#staying vertical

Fic writers🤝 Adding more pain while squishing his cheeks: Our little mental baby boy can fit so much trauma inside...

Rester vertical / Staying Vertical Alain Guiraudie. 2016

Marcel’s house Vérines, 79510 Coulon, France See in map

Our reviews of the weekend’s new releases:

Split

20th Century Women

Trespass Against Us

The Red Turtle

The Founder

Staying Vertical

Max lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, feels her lips tremble even more.

“You think it was Jefferson,” Nathan says, like an afterthought. His eyes dart between hers, knotting his brow as he studies her. “You knew Graham was helping him, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know that I knew.” She’s pressed her face so tightly to the railing that she can feel it digging into her skin.

“It’s not going to happen again,” Nathan says as his fingers reach slowly towards hers. “Not anymore.”

She jerks away from his touch and he recoils, frowning down at his hand. He twines them through the railing instead. His gaze travels back to hers, wary.

She tears her face away from the railing and glances out the window— at the leaves already stripped from the trees outside, at the calendar that’s open to mid-September beside her, at Nathan slouching in a white letterman jacket. She frowns, remembering it black, red, blue. But the white somehow seems more familiar than the others, like stumbling upon a picture she hasn’t remembered in years. 

“It wasn’t real,” she says slowly and reaches one hesitant finger towards his jacket. “It’s never been real.” 

“No,” he says, watching as she runs her fingers over his sleeve. “It wasn’t.”