Inspiré par Ananas-au-carré –

Within days, weeks, months, she'd forgotten his phone number, his birth date – forgotten everything he'd ever meant to her. She let go of the horizon, remembered who she was, how strong she was, how amazing she was, how fucking complete she was.

She became another person walking towards another horizon in another world; she wasn't angry, but she was hurt, and she only grieved over the make-believe game.

Until that night in July when they met for coffee, and he asked, with a smile like a pyre: "Do you know what day this is?"

It was the day her credit card was billed, but she doubted he'd refer to that. She frowned, waiting for him to go on.

He winked ironically: "Happy anniversary."

Are you fucking kidding me?

In her head, someone snapped. In her head, someone got on her feet and walked out. In her head, someone threw a fit – but she just stared at him in disbelief.

After a minute, without blinking, she gave him a blank look and replied with a cold voice: "Four years. Thank god."

He took the blow – he stopped smiling. He started talking about something else, and she could see she'd gotten to him.

She sat back and took a sip of coffee.

(Et je réalise seulement que j'en suis venue à avoir envie de préciser ce qui est tiré de mon imagination et ce qui s'inspire de la réalité quand j'écris, et je ne suis pas contente. Je ne le ferai pas, mais ça m'écœure pareil.)