"Alors, ça y est? C'est officiel? "

[So, that's it? It's official now?]

"Oui, je ne suis plus espion."

[Yes, I am no longer a spy.]

"Lucien, je suis désolée mais c'est trop tard. Je suis partie et je ne reviendrai pas. J'ai attendu des mois et des années, c'en est trop. Et tu sais que ça fait des mois maintenant que je suis avec quelqu'un d'autre."

[Lucien, I am sorry but it's too late. I have left and I won't come back. I've waited for months and years, it was too much. And you know that I've been seeing someone else for months after I made things clear with you.]

"S'il te plaît, reviens. Je t'en prie et je t'en supplie, reviens. Plus rien ne peut s'interposer entre nous, je ne peux que passer du temps avec toi."[Please, come back. I beg of you, come back. Nothing can get in the way, between us, I can but spend time and take care of you.]

"Non, Lucien, c'est trop tard. Je suis désolée, quand je t'ai rencontré, je pensais pouvoir passer le restant de mes jours avec toi... Mais il a fallu que tu me caches la vérité, que tu es un espion..."[No, Lucien, it's too late now. I am sorry, when I met you, I thought I would spend the rest of my days with you... But you hid the truth from me, the fact you were a spy...]

"S'il te plaît, donne-moi une nouvelle chance, je ne peux pas vivre sans toi... Et à mon âge..."[Please, give me a new chance, I can't live without you... And at my age...]

"Non, désolée, bonne chance à toi."

[No, sorry, good luck to you.]

"Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep..."

The beeping sound of the hung up phone on the other end of the line resonated and pulsated in Lucien's head. His throat hurt now. He needed to cry. He hung up the phone, looking at his hand doing the gesture, in slow motion, as if the hanging up was the break up. He got up and put both his hands flat on the desk. He lowered his head. All he could hear was his breath in the empty flat. He listened to himself breathe, feeling the rage and despair grow inside him until...

"POURQUOI? MERDE! "

[WHY? FUCK!]

He put his hand on the desk and swept across it violently. The phone flew and crashed on the wall, papers flew in the room, the lamp was also sent flying.

"POURQUOI JE DOIS TOUJOURS TOUT FOUTRE EN L'AIR?!"[WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE TO FUCK THINGS UP?!]

He punched the desk violently with his right fist while sobbing heavily. He undid his tie and threw it away. He punched the desk again...

" Pourquoi? "

[Why?]

He punched again, the wood cracked.

" POURQUOIII?! "[WHYYY?!]

This time his fist went through the wood. He retrieved his bloodied fist and shouted in rage while pacing the room like a rabied dog. He looked around him. He wanted to punch, kick, destroy, kill, shred everything to pieces. He went to the bedroom and all he could see was the wardrobe still open and all her clothes gone, leaving half of it empty. Empty, like his heart now.

He looked at his nightstand.

Si j'ouvre ce tiroir, Dieu sait de quoi je serai capable...[If I open that drawer, God knows what I'm capable of doing...]

Et puis merde![And fuck it!]

He went to the drawer and opened it. It was empty but it contained a secret compartment. He opened it and took his butterfly knife. He went to the bathroom, emptied a bottle of ethanol of his hand and bandaged it quickly and roughly. He went back to the living room, took his tie off the ground, tied it around his neck quickly. He moved to the door, grabbed his vest and a hat off the coat rack and slammed the door behind him.

He walked resolutely.

Je vais te trouver et te faire la peau.[I will find you and I will end you.]

He knew who she was now spending her days and nights with. She had left a couple weeks ago but he could not accept it. So he had been living the past weeks in denial. He would sleep on his side of the bed, thinking that when he opened his eyes the next day, she would be lying next to him. He even didn't touch the wardrobe. He didn't throw away any of the pictures and decorations that she had put in their flat.

He knew where to find him, the new man. He started picturing himself torturing him in all sorts of manners. He was trembling with anticipation. He was seeing nothing but him cooling his heart and rage down as he would make that man suffer. Now that he thought about it, he did not even need the knife... No, he did not want the knife. He would do it with his bare hands. Yes, his bare hands...

He clenched his fists in his pockets. And suddenly he felt the pain in his right hand. He stopped walking and opened wide eyes.

Merde, ça brûle!

[Shit, it burns!]

The more he realised that he had injured himself quite severely, the more painful his hand was becoming.

Merde, merde, merde!

He looked around him. No one was paying attention to him. He took his right hand slightly out of his pocket. The bandage had turned red.

Merde, je ne peux pas rester dans cet état. Je dois rentrer et soigner ma main...

[Shit, I can't stay like this, I must go back home and take care of my hand...]

He turned on his heels and started walking back. The pain was making him sweat. He looked around him. It was a beatiful day but he could not enjoy it. He bit his lip to contain the pain and walked faster, hoping to get back home as fast as possib-

"Oi, watch where you're goin' mate! Shoving people like that, I swear...!"

Lucien froze.

-- Author's note --

Aand thanks for reading! As always, please do leave a comment so that I know if you like the story, it makes a great difference for me!!

Cheers and stay tuned for chapter 3!