“You’ll never believe this, someone tried to steal my bike. I don’t even have a front wheel now, they trashed the whole thing.” Laurent is on edge, he’s about to go into a meeting to set up Gérard Lancarde’s defense. He tells her to take the Métro and leave her bike where it is. While she’s still talking to Laurent she notices a familiar-looking silhouette on the same sidewalk as she is. The company’s CEO recognizes her.
“Well, well, what happened to you?” Marie hangs up. She’s slightly ashamed, feels stupid with her beaten-up bike. She explains the situation, doing her best to disguise her distress. The CEO smiles and tries to calm her with a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Look, my car isn’t far at all. I could drive you home if you like. Where do you live?” Marie looks at him for a moment, embarrassed. Then, not keen to take the Métro, which will be packed with rush-hour commuters, she decides to accept his offer.
On the way to his car they fall in step together, the clipped rhythm of their footfalls resonating on the sidewalk. He hardly says a word but smiles at her from time to time, turning to face her. She’s awed by him. He’s the CEO. He takes his car keys from his coat to open the Mercedes that’s perfectly parked by the curb. The headlights flash. He seems somehow proud of this flourish while still careful to remain strangely modest. Marie settles into the passenger seat. The smell of leather mingles with a strong blast of the scent she smelled on him during the afternoon’s meeting. He throws his coat onto the rear seat and then sits down and starts up the car; the engine purrs. Marie is relieved it’s not a very long journey. Her phone chimes in her bag. It’s a message from Laurent, asking if everything’s okay. He’ll be home late because he’s agreed to have dinner with his client, and tells her not to wait up. Marie’s disappointed, she would have liked him to be with her this evening to comfort her.
The CEO turns on the radio and Marie recognizes the opening notes of Erik Satie’s Third Gnossienne, her father’s favorite. In an instant this composition with its ambiguous melodies darkens her interpretation of Paris. The darkness feels stifling, the heady smell of sandalwood and the lights reflecting on the windshield giddying. The end of boulevard Voltaire appears at last. The man doesn’t move a muscle, his hands clamped firmly to the steering wheel, his eyes staring ahead, his lips motionless. She doesn’t dare turn to look at him. Time slows, freezes, chokes the space. Everything stagnates. She wants to get out. A car stops on a level with them at a red light and a woman smiles at her briefly before looking away. The car sets off again. There are only a few buildings left before they reach her apartment but there are no parking spaces and the boulevard is full of traffic. Marie wants to be let off onto the street but he chooses instead to drive around into rue Richard-Lenoir to find a better place. “This city really is impossible for cars.”
Marie feels the engine slow at last and the radio snaps off. They now enter a private car park where he pulls into a space. Silence settles into the darkness, against which she can make out the man’s tall silhouette. There are no passersby. “Thank you so much for driving me home, it was very kind of you. I mean, you really didn’t have to. I’m sorry but I need to go now, my husband’s expecting me and he’ll be worried.” She doesn’t know exactly why she came up with this lie. A subtle discomfort grips her stomach like the protracted suspense a viewer feels watching a film, before everything becomes clear at the end.
“Wouldn’t you like to stay here with me for a while?” the man asks, still looking dead ahead, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel.
Marie starts to feel the first inklings of panic. She curses whoever destroyed her bike this evening, cornering her in this uncomfortable situation. “I really think you should stay awhile,” he insists. Marie hears the sudden clunk of the lock on her door. He’s locking her in. His shadow—an imposing, frightening presence—moves slowly closer, approaching her with implied intimacy. She feels something cold and smooth slide over her thighs. A shudder runs through her whole body, which is still secured to the seat by her seat belt. She struggles and asks him firmly to stop and let her out. She wants to scream but, strangely, doesn’t dare to. She wonders why this is…Maybe she doesn’t want to disturb the whole neighborhood, draw attention to herself for nothing. She doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of her CEO for seeing an assault in what might simply be a rather clumsy attempt at seduction.
He anticipates her every reaction and swiftly flattens one hand over her mouth while his other hand insinuates itself inside her blouse and works progressively down toward her panties. He drives his fingers inside her. Marie’s body shakes, sweating from every pore, her flesh frozen into the thick leather of her seat. She starts to fight, pushing against his chest that’s pinning her down. He’s too strong, much too strong. She now knows she won’t be able to escape. Marie is going to be raped here in this car. Like those women on TV who describe how they were attacked, she’ll have to go through that too. She struggles with all her might. Her wrists are bruised, her legs pinioned, her voice silenced, her stomach crushed. She can hear the man’s moans, his little gasps of pleasure in the crook of her neck. He unhooks her seat belt and presses firmly on the lever to lower her backrest. She jolts down and back. He spreads himself over her, mounts onto her. Marie can feel his erection through his pants. She keeps fighting, screaming. No one will hear. Her thin arms are gripped by just one of the man’s hands while his other hand labors to undo his belt and the fly buttons on his suit. She feels her cell phone fall onto the car floor mat, vibrating and ringing under her feet, and is overwhelmed with frustration that she can’t reach it. The silk panties that Laurent bought her for Valentine’s Day last year are torn in a fraction of a second. He scratches her at the same time. One last surge of energy convulses her, twisting her body in every direction, her feet stretching as far as they can to get away from him. She’s very soon exhausted, drained of strength. All her limbs ache for failing to help her. He penetrates her. The to-and-fro starts up, slowly at first, then harder. It hurts. Her vagina is dry, its walls rasped until they bleed. She remembers the slight burning sensations she had a few years ago because of genital herpes, and how much that hurt.
The man suddenly stops. With a single confident hand he grabs her hair and forces her over onto her stomach. Marie hears him mutter a few words, but can’t give the sounds any meaning. Reality distorts, nothing exists anymore. She’s going to wake up. Maybe she’s just in the bank’s staff rest area. Maybe her mind misinterpreted the look the man gave her before he left the meeting. She’s fallen asleep. Hervé’s going to wake her. His penis is hard as a weapon. He strikes deep inside her belly with violent thrusts. The pain makes her throw up over the rear seat. He doesn’t stop. His breathing accelerates. “Come here!” he says, lifting his heavy body toward Marie’s face. His hard penis hovers expectantly under her mouth. “Go on, put it in your mouth.” She twists her head in every direction, begs him to stop, tries to free herself from his hold. He stills her face with his hands, and his knees restrict her movements, then he rams his penis into her mouth, right to the back of her throat. It smells slightly of urine. She’s going to choke. She bites into it with her teeth. He pulls out and slaps her. “Filthy bitch! So that’s what you want!” He still has an erection. He comes back into her from behind, sodomizing her. She’s never done this with anyone. Marie can feel liquid trickling over her legs. The pain is intolerable. He switches back to her vagina and eventually comes inside her with a groan of pleasure. It’s over. His penis is limp, soaked in semen, vomit, blood, excrement, and vaginal fluid. He’s satisfied and clambers furtively back to his seat to button up his pants. “That’s it, you can go.”