Read Online Bye Bye Blondie by Virginie Despentes - Free Book Online Page B

the gumption to come running and pull her off, she had time to draw a little blood from the back of her head. She was screaming in the woman’s ear: “You whore, you bitch, you can’t stop me listening to Motörhead, hear me, you can’t do this to me!” Yelling at the top of her voice, hoping the woman would be deaf for the rest of her life.That would make it worth creating havoc. Ruin her life, filthy cow, so she’d never hear properly again. At the time this had seemed important.
    As a result, Gloria was deprived of music, exactly and precisely the only thing that kept her company until the end of her stay. Yet another thing that would help her get better, “rebuild herself,” as they called it. Fuckers, with their crap methods.
    That was the other thing you absolutely had to understand before they’d let you out of there: they could do anything they liked, and all you could do was keep your mouth shut. As time went on, Gloria learned that this was a very basic lesson. Which a lot of people know about, in fact.
    Eric had been in the corridor that day, the woman had literally landed at his feet and he had stood quite still while Gloria was shaking her, yelling mad insults at her. He had observed the scene with the utmost attention. And a slight, knowing smile had crossed his lips.
    Next day, breakfast time (if you could bear to eat it), 6:00 a.m. The future belongs to those who get up early, all right, but could someone please tell her the point of getting mental patients up so soon, given that everyone was totally fed up with being here? Oh well. Refectory tables, you were supposed to find a place for yourself. Gloria could never find a seat. Balancing her tray in one hand, it was tricky. What with the residents she wanted to avoid, the ones she made nervous, and the tables that were already full, she often had to go around the room several times before sitting down. Every morning, the anorexics, who had been forced to eat a bit of defrosted bread, were already vomiting. One mouthful and they puked up three whole meals. The nurses were instructed not to let them go to the toilets on their own, but they escaped. One old woman was chewing on her hand, which, like her arms, was covered with scabs and scars. She must have become unhinged long ago, before they invented modern ways of self-harming, so she ate her own flesh. This was pretty upsetting to see, especially on an empty stomach. One man, graying temples, metal-rimmed glasses, tracksuit top—typical gym teacher—used to sob hard, with tears running down his cheeks, then calm down before starting to howl in distress. It just took him like that, and he added to the local color. In this cacophony of wrecked souls, what depressed Gloria most every morning was that the coffee was lukewarm and bitter and served with powdered milk, whereas she liked her coffee boiling hot and laced with cold milk—real milk. She was propped up over her bowl, almost dozing off. Eric had appeared out of nowhere and sat down beside her. She’d noticed that he was looking at her with a dazed air, as if rooted to the spot. But she hadn’t grasped straight away that this was serious affection.
    As polite and poised as if they were meeting in a normal café—easy to see he hadn’t been there long—he asked her, “Do you listen to a lot of music?”
    She didn’t know what to reply.
    â€œSame as everyone.”
    He laughed. “No, I don’t think so, I saw you fighting for the right to listen to Motörhead. That’s not like everyone, no way.”
    At the time, this had gone to her head, thinking that it attracted him to have seen her freak out the day before, and then to remember it next morning, as if it were funny. Every tantrum of this kind made them all the more determined to keep her there, and the longer she stayed, the more frequent and extravagant the scenes became. You had to admit that if she were