Indelible (EN)

Chapter 17

"He was Armstrong on the Moon. That kiss being such a big step for his humanity."

- David Foenkinos

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The way he's standing in front of me doesn't bode well, no, he has the posture of a man with nothing left to lose, his fists are clenched and trembling, which means adrenalin is starting to take over and the pain won't reach him just yet. Ian stands up and positions himself in front of me, shielding my body with his.

- I've got two things to clear up with the lady.

Ian gives me a worried look, but stands ready to face his attacker.

The man moves closer and lifts his head before locking eyes with me. I realize who it is. The big guy from the bar with whom I had a fight. What I don't understand is his face, completely swollen with bruises and scabs of blood, he looks like a boxer who's just lost a match, almost unrecognizable, and it wasn't me who inflicted those blows on him, even if I wanted to.

- It's all your fault! My comrades are nowhere to be found, unreachable, and I'm sure you'd make a good bait! After all, it's all your fault. I don't even know if they're alive... so you're going to follow me, without any fuss!

A shiver runs down my back, and my body tenses up.

- I'm not going anywhere with you.

I lunge at him with my shoulder to get through the door, but he catches me with one hand and grips my wrist tightly.

- If you try to leave, I won't let you go unscathed.

My fist goes forward and crashes into his cheek, but he doesn't move at all, being far too heavy. He grabs me by the hair and slams me against the wall.

- I'm going to fucking break you, he rants, clenching his jaw.

Ian grabs the man's free wrist and twists it behind his back so he grunts like an animal but doesn't let go. I receive a knee blow to the stomach that sends a few stars into my eyes. My wound reopens and my blood pressure rises at the thought of having to get stitches again.

The restaurant's customers have taken refuge at the back of the room, avoiding our gaze, unable to escape through the front door.

It takes me a few seconds to regain my sight and my hearing from the blow that makes my ears ring. I catch a glimpse of Ian making a complicated grab for a man of this caliber, before giving him a light tap on the neck, preventing him from breathing for a few moments. Ian grabs my wrist and pulls us outside. He starts running in the now pouring rain, and I run alongside him without whining.

His hand is now in mine, our fingers intertwined, so that he doesn't let go of me, or rather, so that I don't let go of him.

We run out of the restaurant, leaving behind the angry man and the smell of the Asian food Ian had happily paid for when he took his order. The screams of the wounded colossus echo up to us, mingled with the sound of the rain pouring down on the city as our running footsteps unite.

We run, through the cold, dark night, turning left, then right, along narrow, winding paths I'm not familiar with. Ian seems to have a precise plan in mind, as if he knows every nook and cranny of this labyrinthine city. Short of breath, muscles aching, I struggle to keep up with Ian, whose athletic build seems to keep him from running out of breath.

The rain, falling from above, beats down on our faces, enveloping us in a veil of mist. My dazed mind sinks every second into this cerebral fog. His hand, still clasped in mine, becomes the only fragile link, my only bulwark, to keep me from fainting from the pain my stomach wound is gently assaulting.