AGAROS : The Love Betrayal

Chapter 10

« Some doors only open when you're ready to face what's behind them, even if it means losing yourself a little more. »

I was in the room beneath the stairs. It had once belonged to my grandfather. Despite the persistent smell of mildew, it had one advantage: it spared me the sound of my parents' shouting upstairs. The room was simple, almost austere, with a wooden bed, a matching wardrobe, and a nightstand. There was no window, but the cold light from the halogen lamp above my head was enough to illuminate the pages of my book.

Thirty-Four Shades of Service, I'd read it again. Again. My basest instincts had resurfaced. I had let myself be carried away, caressing my rose, without thinking. It was an almost mechanical gesture, now a refuge.

As I was about to put the book down, I noticed something: there was a continuation. I had missed it the first time. At that moment, my eyes lit up. I needed that third part.

I grabbed my phone, my heart pounding, and began searching for a bookstore that might still have copies. A few were still open. I was so excited that I started tapping my feet on the bed, a small, nervous laugh escaping my throat. But soon, that joy faded. I couldn't go out, couldn't buy online. My password seemed to have been changed without my knowledge. I tried several times to recover it, but to no avail. It was absurd.

Frustration overwhelmed me. With a stifled cry of anger, I threw the book against the wall. It slammed violently into the surface, and a strange noise echoed—too hollow for a solid wall. This couldn't be… I was about to inspect the wall when I heard a door slam upstairs. It had to be my mother. She was always in a hurry to leave us. In her bubble of silence, even more distant each time. The emptiness she left behind felt heavy. Just for a moment. Hatred and resentment drowning with my memories. We no longer had a place in each other's worlds.

I picked up my book, a mix of shame and anger rising in me. My thoughts scattered, and I rushed out of the room, avoiding my mother. At the foot of the stairs, I stopped abruptly. Barbara was standing there, her ear pressed to the door, a glass in her hand, turned into an improvised stethoscope. I hesitated for a moment before she made a subtle gesture for me to come closer.

— Are you still listening at that door? I stared at her, stunned. She shrugged, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

— What? Are there secrets you don't want to know?

Barbara, always so curious, gave me a look. At 35, she hadn't lost her gossiping ways. She was full-figured, with round cheeks and deep black hair. And, of course, her fascination with other people's stories seemed endless. She handed me the glass, as if she knew I had an irresistible need to understand what was happening behind that door. Then she gestured for silence and repositioned herself, her face masked by that sly smile.

Barely had the glass touched the door when footsteps drew near. In an instant, Barbara had disappeared, rushing down the stairs with surprising agility. I followed her, hurrying to my room. As I crossed the threshold, my foot hit something. I expected it to be a piece of furniture, but it wasn't. My heart raced as my eyes locked on the wardrobe. It… it was turning. Like a secret door. An opening to another world.

The heavy, musty air enveloped me, suffocating me. The smell of rotting wood and forgotten earth clung to my skin. Each step creaked, and an oppressive silence followed me. My hands slid over a cold wall, and a shiver ran through me. I was terrified.

My eyes widened. I couldn't understand. Was this real? Was I losing my mind? Or had I really discovered something no one else had seen? Panic began to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to stay calm. If I didn't think, it might slip away. The icy coldness that engulfed me jolted me back from my thoughts. Excitement and confusion rushed in, but I had no time to think any longer.

A door knocked. My heart clenched in my chest. It was the way my father knocked. I recognized the rhythm. A mix of caution and tension. My fingers brushed the wall behind me. It was rough, with no opening. A strange vibration ran through me. This wasn't just the brush of a brick wall. I froze, breathless… I hesitated. And if I was still dreaming? If this was just an illusion, born of the madness creeping over me? Panic began to rise.

I started feeling the wall frantically. The heat in my body rose, my limbs trembled. I struggled to breathe. The anxiety gripped my throat. My fingers finally found a small handle. I tried to turn it, but the mechanism seemed faulty. The door didn't give. I was about to surrender to panic when, in a final desperate act, I pulled the handle. This time, it gave way. I was on the other side.

I dropped to my knees, breathless, utterly exhausted. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would explode. The air was heavy, damp. Each breath seemed to take me closer to an abyss. What had I discovered? What was this wall?

I hadn't seen my father enter, but he found me there, trembling, eyes fixed on me. He froze when he saw me in that state. He tried to regain his composure, but I could see that he was just as unsettled as I was.

When Dad entered the wardrobe, I didn't know how long he'd been watching me, crouched in the shadows, wide-eyed, yet frozen. I didn't even hear the door open. I looked up, and our gazes locked, as if we had just found each other after an eternity. His face froze, and he took a step forward, as if realizing that something was terribly wrong.

I hadn't noticed my hands were shaking, but he noticed them right away.

— Naël… He approached, and there was a tone in his voice, like an warning, or maybe just confusion. He froze when he saw me, crouched, breathless, eyes vacant, like a ragdoll carelessly discarded on the floor.

Without another word, he knelt beside me, his hands hesitant, almost reaching for me, as if afraid he might break me with a single touch. His fingers rested on my shoulder, and the warmth of his palm brought me back to reality. I shivered under the gesture, still shaken by everything I had seen and felt in that other world. But something in me relaxed. The tension in my muscles slowly eased, and my tremors quieted.

— What happened? he asked, his voice soft, yet filled with the protective authority he always had. His gaze was more intense now, searching for answers in mine.

I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him everything, but the words caught in my throat. What could I possibly say? That I'd found a secret passage in my wardrobe? That I felt like I was losing my mind?

I shook my head, unable to form anything. I didn't want to worry him any more than I had to, but somehow he knew—knew in some way—that something was wrong. He ran his hand across my forehead, as if checking for illness, but he knew it wasn't that. He scrutinized me with that special attention, as if he were ready to dive into my thoughts to decipher every mystery.

His arms wrapped around me, firm, protective. I let myself relax, surrendering to this moment of comfort, even though a part of me remained frozen, frozen by fear and uncertainty. He didn't ask me anything more, not yet. He knew I wouldn't have any answers. But, holding me in his arms, he whispered in my ear: "Everything will be okay. I'm here."

He stayed there for a few moments, just holding me, reassuring me. The simple fact that he was there allowed me to breathe again. Even though everything inside me screamed at this extraordinary discovery.

When Dad finally left me, I stood up. My legs trembled under the weight of the emotion.

I hurried to lock the door to my room, as if to protect my secret. I headed toward the wardrobe. That strange piece of furniture, that secret passage, haunted me now.

A part of me wanted to flee from it, forget it. But another part, a deeper part, knew that something was still waiting for me there, behind that passage. I wasn't alone in this house anymore. I didn't know yet what I was going to find, but everything in me screamed that this was just the beginning.

I took a deep breath and began searching. I moved the clothes impatiently, looking for a solution, a logic that would allow me to understand. But nothing happened. I ran my hand over the surface, but nothing. A strange sensation, an emptiness.

Exasperated, I threw the Thirty-Four Shades of Service book onto the shelf. It hit another book and knocked a wooden edge of its binding loose. The sound echoed in the room, familiar. A dry, distinct noise. It wasn't the sound of the book falling. No, that noise had a different resonance, like a secret hidden between the bookshelves. A shiver ran through me. It reminded me of something distant… The bookshelf… that sound… I'd already heard it this morning. It was the same. The cutter!