Love under the shadow of power/ Kylian Mbappé

chapter7:deep conversation

I try to calm down after the intense conversation with Rebecca, seeking to regain a clear head. The words we exchanged echo in my mind, holding me captive. Mamadou watches me with a concerned look. His eyes are gentle, but the question he asks cuts deep.

"Don't you think you might have overreacted? Maybe you were too harsh with her?" he asks.

His question hits me like a needle prick. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and search for words to get my emotions under control. "I know, maybe I was too harsh," I begin, my voice trembling slightly with tension. "But I just can't accept that someone would hurt my mom. She's always stood by me, protected me when my father wanted to hit me. She sacrificed so much for me. I will always stand by her, no matter the cost."

Mamadou nods slowly, as if he understands my emotions but is also trying to offer me a different perspective. "It's understandable that you're strongly on her side," he says calmly. "But maybe it would be better if you tried to stay calmer. You need to consider that people sometimes make mistakes, and perhaps your reaction wasn't the best one."

"It's just hard to stay calm when so much is at stake," I reply, my voice laced with frustration. "Right now, after trying to recover from the intense conversation with Rebecca, I feel like I'm in a constant battle to defend my mom. It feels like every word against her is an attack on me, on everything I believe is right."

Mamadou nods in understanding. "I get it. But remember, your strength and commitment will only truly benefit you if you use them wisely. If you react emotionally in tense moments, you might end up making things worse rather than resolving them."

My phone rings suddenly. When I see the name on the screen, my heart races. It's my father. The surprise of hearing from him after all the conversations with Rebecca makes me hesitate before answering.

"Hello, Dad?" I try to keep my voice neutral, though I can barely hide the uncertainty. Didn't Rebecca tell you why I called you?

His response comes sharply and bluntly, as if he has been waiting for this moment. "She is your aunt! Stop calling her by her first name and show her the respect she deserves!" His voice grows louder, and I can feel the fiery anger in his words.

My heart pounds wildly. "Dad, why should I call her 'Aunt'? She's only a year older than I am." My words are a desperate attempt to find a rational stance, but the rift between us seems insurmountable.

"She is my wife," comes his response like a hammer blow. "And I'm disappointed in you. If I were to die, I would expect you to take care of my small family. Instead, you insult her!"

His accusations hit me hard and make my voice quiver. "Your children with this woman are none of my concern! You can dream all you want that I'll take care of them." My words are tinged with frustration and a sense of injustice.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" His anger is unmistakable, and I can feel the cutting sharpness of his voice. "Come home, and we'll see what happens to you!"

"I have so many siblings who could take care of you and your family," I say, my disappointment and frustration clearly audible. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Why are you so concerned about this woman? Have you ever truly cared about my mom?"

His reply is cold and unfeeling. "Your mother is healthy and has grown children who can take care of her. And Rebecca? What does she have? Her only son is just a year old. I expect you to be more careful with your words in the future."

"You know I want to travel once I'm done with my studies. I want to take time for myself and rebuild my mental strength." My voice becomes pleading, a desperate plea for understanding.

"What nonsense," he retorts dismissively. "Why are you wasting your time with such thoughts?"

His cold disappointment hits me like a heavy blow. "Fine," he says finally, "we'll talk about it when the time comes. And I'll sort things out with your mom."

With one last sharp tone, he ends the call. The phone feels heavy in my hand, as if it absorbs the full weight of his words. I sink to the floor, tears welling up in my eyes. The coldness and unfairness of his words overwhelm me, and I cry, trapped in a cage of disappointment and despair...

Mamadou sits beside me, his presence comforting, though it cannot fully fill the void and pain.

He looks at me thoughtfully and then says, "I have good news."

He hands me a chocolate bar from his car and continues, "Laurin and Silvestre are going to make their relationship public tomorrow."

Shocked and simultaneously relieved, I wonder what this means. "Really? What does that imply?" My voice is filled with curiosity and a hint of relief.

Mamadou nods. "Yes, it seems they've decided to make their relationship official. It's a significant step for both of them. Maybe it's a sign that things can change, even if it's hard to see right now.

Mamadou asks me with a hint of confusion in her voice, "Aren't you happy?"

I'm surprised for a moment and then answer honestly, "No."

His facial expression changed, a wide grin spreading across his lips. "Oh, I knew it! You like my cousin and are therefore jealous of their relationship?"

His comment caught me off guard. I look at him and a hearty laugh breaks out of me. "Do you seriously think your cousin would be my type?"

His grin disappears and is replaced by a serious, quickly intense expression. He slowly leans closer to me, his presence becoming more and more intense. "And what about me?" Am I your type?"

His voice is deep and rough, permeated with an intensity that immediately captivates me. His eyes fixate on me constantly, as if they wanted to probe my soul. Suddenly he grabs my wrist with a tight, painful force. The sudden contact surprises me and my heart beats faster.

He pulls me closer to him with an unbreakable determination, our bodies now very close to each other, our breaths mingle, and I feel the warmth and tension between us. The intense look into his eyes makes my heart beat faster. His other hand gently strokes my face, his touch simultaneously tender and assertive. Suddenly he grabs my breast firmly. I get scared and try to push him away, but with his strength he pulls me again to him and his fingertips glide under my bra, as if trying to capture every of my reaction to his question...