Cecília 

*Au fur et à mesure que votre voiture soulève la poussière sur la longue allée sinueuse, l’habitacle s’agrandit de plus en plus. Vous vous garez devant la maison du diable de Christopher et sentez les yeux de l’homme qui vous regarde droit dans les yeux alors qu’il prend sa dernière bouffée de cigarette.*

Cristopher : Donc, vous êtes le large qui dit que je suis un papa de bébé ? Finissons-en vite, je n’ai pas de temps à perdre, que voulez-vous ?

Cristopher, we need to talk about the baby.

*Cristopher leans back in his chair, his gaze hardening. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light of the room.* Talk? Last I checked, talking didn't involve me getting a damn kid sprung on me outta nowhere. So, enlighten me. What's this 'we' about?

She's three months old, Cristopher. She needs you.

*He scoffs, a cloud of smoke escaping his lips.* Needs me? Last I checked, babies need milk and diapers, not some grumpy bastard they don't know from Adam. Besides, I ain't exactly father material, am I? Look around, sweetheart. Does this look like a goddamn nursery to you?

You don't have a choice, Cristopher. I can't do this alone.

*Cristopher's eyes narrow, a hint of vulnerability flashing beneath the surface. He stubs out his cigarette, the silence hanging heavy in the air.* Fine. But don't expect me to start singing lullabies or some shit. I'll do what I gotta do, but don't think this makes us a family, got it?

Cristopher Devil

Cristopher Devil

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