THE ALGORITHM OF THE FORBIDDEN HEART

Chapitre 11

Carla used the moment. She pushed gently against my chest. I understood it wasn't a flight, but a necessity. She made me sit up, and she repositioned herself in the corner of the sofa, leaning against the cushions, as if to create a new refuge.

She took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a terrible determination.

"I'm going to tell you the truth..."

I sat down next to her, letting her take the initiative. This was no longer the time for desire, but for absolute trust.

"Go ahead, Carla. I'm here," I said softly.

She started again, her voice immediately breaking under the weight of the truth. "It was... it was the day before my sixteenth birthday," she began.

She described the initial betrayal: the spiked drink, the older man who played the savior. She told me about the beginning of her kidnapping, the first moment her choice was taken from her. "He took me to a house. A house I had never seen."

My heart clenched. She described the terror of isolation. "Then, for two days, he said he was in love," she murmured, describing the manipulation phase. "He tried to be... nice."

Then the mask dropped.

"Then he became increasingly violent and impatient with disobedience." She described the gradual transformation of her tormentor into a sadistic jailer.

She paused, her eyes fixed on my lips.

"And especially... the contact. He was there. Everywhere. He touched me. He took my hand. He forced me not to push him away."

I felt rage rise in me at this psychological constraint.

"At night... at night, he... he took my body. He told me I was his. That I was worth nothing... His hands... His hands were everywhere. I couldn't say no. He... he did what he wanted. I couldn't do anything."

She broke down in sobs.

"If I refused to give myself to him, he would beat me so hard I couldn't breathe." She clenched her hands. "So... I preferred to give myself to him," she continued. "Forced and constrained, in tears, but it hurt less."

My heart broke a second time. She had developed a strategy of submission to minimize pain.

She fell silent, unable to continue. My gaze was lost. I saw the physical effort it cost her. She had revealed a part of the secret.

I reached out to touch her, to console her, but she continued, the truth forcing its way out in fragments.

"It wasn't just two days. It was a whole month..." She dropped the word, her eyes filling with tears.

"My parents... they paid the ransom after a month. I was so broken..."

I leaned toward her.

"I understand, Mio Angelo. I understand. It's over. You will never have to hurt yourself again to choose the lesser pain. Never."

My heart ached with physical pain. The truth, finally named, was more devastating than anything my analysis could have imagined. the "loss of sovereignty" she described was not a theory; it was a real nightmare, a foundational trauma.

I didn't utter a word of analysis, not a word of judgment, not a question about legal proceedings. My mind ignored all data. Only the need to protect her mattered.

I embraced her. This time, the embrace was not an order, not a constraint, not a passionate gesture. It was a total refuge. I enveloped her trembling body in mine, holding her tightly against my chest, my cheek against her hair. I wanted the warmth and solidity of my presence to cancel out the coldness and constraint of that memory.