𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, joseph descamps

𝟎𝟎𝟓. through the skin of the orange

SHE SITS, surrounded by lively students engaged in joyful discussions and loud laughter. Yet, her face betrays a muted anxiety, her green eyes distractedly scanning her tray.

What she doesn't know is that Joseph, seated at a distant table with his friends, watches her discreetly. He has noticed for a while now that she is not like the other girls. She often keeps to herself, almost invisible.

Today, he glances at her out of the corner of his eye as she absentmindedly pokes at her food. He cannot pinpoint exactly what troubles her, but he observes her slender frame and hesitant gestures. A shiver of irritation runs down his spine. He doesn't understand why such a pretty girl seems so tormented.

When she suddenly stands up from the table, he leans slightly to follow her with his gaze. She heads towards the restroom, a tense expression on her face. Instinctively, Joseph senses that something is wrong. Without thinking, he stands up and silently slips behind her.

Heart pounding, Aimée enters the restroom. She heads to one of the stalls, hoping no one follows her. The confined air in the room seems to suffocate her further, adding to her inner distress. She leans against the stall door, her trembling hands battling against the tears threatening to escape.

Slowly, he approaches the sinks, his heart racing in his chest. Inside the stall, Aimée leans over the toilet, struggling against waves of nausea and despair that engulf her. Tears roll silently down her cheeks as she feels trapped in a destructive cycle she cannot stop.

He stops near the sinks, his eyes fixed on the closed stall door. "Hey," he murmurs gently, his voice echoing in the confined space.

Inside the stall, Aimée jumps. She straightens abruptly, surprise etching her pale face as she realizes someone has followed her. Her gaze meets Joseph's in the dimly lit mirror.

"What are you doing here ?" she asks in a choked voice, surprise mingling with a hint of irritation.

Joseph steps slowly towards the stall, standing right in front of the door. "I... I saw that you weren't okay," he replies sincerely, choosing his words carefully.

Aimée looks away, shaking her head slightly. "It's none of your business," she murmurs weakly, a glimmer of vulnerability breaking through her fragile defenses.

Joseph sighs softly. He knows he needs to be careful, not to overstep. Yet, he cannot just turn around and leave.

She lowers her gaze, unable to hold his look. "It's not what you think," she murmurs weakly, trying to defend herself without truly believing it.

He crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Aimée's tormented face. "You're making yourself sick, aren't you ?" he insists, not mincing his words.

She bites her lower lip, tears threatening to spill. She cannot believe he has uncovered her darkest secret. "I... I can't help it," she finally admits. "Don't tell anyone."

He nods, understanding how important it is for her to keep this conversation private.

At the same moment, she glances at his bandage, not daring to imagine the pain of losing an eye. She remembers the feel of his blood on her fingers, his cries of agony. She wishes she could ask him if he's okay, if the pain is still intense, but she remains stoic. There's nothing to say, after all. He wouldn't even care about me if it happened to me, she thinks.

He wants to speak again but she brushes past him without a word, as if she wants to avoid any further contact for the moment. He stands there, watching her back retreat, torn between the desire to follow her and the respect for her need for space.

Part of him wants to catch up to her, to tell her that she can count on him, even in difficult moments. But he knows he is supposed to hate her just as much as she hates him. He bites his lower lip.

As evening falls, Aimée exits the school, her shoulders slightly hunched under the weight of the day. The setting sun colors the sky with an orange glow, enveloping the campus in a soothing atmosphere. She is about to head home when, to her surprise, she sees Joseph approaching and walking alongside her.

She looks at him in astonishment, unsure of what he wants. He holds an orange in his hand, as if he has brought it just for her. She raises an eyebrow, speechless with surprise.

Joseph, seeming to sense her confusion, offers her the orange. "Here," he says simply, still with that cold voice that is uniquely his.

The redhead raises an eyebrow, looking at him with a mix of suspicion and confusion. Why is he acting this way ? Joseph, with his rebellious attitude and apparent indifference to others, is not the type to hand out oranges as if they were precious treasures. The situation is almost ironic.

She hesitates for a moment, then gently takes the orange in her hands. She turns it between her fingers, feeling the fresh citrus scent invade her senses. She looks up at Joseph again, a silent question in her eyes.

"Eat it," he adds coldly, almost insistently.

Aimée bites her lower lip, uncertain of what to do. She looks at him, unsure how to interpret this gesture. Is it compassion ? Pity ? Or something more complex and difficult to understand ? She looks away, feeling both overwhelmed and lost.

Finally, she peels the orange with hesitant movements, feeling the rough texture of the skin under her fingers. She slowly separates the juicy, sweet segments, carefully placing them in her mouth. The fresh juice bursts on her tongue, a sensation both familiar and comforting.

Joseph watches her discreetly, his heart pounding a little harder in his chest. He knows it's strange, perhaps even awkward, but he secretly hopes that this simple orange could mean more to her. That she might see in this gesture a silent message: eating is a form of care, a way to take care of oneself.

Aimée finishes the last segment of the orange, feeling a soothing warmth spread within her. She turns slightly to him. "Thank you," she murmurs softly. "But don't do that again."

He nods silently, accepting her wish without protest, feeling oddly satisfied to see her eat something, even if it's just an orange.

She looks away, focusing on the sidewalk ahead that stretches into the growing darkness of the evening.

They continue walking side by side, the silence enveloping their tense exchange. Each has their own thoughts to digest, their own feelings to untangle. For Aimée, it's a constant struggle between the desire to protect herself and the acceptance that maybe, just maybe, Joseph isn't just the image he projects.

The evening breeze blows gently, rustling the leaves of the trees along the street. Aimée suddenly feels exhausted, as if all the energy she had built up to get through the day leaves her in an instant. She stops for a moment, lightly massaging her temples.

He notices her gesture and stops too, turning slightly toward her. "Are you okay ?"

She nods absently, not wanting to give him too much access to her vulnerability. "Yeah, just a long day," she replies, trying to appear calm despite the fatigue weighing on her shoulders.

He looks at her closely, his brows slightly furrowed. He seems about to say something but hesitates instead. Instead, he lets out a slight sigh. "Okay," he murmurs simply.

They resume walking, and eventually, they reach the corner of the street where Aimée needs to turn to head home. She casts him one last look before turning on her heels and walking away into the night.

Joseph stands there a moment longer, watching her silhouette fade away. He has done what he can for today.