THE ALGORITHM OF THE FORBIDDEN HEART

Chapitre 13

I heard footsteps. I quickly closed the computer and put it back in its place, sliding it under her hand as if I had never touched it.

I grabbed my phone, the lock screen lighting up, and pretended to be intensely consulting it. My face was frozen. I had the truth, but the facade had to hold.

The door opened. Carla returned.

"I was here. I waited," I said, my voice calm, my heart torn.

Carla came back, supported by the intern. Her face was even paler, the brief examination having exhausted her. The intern helped her back into the hospital bed, encouraging her to rest.

"Thank you, doctor," Carla said, her voice barely audible.

The intern left, leaving me alone with her, with the weight of the freshly read manuscript between us.

Carla settled back onto her bed, struggling to pull herself up with her uninjured arm. Her movements were slow, tired.

I knew she was struggling. My instinct, amplified by the reading of the horror she had endured, was to be there, immediately.

I went to help her, gently approaching the bed to lift her pillow or help her lie down more comfortably.

But she reacted instantly.

She pushed me away again—a small movement of the elbow, a reflex of withdrawal, as if contact with me was a burn.

"No. I can do it," she whispered, her voice cold and definitive. She used her bandaged hands carefully, preferring the manageable pain of movement to the intrusion of my help.

I stopped. It was the wall. The wall she had erected in the pool, the wall she had reinforced by writing her fears, the wall that said: "Don't touch me, I no longer choose submission."

"Okay," I said, withdrawing my hands and stepping back slightly. I again took a seat on the chair I had pulled up. "Then do it. But I'm staying."

I watched her settle in, feeling helpless and torn. I had just read the story of how her body had been broken. And my first protective gesture had been interpreted as a threat.

I will never force her again. The fight will be psychological. I will be here until her heart tells her that my presence is safety, not constraint.

After lying down, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, she said to me: "Are you going to stay all night?"

I replied to her: "As long as the hospital allows me. You have two days of observation. I will be your sentinel."

The night of surveillance at the hospital was silent. I had watched, and Carla had slept a restless but secured sleep by the presence of her guardian. Tuesday morning arrived.

The night had been a success. Carla hadn't spoken to me again, but she hadn't withdrawn her hand either, even after I got up to stretch. The first stone of trust was built. It was fragile, rudimentary, but it was there.

The next day, i did not have class. I spent the morning in the room, working on my tablet while she underwent light tests. I brought her water, which I gently forced her to drink, and broth that the hospital served her. She took them without protesting, the armistice still in effect.

Around 2 p.m., the hospital discharged her. Dr. Scott had taken me aside to tell me that she was stable, but that she absolutely needed to be supervised at home. The idea of leaving her alone was unthinkable after reading the manuscript.

I drove her back to her apartment. The car ride was silent, but this time, it was not a hostile silence. It was a silence of coexistence.

Arriving at her door, I sensed her reluctance. She had found her sanctuary again and the fear of my intrusion was back. I remained in the background, awaiting her signal.