About Time by Simona Sparaco Read Free Book Online Page A

apprehensive, suspicious tone of his, if I’m sure I’m feeling all right, I realize I’m completely indifferent. Let him fuck her, I don’t care. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if something was really wrong?” He comes even closer, as if he’s about to rugby-tackle me, I think he’s asking me to confirm his suspicions.
    “Of course I’d tell you, I’m much better now. What about you, though?” I give him a sidelong glance. “What’s the matter? You look tired. I imagine you can’t wait to get back to the hotel, can you?”
    He can’t sustain my gaze any more, he doesn’t have the balls. But I don’t say anything more.
    Gaëlle is more irritable than ever. “Well? Are we going?”
    In this final lightning ride, all I have time to do is ruin the rest of the night for her. “Gaëlle, I’m tired. I hope you don’t mind if we see you home, then take the car.”
    “Svevo, what’s got into you tonight?”
    I know her, she’s on the verge of a scene.
    “I’m sorry, I have a bad headache.”
    This certainly wasn’t how she’d imagined our farewell. She was expecting to complain of a headache when we got to the door of my room, and to say something like, “Don’t worry, it’s all right, I’ll call a taxi.” Instead of which, I’m saying loud and clear that I don’t want her tonight. She wasn’t expecting anything as outrageous as that.
    “Svevo, I swear I don’t understand you! Do you want to take me home? Do you want my car? What is it you want?”
    She’s making an effort to keep calm.
    “I’ve just explained, I’m very tired and I’d like to sleep alone. Let’s not make a big song and dance about it, we’ll see you home and for the sake of convenience we’ll keep the car. Tomorrow morning I’ll come and pick you up as soon as I’m awake.”
    She doesn’t reply. I know her, she’s angry and she feels humiliated by the thoughtless way I’m treating her. Even supposing she did decide to come back to our hotel, I think I’ve taken away any desire she may have had to sleep with another man. What was that ridiculous business with the room numbers? I’d like to see you knock at his door now, Gaëlle, in the mood you’re in. When a woman like her is rejected, she can’t just shrug it off straight away. I’m not exactly consoled by this, but it was all I could do. When we pull up outside her building, her dismayed expression as she watches us drive away and the image of Federico angrily pressing his foot on the accelerator have a liberating effect on me, and for a moment all my anguish seems to fade.
    Once I’m alone in my room, though, it comes back, more insistent than ever, and won’t leave me in peace. I take off my shirt and shoes, then collapse on the bed still wearing my jeans. I try to let my head sink into the pillow, but now that there are no more voices and noises around me, the thoughts come rushing into my mind. All I can do is start counting again: those five words I still have a little trust in.
    One, two—
    I’m interrupted by a loud knock at the door that makes me jump. Then another one, and yet another, like a violent hammering on my temples.
    “Svevo, it’s Federico!”
    What does he want at this hour of the night? I don’t have time for belated confessions or requests for forgiveness, I only want to try and relax.
    “What’s the matter, Federico?”
    The door is flung open and daylight floods the room. 
    Federico is standing there in front of me, washed and dressed and rested. Once again he stares at me, he wasn’t expecting to find me like this, a soaking wet rag drenched in tiredness.
    “I’ve been knocking at your door for ages,” he says. “I was about to call the bellboy. I came to tell you we’re ready to go to lunch.”
    It’s day. The light proves it.
    I’m mad. The light proves it.

5
    T WO NIGHTMARISH DAYS have passed. Paris, my Paris, the most beautiful city in the world, with all its elegant buildings, suffocated me. All I ever did