XL

He was battered, but the most pain he felt came from his heart.

As he told their story to his cell neighbor, he had felt an emptiness dig into his chest, a painful feeling of loss that he couldn't explain. What else did she have to lose?

He had told him about when he couldn't explain why he was still awake at three in the morning thinking about her, when, in the early days, he used his mind as a blank sheet of paper to fill with images of her who didn't even have a name, describing her, praising her elegance and writing down all the places where he would have liked to see her happy, by his side.

He told him how he couldn't control his smile when he had her in front of him, when she told her story among those stalls, without the need for words, he also told him that he was counting the days until he would see her again. Then she told him how beautiful it had been to have her under the sheets, the shivers on their skin that became one, her lips purple from the cold that night in the lake, the moon that protected them and the sun that hid them. He spoke of the many promises he had made, so many that a lifetime wasn't enough, of the first quarrel that had brought only more love and they had understood that they really belonged together, that they were rays of the sun, that even if they moved apart they would never lose each other, not even if they ended up in a remote place, he spoke of when he had sworn to her that they would go far away, even if they had to face a hurricane, or war itself, he didn't care about the consequences because she was his pole star in the dark of the night, she would always show him the way.

And again, he talked about her transparent and sincere gaze and how he lost himself in it every time, how he understood even the words he couldn't say, just by looking at her in those eyes, which were nothing but pieces of sky. Of his heart in his throat and his disbelief in what was happening in his life, he spoke as if it were poetic nostalgia.

<< I would have kept telling her all my life how much I loved and admired her and, I am sure, that if she looked at herself as she appears to my eyes, she would go crazy trying to understand how I can feel love for all those gestures of hers and for the simplicity I find in each of them.>>

They both fell silent again.

Adrien wondered what he would say to her now.

He looked through the bars of the window.

What would he say if he had the chance to say goodbye?

I will never again be able to tell you how much I love you, because, you know love, life is infamous, it's uphill and we are without strength. You'll never explain to me why I always smile as much as you are in front of me and I won't explain to you why I keep counting the days that separate us, nor why, in spite of everything, I feel you here with me.

<< I'm sure he will never forget you.>>

The blond was about to answer but the sound of footsteps in the corridor had made him curious. Something strange was happening, all the prison guards had been forced to leave except one, the one who had approached the cell of the young lover.

<< I don't know which one is your guardian angel, but he's doing a great job, you wretch.>> He opened the cell and approached Adrien who, bewildered and confused, was looking at him trying to understand if he was a tease or not.

<< What's going on? Are you making me die sooner and faster? >> He said in a hilarious tone.

<< Don't push me too far, kid, or I'll be right on time to tell you that you died from the injuries you received in the last interrogation session.

As they turned the corner, Adrien turned to the cell that held the man he had confided in during those days.

Their eyes met. A grip on both their hearts had become overpowering.

He would have at least wanted to say goodbye, even without letting him know who he really was.

<< No...Adrien...>> The older man whispered with the trembling of his body mirrored in his voice.

"Goodbye, father."

He lowered his head and let himself be carried into another room, dark and totally empty.

<< What the fuck...>> He looked around.

Was he really going to die like this?

<< There is a message for you, from Prince Luka.>> The man in uniform handed him a note folded in several parts, but in an orderly way.

It bothered him as well.

"I told you that she would be mine."

The raging anger of jealousy pervaded him, he clenched the note in his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

How dare she mock him like this?

<< Clean yourself up, there is water there with a sponge.>> The man dragged him to the container and made him undress completely. He huffed noting that he had to help him because of the handcuffs that prevented him from many movements.

Once clean, he had the man dress him in the clothes he was ordered to wear. This was ridiculous to him. It was fine to release him and allow him a visit from a woman, but cleaning him up like this was just too much.

The guard left him alone and he slumped to the ground, still shaking with anger.

Did it have to end this way, then?

They had even cleaned him up to make him presentable during the execution.

He wanted to talk to her, at least one last time, about the love he felt for her, to apologize for making her feel small and insignificant, unfit and not enough. He wanted to tell her once again how much he loved her childish and funny way of pouting when he teased her for her way of doing things, like a little princess, he wanted to let her know that there was nothing wrong with love, even if love often cheats, even if you become ridiculous, children incapable of understanding strange feelings, you need answers to the continuous whys that you ask yourself and you are sure that it would be useless to expose them to those who are too adult to play.

He wanted to tell her that love was just love, nothing more, and it was because of this simplicity that made happy and confused, that now he understood how it worked, that if he went back he wouldn't have thrown away his heart in unknown sheets and he wouldn't have drunk his soul, that if he had the courage, the one that comes at the point of death, he wouldn't give a damn about the world and he would have taken her far away to see it go down, away from the ferocity of life and the monotony that was killing her inside those luxurious walls.

She was the force capable of lifting him up after a bloody fight against himself, a pure diamond, the purest that exists, she was an extraordinary warrior because she had not let herself die in that world of labels and elegant facades, she was the enchanting sunset that disappeared behind the hill of Montmartre and was reflected in the running waters of the Seine, a rock that had never been scratched, she was the breath that came to him when he ran from the guards in the middle of the night, she was his greatest joy.

He wanted to tell her that he had put aside his complexes so that he could look at her and live, so that he could love her and grow together.

She, she who had picked up the remnants of his pieces, pieces of those who had seen the hunger of feelings, of those who had demanded something from bodies from whom he should expect nothing, of when he wanted everything without having remorse because he came from below and what could he care about getting his hands dirty with the blood of those pigs.

Now he was going to die alone, in an empty room, without having been able to say a last goodbye to his affections, to his newfound father and to the man who had raised and fed him in that inn. But perhaps this was only the consequence of having gone beyond the limits to live the risk, of an existence in limbo, of having lived without the advice of a father.

In life he had always been aware of the fact that the shadow needed the sun in order to exist and that therefore in a soul darkness and light had to be equivalent, one cannot be only darkness, but he had no light at all, so he had looked for her, he had looked for his hands to intertwine them with his own and create a shadow that would be his own essence.

So this is how it would end? No light, no shadows, just darkness.