Hi guys,

This new chapter was sponsored by random motivation brought by reviews. Welcome DraconicDuelist, and thanks a lot for your feedback that reminded me I wanted to publish xD

Hope you'll enjoy it. In next chapter, she'll finally interact with other humans! I know, it's amazing, right?

With the morning's light I think to myself that I didn't need to worry. The cuts that seemed so deep and so many yesterday are already almost erased. I'm surprised, but it's good. I guess I was just really tired… I still hurry up to get dressed before the arrival of my… progenitor, in order to make sure she won't see anything. The days goes by smoothly, as well as the following weeks, although I cut again pretty often. But thanks to that I'm able to hold on.

In contrast, my research on how the hell I resurrected are not exactly progressing. Even if the adults around me are starting to see me as an extremely mature and early child, my freedom of movement is almost non-existent. No one is ready to see me use the computer, or reading a book about Buddhism.

When comes the moment to send me to school, I survive one day, then refuse to go there ever again. That's how I start learning with a private tutor, paid by my parents. I hide of course the extent of my knowledge, but not fully. I develop my English vocabulary and start learning Spanish, that I never had learn but always wanted to. My tutor is instructed to go towards the fields that seem to attract me. My body learns how to write, and I'm truly release to be able to create poems again, that I burn inevitably so that no one can see them, especially since I'm writing in French, a language that I'm not supposed to know.

The scars are multiplying on my body like the days and nights of my second life. The pain, faithful companion, gets less sharp, stifled by the routine even it doesn't really get weaker. Thinking that dying will not necessary kill me keeps enforcing my feeling of suffocation. I'm imprisoned in my own head, imprisoned in my memories.

A new pain quickly adds up to those of the memories thousand times rehashed: I miss Quentin. While I grow up alone, I often think of him. Guiltiness, love, regrets, pain caused by the rejection. With him, it was already hard to hold on. And now, only the silence remains. I'm insensitive to everything but pain. I lost my feelings again, and to be honest it's a relief. However, when I think of him, the void in me almost takes its shape, the shape of our happy memories. Sometimes I'd almost rather think of Jérémie. After finding the password of the computer I spend countless hours googling his name, the one of old acquaintances, hungry for the smallest piece of information. I don't find much, except his parents' landline number, cause he's kinda discrete. I don't remember his phone number, which saves me long hours of torturing myself to know whether I should call him or not, just to hear his voice again. I'm tempted of course to try and call at his parents'. But I never yield to the temptation and I know it's better for both of us if I never try to get back in touch.

Despite everything, I live moments that I have to accept as bearable, in absence of happiness. I started climbing pretty soon, and I regularly practice in a sports hall on the other side of the city. I like to focus on the wall, and to be up high. I almost feel more at ease when I'm not on the ground. That's also the only moment when I frequent other human beings than Mrs Winston, my tutor and my parents. I don't bond with anyone, and I'm the youngest of the course, but I think it still does me some good, somehow. I exploit my apparent age to sneak into building sites, abandoned houses or just climb buildings. I get caught once or twice, because I take more risks than I would have with my original appearance, but I can allow myself that, as I just need to cry a bit and look lost to be left in peace. I'm pretty young when I found a way to leave my parents' home without them noticing, with the help of a rope and a self-locking handle that I stole from climbing. I would have preferred buying them, but I don't have money. So I just consider it as borrowing until I have enough money to buy it myself. I also learn how to ski when my parents understand that I like sport and bring me with them in Austria. Sport… On one hand I like physical exhaustion, even stronger in by child's body, and on the other hand I dream of forging by body, no matter how long I'll stay in it, to control it, climb, fly… Dream of a perfect control on my movements, of flexibility and harmony in my gestures, far away from the chaos of my mind.

xx

« Survivre n'est pas vivre, tu ne dois pas te contenter d'exister » Pourquoi il est pas content de ça déjà ? Je croyais qu'il voulait pas que je meure, tout ça. Je fais ce que je peux. Il me faut du temps… Ou bien peut-être qu'il a raison, et que ça sert à rien. Et si je ne peux pas vivre, je peux tout aussi bien mourir. « Je tiens à toi » Pourquoi ? Je ne lui apporte rien… Et je sais pourtant qu'il m'est cher. Pourquoi je dois encore m'attacher aux gens ? Pourquoi à chaque fois je me fais avoir ?

"Surviving is not living, you shouldn't just exist". Why isn't he happy with that again? I thought he didn't want me to die, and stuff. I'm doing what I can. I need time… Or maybe he's right and it's useless. And if I can't live, I can as well die. "I care about you". Why? I don't bring him anything… And yet I know he's precious to me. Why do I have to attach myself again to people? Why do I get caught every time?

-Extract from one of Aurore Berger's notebooks, four months before her death-

Thanks for reading and hopefully see you soon for the next chapter!

(if I got reviews I'm more likely to remember I have to post xD)

Kuro