First day
I am a complexed post-adolescent and a great lover. Unlike my girlfriends who have a simpler vision of love, I don’t put a lot of lightness into things. I end a weird relationship with someone even more complicated than me, who dumps me. To console me, a friend offers me a big business school evening in Lille.
We get there in electric battery mode, with a roommate friend, who has other friends. We all go to a bar for an aperitif. There he is, Alexandre, with his yellow sweater. He is magnetic, gets closer to me, explains to me that he is studying German, I who am in the middle of a period Good Bye Lenin! at want to live in Berlin. I’m looking to fix my ego hurt by the previous boy, but I don’t want to be with anyone. The aperitif finished, we then return to prepare for the evening. You have to be well dressed.
“I flirt with him to death, I just want to see if it works”
I go down the stairs of my friends’ house like a shopgirl, in my black dress with white polka dots. Below, he is there, very handsome in his shirt. I proudly proclaim that I’m going to the party with the most handsome, and I point him out. I love him to death, I just want to see if it works. I assume it, moreover, and claim it before him: “I turn you on, but I won’t kiss you. » The bitch. Arrived at the party, we are glued to each other, in a bubble. We drink, dance and twirl. He takes care of me.
We end up kissing like two very drunk students who have been hanging around for three hours. He has this serious, dark look. This traumatized and dented air. In the middle of the party, he stops and tells me about the very hard things he experienced as a child, that he never told anyone. I imagine it’s also linked to the fact that we don’t know each other, that we can tell each other anything, that it doesn’t matter, we won’t see each other again.
“It fills my feeling of being out of step, that’s it, someone finally understands me”
We escape from the evening and get lost in the streets of Lille. We go to our friends’ house, we sleep in the same bed. We don’t sleep together, and I’m proud of my shot, of this intense and reassuring evening, but without a future. On Sunday, I return to Paris. He goes back to his city. We still exchange our numbers. I don’t really care, I don’t want a relationship.
He calls me very quickly. He wants us to meet again. “OK, if you want to meet again, get over it, come to Paris tomorrow at 3 p.m. » He comes, and we never leave each other. We fall madly in love with each other. I have the impression of having met the man of my life, of experiencing total evidence, that we are programmed to be together. This meeting appeases our anger. I am no longer alone in the world. It fills my feeling of being out of step, that’s it, someone finally understands me. Before him, there was nothing. It opens the field of possibilities. Our couple becomes a bubble that allows us to face the rest of the world.
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