Chapitre 8: Chapter 8:
Tom Hulce was silent for a moment, extremely conflicted with this suggestion.
"Go to the hotel." Indifferently said, his eyes narrowed a little, decided not to bring her where she wanted, where there was currently no one there; if she wanted to go, not now, wait for him to find someone to do it, maybe, then she could go.
"Alright." Mary Wickes had to respond, but the expression on her face when he wasn't paying attention was a little cooler. Going to a hotel, she is still a mistress, but if she stays at his house, she will be closer to her goal. But now is not the time; she still needs time; now that there is no other person between them, can this relationship be made public? Honey, you've been doing it for too long.
And how could she satisfy just being his mistress?
The two turned around and walked into a five-star hotel, not realizing that a person was still watching their silhouettes until they could no longer see them, only to regain their sorrowful gazes.
This is the difference between loving and not loving. The corner of Demi Moore's lips slowly curved up, perhaps laughing at herself and her self-righteous self. She had always thought that he still had some feelings for her, whether it was before or now.
Maybe he liked her that day, so he married her. To think that living two years in bed with occipitals, she was already a part of his life, just as he was a part of hers; no, to her, he was more important than herself. But now she knows, it turns out not, he forgot he used to like her, he needed a wife, so she stayed, now he has found the one he loves, she has to leave.
Until now, he had never smiled at her so gently; he loved her very much and pampered her like a child. But he did it because she was his wife, not because he loved her.
The love was gone when the marriage was gone, so there was no longer any bond between them.
Putting her hand on her chest, there was an obvious pain, very painful, but only she could bear it.
They were still breathing in the same air but belonged to two different worlds. He had never entered her world until now; maybe he didn't want to, perhaps he despised her, and his world didn't have her place.
Demi Moore turned around, hugged the document, and left. Still, many boisterous people are constantly passing by; could this be considered a glimpse?
Her life is straightforward; every day, she receives a lot of documents for translation, so much so that sometimes she doesn't even have time to eat rice; she only eats a bowl of noodles all day.
That busyness will make her forget many things; there are some things she doesn't dare to think about because it will hurt her heart.
No recovery is possible. This kind of pain is unbearable.
So forget it.
Time is the best medicine for this failed marriage, but she has lost everything. Now she was a mute, one who could no longer speak.
She could talk but couldn't.
Outside, the rain was hefty, constantly hitting her umbrella; sometimes, the raindrops still hit her face with the wind, cold. On the road, there was almost no one left; a car passed very quickly; the light penetrated through the rain, and the wheels splashed rainwater to the side.
Demi Moore narrowed her eyes, walking with difficulty; sometimes, the rain falling on her face was a little painful, but she still carefully protected the document in her lap, wiped it with her hand, and then tried to move on.
Another car passed, and the lights flashed; she saw a figure falling on the ground in front of his trying to hug himself.
She stood on the spot in the dark and could only see a vague figure; it seemed it was a person.
Dashing over, the rain quickly soaked her shoes, but she had to get very close to realizing that there was indeed a person there, a man. He hugged himself tightly, the heavy rain drenching his clothes. On his body, only a set of clothes could not be seen clearly, and his pale white skin highlighted his thin fingers.
Big drops of rain hit him, and she saw him shivering.
She squatted down and tilted the umbrella forward a little, covering the man's head, letting the raindrops fall on her. Because the rain did not hit him, the man raised his white face, vaguely seeing the beginning of a delicate girl being soaked by the rain.
Demi Moore's arm holding the document suddenly let go, covering her lips; a massive tear kept falling like that. Under the dizzying yellow of the streetlights, she could see that the man's face was no longer blood-colored, his lips were chapped, his face haggard, she could already see the protruding cheekbones, his eyes were empty infinity, being superfluous of something very much... is suffering, pain, fear, and impotence.
She reached out and placed her hand on the man's forehead; as expected, he had a fever. If she hadn't noticed him just now, if he had to stay out here for one night, he definitely wouldn't have survived.
Biting her lip, she reached out to lift the man; she couldn't leave him because, from his eyes, she could see her own shadow. He was bewildered, confused, like a child who had lost everything.
They all have lost everything; why, even their lives, have to be lost? She doesn't want him to die.
The atheist man looked at her, instinctively stood up, and approached the place where the temperature was warm, soft, and comfortable to lean on. He was freezing, freezing indeed.
Demi Moore put a man's arm on her shoulder to find out he was tall, maybe about 1m80, but not heavy. Her eyes showed a bit of pain; he was so thin; it must have been long since he had eaten properly.
She would save him whether he was a beggar, a fool, or a nomad.
The rain continued to fall, and a car passed quickly; under the street light, one could see a girl holding an umbrella, trying her best to support the man's hand step by step forward. Although their faces could not be seen clearly, they could still see that they were both drenched.
Demi Moore with one hand to help the man, the other to find the key in her pocket; the rain was still falling, even the sound of the rain hitting her face, 'bang,' like the sound of a broken heart, then got lost again. A gust of wind blew here; Demi Moore shivered, only to discover that her clothes were wet and clinging to her body; she couldn't help but glance nervously at the man next to her.
Well, his whole body was also soaked by the rain.
She didn't know why she wanted to bring this man back; she wasn't a saint and didn't have such great kindness, but she really couldn't leave him. After all, it's a human life; regardless of high or low, every life is precious... She lowered her head to continue looking for the key; each drop of transparent water fell on the back of her hand; what is life but weak? Thus, like a flowering branch growing by the vast sea, sometimes just blinking one eye will never be able to see again. Thinking of this moment, she blinked her eyes vigorously, tears falling from her hair on her eyelids, slowly falling down the corner of her eyes.
Biting the corner of her lips, she tasted a bit of salt.
The rain has also changed the taste.
Opening the door, she helped the man in. Compared to the outside, this place is hot; where she lives is not significant, doesn't have many tools, and is extremely simple, but it is always a place that can cover the wind and rain.
Putting down the document, she helped the man sit on a chair, the only chair in her house. She squatted down and saw the man's eyes slightly narrowed, his face white from the rain, without a trace of blood.
Demi Moore reached out and patted the man's cheeks; the man vaguely opened his eyes with a bit of atheism; seeing Demi Moore's face was also wet and extremely difficult.
Demi Moore's lips were raised slightly, and again, finding herself unable to speak, she laughed; she was already mute, unable to talk anymore. She helped the man up and took him to the bathroom, but in the end, she still stood outside, not knowing what to do next. The other party is a man, but he is a man whose consciousness is unclear, has a high fever, and his clothes cannot be changed.
Biting her lip lightly, she stood before the man, reaching to remove his clothes. He wore only a white suit; his collar and cuffs were immaculate, unlike a beggar.
The buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing his body that the rain had frozen, his forehead was hot, but his body was cold.
"Cold..." The man shrank a little, the cold making him only groan intermittently.
Demi Moore took the towel gently close to his body, feeling the cold spread from her fingertips. She quickly wiped the rainwater on his body, then brushed his hair; maybe because it was wet with rain, his coat had no strange smell.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone