Basel, September 1941.
— Ruth, I'm leaving for work, I'll be back around 7 p.m.
The door closes behind him while I'm still in bed. I haven't had the strength to get out of bed for days, I'd even say weeks. Since that revelation, I've somehow lost all hope of finally being happy, of finally being free.
I wish I had the strength to leave, to walk away from him, but unfortunately I love him I fell in love with the enemy.
I don't know what to do anymore, or what to think of my life.
Despite everything, I decide to get up, to force myself. I get out of bed with difficulty; my nightgown will do just fine as my outfit for the day. I decide to go out and buy a few things. I throw my jacket over my shoulders and head to the new grocery store on the corner.
A few people look at me sideways, probably because of my outfit, but honestly I've reached a point where I couldn't care less. I walk out of the store with packs of cigarettes I think it'll do me a world of good.
I get back to the apartment, grab a bottle of alcohol, and settle into the armchair with my pack of cigarettes, and I start smoking. The more time passes, the more the bottle empties I don't even feel the burn of the alcohol anymore, with the habit of each gulp. I was so blind that I didn't even guess he had done that, because now all I see is his guilt and his pity when he looks at me, and it disgusts me.
I don't know what to do anymore. I need someone to save me. Because I won't be able to do it alone, not anymore, at least. I know I know that thanks to him, I'm safe here, and I know deep down that he isn't a bad person, but how can I love someone who had the strength to kill poor innocents?
I wish so badly that I didn't love him, didn't depend on him, didn't want to kiss him, didn't want him close to me. But actually, I do want him close to me I want him to touch me, to love me, as much as I hate loving him.
Suzanne clearly told me that I should try to understand him before truly wanting to leave, because I might regret my choice. And she's right, because I'm absolutely sure I would have hated myself for leaving, and besides, I had nowhere to go anyway.
Suddenly, the door opened to let Heinrich in, sweating and smelling of flour. He gives me a look of pity the state I'm in must seem so pathetic to him. I'm dirty, I smell like cigarettes and alcohol, but honestly, I don't think he has any right to say anything about how I am right now, because he knows very well that it's his fault, that because of him, I'm questioning myself and him endlessly.
— Ruth, how are you feeling?
I let out a laugh as I exhale the smoke from my cigarette.
— What do you think, my dear? Do I look like I'm doing well?
— Ruth, don't let yourself rot like this. You don't deserve it.
— But it's because of you that I'm like this. Do you seriously think I enjoy being in this state? I wish I had the strength to get up. But I can't. I had to force myself just to get out of bed, so please shut up.
He opens his mouth, but says nothing.
He's frozen by my words, and I understand I don't recognize myself. It's as if, in an instant, I've become someone who feels nothing but emptiness.
He heads to the bathroom without a sound. Meanwhile, I finish my cigarette, only to start another one. I no longer have the desire to know what the future holds for me. Waiting suits me just fine, and besides, the world we live in is enough to prove that nothing we can do now, or in the days to come, will stop all this slaughter.
The next day.
— Ruth?
His voice is soft.
— Ruth, wake up!
I struggle to open my eyes. Only one lets me make out his silhouette he's standing right above me, his left arm resting on the armchair's armrest. And I admit, at that moment, I find him sexy.
— Ruth, can you get up, please?
— What do you want?
— It's not what I want it's what you need.
— What? I say, raising an eyebrow.
— You're going to go into the bathroom and come back as the woman you are.
I let out a laugh. But his serious expression catches me off guard.
— I'm very serious, Ruth!
I look at him, trying to find something that might stop me from doing what he asks. But deep down, I want to listen to him even though my head tells me the opposite.
— Why should I do what you ask?
— Because deep down, you know you need it.
I don't take my eyes off him for a single second and neither does he. His intense brown eyes make me lose myself so deeply that I can't even think anymore.
He slips his left arm under my shoulders, then his right arm under my knees. He lifts me up with such lightness that he lets out a smug smile.
He walks into the bathroom and sets me down in the bathtub. I try to struggle to get out, and with my clumsy movement, Heinrich slips and falls on top of me, his head pressed against my stomach.
— Sorry, I didn't mean to.
— I doubt you did, Heinrich, I'm the one who made you fall. But now, can you move? You're not exactly light as a feather.
He lifts his head, and as he tries to get up, he turns on the water.
— Ahh, but…
— Oh shit. He lets out.
— Are you serious right now?
— It wasn't on purpose.
He turns off the shower faucet. Soaked, we look each other straight in the eyes and let out a few laughs.
— I've missed this laugh. He says, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I say nothing. I don't want to ruin this moment with one of my sharp retorts. His eyes move from my eyes to my lips I do the same. Our heads draw closer, even too close. His right hand moves to the back of my neck, and he decides to kiss me.
I push him away.
His intense gaze locks onto me again, his hand still pressed against my neck. And this time, I decide to kiss him. His hand presses harder against my neck, as if we weren't already close enough. He settles himself properly in the bathtub and places his left hand on my waist. I want so badly to go further and besides, it's been so long since we've had any physical contact. Even this kiss felt like nothing more than a distant memory.
But.
I can't forgive him that quickly. I can't pretend none of this ever happened.
So I push him away again. His gaze is full of questions he doesn't understand what I'm doing, why I'm pushing him away when I'm the one who kissed him.
— Did I do something wrong?
— No, that's not it. I…
— You're still angry with me, is that it?
— Yes. I need time, alright, Heinrich?
— Yes, I know. I know.
He moves away from me, and in an instant, the cold rushes in. He leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind him, as if to show me that he's hurt by this rejection — but that he understands. I'm grateful and understanding toward him, because I know he probably didn't have a choice about using his weapon. But I can't accept it. Not yet.