courage in both hands.

"How did he die?"

He suddenly stops, seeming to understand the ulterior motive behind my question. "Do you think I could do it?" he asks, looking disappointed.

"I don't know, Blake. You have so much hatred for him, I mean... you had so much hatred that..." I stammer, searching for my words.

"Never! Never, you hear me, never, could I have killed him, but I wouldn't have hesitated to put a bullet in him myself if he'd been hitting my brother or even his whore of a wife. Even for you, I'd have killed him!" he swears, coming towards me. "But I'd never have killed him if it was me he was hurting. I'd have let him finish the job!"

The harshness of his words makes me sit up on the bench, sticking to the wall as if to protect myself. Seeing my reaction, he pulled away from me, grabbed his water bottle from the bench opposite and looked away. "So it was a suicide attempt?" I managed to articulate, trying to understand the situation.

"What's it to you?"

"So it was," I conclude to myself.

I look at him with pity, wondering what could have caused him to have such thoughts.

"In fact, to be honest with you, Joséphine, I always see him," he confesses, gradually moving closer to me. "I see it every day, in my dreams, in hallucinations. I've gone completely mad, so I'd advise you never to speak to me again."

These words make my blood run cold, but I hold my head high and stare into his eyes.

"You're not crazy. This is your way of healing. I don't care if you're crazy or something else. Honestly, find something else to make me scared of you," I tell him with determination.

"You're already afraid of me," he asserts, coming even closer. I recoil slightly, which makes him smile.

"You see," he adds victoriously.

"Simple reflex."

He stands up, never taking his eyes off me.

"Why are you spying on me? How do you know Joey was here, in my house? And why are you spreading rumors like that? Why do you care?"

He stops abruptly, looking up at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, then suddenly breaks into a smile. "That's what a best friend is," he says in an almost amused tone.