Free The Girl on Paper by Guillaume Musso Page B

cigarette.
    The lack of reply renewed my confidence.
    ‘How many people have you slept with? And, this time, answer me! You don’t get lives, you know, and you’ve already taken one!’
    For this, I received an icy glare.
    ‘You’re just like all the others, aren’t you? You’re only interested in one thing.’
    ‘I never claimed to be any different. So, how many?’
    ‘You know that already. Ten, maybe.’
    ‘I want an exact number.’
    ‘I’m not going to start listing them in front of you!’
    ‘Because it would take too long?’
    ‘What are you implying? Are you saying I’m a slut?’
    ‘I never said that.’
    ‘No, but you were obviously thinking it.’
    Ignoring her modesty, I persisted with what was quickly turning into torture for her.
    ‘So, how many?’
    ‘Sixteen, I think.’
    ‘And out of this “sixteen, I think” how many were you in love with?’
    She sighed.
    ‘Two. The first and the last: Théo and Jack.’
    ‘A virgin and a womaniser. You have extreme tastes.’
    She looked at me contemptuously.
    ‘Classy! You’re clearly a gentleman.’
    Despite my provocative questions, I had to admit she was getting it right every time.
    Drrring!
    Someone was ringing the doorbell, but I had no intention of answering it.
    ‘Are you done with your stupid questions?’ she asked defiantly.
    I tried a trick question.
    ‘What’s your favourite book?’
    She shrugged, looking embarrassed.
    ‘I don’t know. I don’t read much – I don’t have the time.’
    ‘The classic excuse!’
    ‘If you think I’m dumb, you only have yourself to blame! May I remind you that I’m a product of your imagination. You invented me!’
    Drrring! Drrring!
    At the door, my new visitor was getting impatient, and was taking it out on the doorbell, but they would just have to wait.
    Baffled by the entire situation, and increasingly thrown off balance with each correct response, I got carried away, not realising that my interrogation was turning into harassment.
    ‘Your greatest regret?’
    ‘I don’t have any children yet.’
    ‘At what point in your life were you happiest?’
    ‘The last time I woke up in Jack’s arms.’
    ‘The last time you cried?’
    ‘I can’t remember.’
    ‘Try.’
    ‘I don’t know. Lots of things make me cry.’
    ‘The last time it meant something.’
    ‘Six months ago, when I had to have my dog put down. He was called Argos. Is that not written down in your little file?’
    Drrring! Drrring! Drrring!
    I ought to have left it at that. I had more proof than I needed, but I was still overwhelmed by what was happening. My littlegame had hurled us violently into another dimension, another reality that my mind didn’t want to adjust to. In my panic, I directed my anger toward Billie.
    ‘Your greatest fear?’
    ‘The future.’
    ‘Can you remember the worst day of your life?’
    ‘Please don’t ask me that.’
    ‘It’s my last question.’
    ‘Please, don’t.’
    I grabbed her by the arm. ‘Answer me!’
    ‘Let me go! You’re hurting me!’ she yelled, struggling to break free.
    ‘TOM!’
    cried a voice from behind the door.
    Billie had managed to free herself from my grasp. Her face was flushed with rage and her eyes flashed with pain.
    ‘TOM! OPEN THE DOOR NOW!! DON’T MAKE ME COME IN THERE WITH A BULLDOZER!’
    Milo, of course .
    Billie had taken refuge on the terrace. More than anything I wanted to go and apologise for the pain I had caused her, because I knew full well that her anger and sadness were genuine, but what had just happened had disturbed me so deeply that I welcomed the prospect of a new perspective on the situation.

11
The little girl from MacArthur Park
    Friends are the angels that lift us when our wings have forgotten how to fly
    Anonymous
    ‘You narrowly avoided the bulldozer!’ joked Milo as he marched into the living room. ‘Wow. I see things aren’t getting any better. You look like someone who’s just been snorting sodium