There is a time when we stop fighting.
Not because we're giving up.
Not because we accept.
Just because we're exhausted.
I think that's where I was.
Weeks passed. The scandal refused to die. Every time he seemed to be out of breath, a new article appeared. A new video. A new controversy. A new person decided to explain my life for me.
I wasn't reading the comments anymore.
At least that's what I was talking about.
Actually, I was reading them all. The insults. The mockery. Threats. Moral lessons. I swallowed them like a daily poison. Part of me was still hoping to find a different message. A message that can make others disappear.
It never happened.
Mickael kept calling me.
Sometimes.
To write to me.
Sometimes.
Always the same sentences. Always the same promises. Always the same excuses.
And I kept waiting.
Like an idiot.
Like a lover.
Like a woman who didn't have much to hold on to.
Maybe that was the most humiliating.
Not the scandal.
Not the networks.
Not the reporters.
Knowing that, despite everything, I still loved him.
One night, after several days without news of him, I finally received a message.
Three lines.
Three poor lines.
"I'm sorry.
The situation is complicated.
Take care of yourself. »
I read these words several times.
Then I rested the phone.
And I started laughing.
A dry laugh.
Tired.
Almost hysterical.
Because I suddenly understood something.
I won a Music Victory. I sold thousands of albums. I was invited on TV sets. Some strangers knew my texts by heart. And yet, all my existence now seemed suspended from three lines sent by a man.
That idea disgusted me.
From him.
About me.
Everything.
So I took my jacket.
My keys.
And I went out.
The night was cold. The sky was starless. I walked without thinking. Like we're running from a fire. Like we're running from a burning house.
After a while, I found myself on the banks of the Rhone.
I couldn't even say how long I'd been walking.
The river advanced into the darkness.
Indifferent.
Silent.
Eternal.
I leaned against a railing.
And I looked at the water.
Long time.
A long time.
Then a thought came.
Just.
Of course.
Like she's waiting for me already.
"What if you jump? »
Not a crisis.
Not a scream.
Not an impulse.
It's a quiet idea.
Almost reasonable.
I had no family. No more landmarks. No more certainty. I spent my days hating myself. My nights to destroy me.
Why continue?
The river seemed to offer a simple answer.
I looked at the black water.
Then I thought of Mickael.
Of course.
Always Mickael.
And that question came back.
Again.
Always.
Like an obsession.
"Does he love me? »
I hated that question. Because when I was thirty years old, after everything I'd been through, she seemed ridiculous to me.
And yet, she was there.
In the center of everything.
Then I thought back to Milenca. To her stories. To Kamino. To the curse. Everything I've ever refused to take seriously.
Then an idea passed through my mind.
A terrible idea.
If Kamino really existed...
Then why was Mickael still here?
Why didn't anything happen to him?
Why did our story look like a mere sentimental catastrophe?
I looked at the water.
And, for the first time, I formulated the thought to the end.
Maybe Milenca was wrong.
Maybe Kamino didn't exist.
Maybe this whole story was just a series of human tragedies.
Maybe Mickael really loved me.
My heart's tight.
Because immediately another thought arises.
The opposite thought.
The thought I've been running away for weeks.
Maybe Kamino existed.
Maybe Milenca was right.
Maybe the curse was real.
And if nothing had happened to Mickael...
Then maybe he didn't love me.
I felt my legs trembling.
This idea hurt me more than all the insults.
Worse than the scandal.
Worse than loneliness.
Because she was destroying the only thing I had left.
Hope.
I closed my eyes.
And, for the first time since Milenca died, I really cried.
Not a few tears.
Not a discreet sob.
I'm going down.
Like a child.
Like the little girl who had lost her mother.
Like the young woman who had just lost her grandmother.
Like someone who didn't know where to find the truth.
The river continued its course.
Impossible.
And I, by the water, realized that I no longer knew what was scaring me.
That Kamino exists.
Or that Mickael doesn't like me.