Happening Déchirex 25 mai, Jean-Jacques Lebel, 1965

Photographer Martine Franck

x

> Yes

"Log 1252, Experiment number—"

The voice is cut off by a knock at a door, then you hear it creak open.

"Doctor Saywer? Can we talk?"

"Tch— Fine. Make it quick."

"... You've been down here for days now. Are you—"

"If you're here to lecture me, Miss Greyber, then I'm sure you know where the door is."

"No, no no I— That's not what I meant."

"Then spit it out. I'm a busy m— Oh."

There's a long pause. And while this is only a simple recording, you can feel the tension.

"I'm not sure what all you like, so I went for something safe. You get... so absorbed in your work, it's commendable. We may not always see eye to eye, however I appreciate what you do. But please, you can't be at your best if you're running on fumes."

You hear the sound of Harley clearing his throat then.

"I... appreciate this, Miss Greyber. Is that all you needed?"

"Yes, yes I'll let you get back to it."

The door shuts once again, and silence follows.

Me: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I don’t usually that easily. Your thigh was rubbing against me and—

Him: *grips me by the nape of my neck and pulls my face in close to him* Do you know why?

Me: N-no…

Him: Because it tells me that you’re wet, you’re ready for me. Spasming…Clenching… I want to be a part of that. I want to feel it. I need to feel it.

Me: Oh.

Him: *squeezing my nape harder until I whine* It’s dangerous for you.

Me: Dad?

Him: What?