Grey : 50 nuances de zizi qui parle (25)

Comme toujours, tout le début est disponible là. (mine de rien on arrive à mi chemin !)

Résumé des épisodes précédents : Christian n’en peut plus de devoir attendre le week-end pour revoir son nénuphar qui a terminé les cartons de déménagement. Après avoir eu droit à une scène de « raccroche ! » « non toi raccroche ! » assez ridicule, tout le monde est allé se coucher.

En avant pour un nouveau chapitre !

Saturday, May 28, 2011
(chap. 14 – part 1)

“Christian!” Mia squeals with delight and runs toward me, abandoning her cartload of luggage. Throwing her arms around my neck, she hugs me tightly.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.
“I’ve missed you, too.” I give her a squeeze in return. She leans back and examines me with intense dark eyes.
“You look good,” she gushes. “Tell me about this girl!”
AHAHAHAHA !!! Le gag du siècle ^w^

“Let’s get you and your luggage home first.” I grab her cart, which weighs a ton, and together we head out of the airport terminal toward the parking lot.
“So how was Paris? You appear to have brought most of it home with you.”
C’est incroyable!” she exclaims. “Floubert, on the other hand, was a bastard. Jesus. He was a horrible man. A crap teacher but a good chef.”
Oh. Mon. Dieu. Je n’avais jamais percuté le nom du chef… Seigneur -__-

“Does that mean you’re cooking this evening?”
“Oh, I was hoping Mom would cook.”
Mia proceeds to talk nonstop about Paris: her tiny room, the plumbing, Sacré-Coeur, Montmartre, Parisians, coffee, red wine, cheese, fashion, shopping. But mainly about fashion and shopping.
Donc les clichés à la con. Et en même temps c’était aussi une touriste. Etats-unienne par dessus lemarché. Ca n’arrange rien…

And I thought she went to Paris to learn to cook.
I’ve missed her chatter; it’s soothing and welcome. She is the only person I know who doesn’t make me feel…different.
Oui alors en même temps, si ta première vision des gens c’était pas « débile inutil(e) » ou « cul à fesser » tes relations avec les autres s’amélioreraient de beaucoup je pense…

“This is your baby sister, Christian. Her name is Mia.”
Mommy lets me hold her. She is very small. With black, black hair.
She smiles. She has no teeth. I stick out my tongue. She has a bubbly laugh.
En fait, il aurait pas fallu que Christian grandisse. Ou alors, qu’il ne croise jamais l’autre folle copine de sa mère. Mais vraiment…

Mommy lets me hold the baby again. Her name is Mia.
I make her laugh. I hold her and hold her. She is safe when I hold her.

Elliot is not interested in Mia. She dribbles and cries.
And he wrinkles his nose when she does a poop.
When Mia is crying Elliot ignores her. I hold her and hold her and she stops.
She falls asleep in my arms.
“Mee a,” I whisper.
“What did you say?” Mommy asks, and her face is white like chalk.
“Mee a.”
“Yes. Yes. Darling boy. Mia. Her name is Mia.”
And Mommy starts to cry with happy, happy tears.
Oui il ne parlait pas quand il a été adopté. En même temps vu le passif, on peut comprendre

 

I TURN INTO THE driveway, pull up outside Mom and Dad’s front door, unload Mia’s luggage, and carry it into the hall.
“Where is everyone?” Mia is in full pout. The only person around is my parents’ housekeeper—she’s an exchange student, and I can’t remember her name.
AH !! Voilà ! C’est pour ça que les gens te font sentir différent : TU TE COMPORTES COMME UN GROS CON ! Tsss…

“Welcome home,” she says to Mia in her stilted English, though she’s looking at me with big cow eyes.
Oh, God. It’s just a pretty face, sweetheart.

Ignoring the housekeeper, I address Mia’s question. “I think Mom is on call and Dad is at a conference. You did come home a week early.”
“I couldn’t stand Floubert another minute. I had to get out while I could.
Et oui choupette, l’univers de la cuisine française, c’est pas disneyland !

Oh, I bought you a present.” She grabs one of her cases, opens it up in the hallway, and starts rummaging through it. “Ah!” She hands me a heavy square box. “Open it,” she urges, beaming at me. She is an unstoppable force.
C’est sûr qu’elle fait un peu plus vive que toi. En même temps c’est pas très compliqué…

Warily I open the box, and inside I find a snow globe containing a black grand piano covered in glitter. It’s the kitschiest thing I’ve ever seen.
En même temps vu tes goût, j’imagine qu’une chemise bleu pâle c’est kitch donc bon…

“It’s a music box. Here—” She takes it from me, gives it a good shake, and winds a small key on the bottom. A twinkly version of “La Marseillaise” starts to play in a cloud of colored glitter.
What am I going to do with this? I laugh, because it’s so Mia. “That’s great, Mia. Thank you.” I give her a hug and she hugs me back.
“I knew it would make you laugh.”
Je soupçonne cette jeune femme d’avopir des pouvoir surnaturels… ôô

She’s right. She knows me well.
“So tell me about this girl,” she says. But we’re both distracted as Grace hurries through the door, allowing me a reprieve as mother and daughter embrace. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to meet you, darling,” Grace says. “I’ve been on call. You look so grown up. Christian, can you take Mia’s bags upstairs? Gretchen will give you a hand.”
Really? I’m a porter now?
Oui tu vas utiliser tes mains autrement que pour fesser un cul mais promis, ce n’est pas sale.

“Yes, Mom.” I roll my eyes. I don’t need Gretchen mooning over me. Once that’s done, I tell them that I have an appointment with my trainer. “I’ll be back this evening.” Quickly kissing them both, I leave before I’m pestered with more questions about Ana.
Ca t’apprendra à la présenter à tam ère, sombre crétin !

 

BASTILLE, MY TRAINER, WORKS me hard.
Pour la 54520 fois : chercher sur AO3 s’il y a des fics sur ces deux-là.

Today we’re kickboxing at his gym.
“You’ve gone soft in Portland, boy.” He sneers after I’m toppled onto the mat from his roundhouse kick. Bastille is from the hard-knocks school of physical training, which suits me fine.
Hmmm… petit masochiste va ^w^

I scramble to my feet. I want to take him down. But he’s right—he’s all over my shit today, and I get nowhere.
When we finish he asks, “What gives? You’re distracted, man.”
“Life. You know,” I answer with an air of indifference.
“Sure. You’re back in Seattle this week?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll straighten you out.”
Compte tenu du sujet du bouquin ce genre de phrase est délicieusement multi sens. Je DOIS chercher si y a des fics ! \o/

 

Va-t-on ENFIN (oui c’est court mais le chapitre est court) récupérer notre zizi parlant ? Va-t-on ENFIN voir Christian agir comme un être humain ? La suite très vite !

Publicités

Laisser un commentaire

Entrez vos coordonnées ci-dessous ou cliquez sur une icône pour vous connecter:

Logo WordPress.com

Vous commentez à l'aide de votre compte WordPress.com. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Photo Google+

Vous commentez à l'aide de votre compte Google+. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Image Twitter

Vous commentez à l'aide de votre compte Twitter. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Photo Facebook

Vous commentez à l'aide de votre compte Facebook. Déconnexion /  Changer )

Connexion à %s