His scars were hidden and safe in her hand.
Mattia was right: the days had slipped over her skin like a solvent, one after the other, each removing a very thin layer of pigment from her tattoo, and from both of their memories. The outlines, like the circumstances, were still there, black and well delineated, but the colors had merged together until they faded into a dull, uniform tonality, a neutral absence of meaning.
She found herself thinking of how it would feel to be safely trapped in his arms, with no more possibility to choose.
She was tired, with that tiredness that only emptiness brings.
[Their love] had burned itself out, like a forgotten candle in an empty room, leaving behind a ravenous discontent.
All Mattia saw was a shadow moving toward him. He instinctively closed his eyes and then felt Alice’s hot mouth on his, her tears on his cheek, or maybe they weren’t hers, and finally her hands, so light, holding his head still and catching all his thoughts and imprisoning them there, in the space that no longer existed between them.
