Can't Find My Way Home
Chapitre quinze
Turns out they met at a party that Iwas pressed ganged into having agreed to have in my room, so really, he had a girlfriend now as a direct result of yet another of my decisions - fantastic. I decided that I wasn't going to dwell on it any more then I already had. I had a whole new life laid out ahead of me; no more hassels of marriage, no more worries of Gerard and the boys, I could hang out with them all I liked now the air was cleared, I was touring the world doing what I love, and I was over Frank. Where else to start your new life, then in Paris.. setting aside the fact that it was the most romantic city it the world, supposedly. Everyone was currentlly sitting around a large table in a very nice restaraunt, laughing, joking, talking loudly to each other from one end of the table to the other, it was great all being together. Aside from 'Seleria', but I expertly managed to ignore her existence, which obviously pissed off Frank, as he was currently going out of his way to try and get my attention focused on him and his 'lady' friend.
"So Dill, you going to take a photo of me tonight, or just everybody else?" I looked blankly at him, no emotion or animation at all. "Oh," he recoiled, "are you trying to tell me that.. that I'm not photogenic." he smirked, knowing full well he was. The table, quieted down, obviously sensing the tone in which Frank was using. He was winding me up like a toy.
"No, no.." I smiled, "of course you're photogenic Frank, with those perfectly shaped eyebrows of yours. It's just, vegetables aren't that 'unique' enough for me to want to shoot.." I smiled falsely, before adding an addendum with bite, "..in a photographic sense of course. Because I'd quite happily, literally, shoot a vegetable. Especially a root one." Mikey sniggered to himself, while the others were perplexed. The expressions on their faces matched that of chimps facing the daily dilemma of 'fling fruit? or faeces?'.
"Was that a personal attack on me, or to the result of my decision finally move on?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"A little of both, cheese!" I snapped my finger down, and got a brilliant shot of Frank's gormless face. Maybe I would turn it into a large poster and get him to sign it for me. He ground his teeth together and placed his hand ontop of Celery's.
"Babe," she said in the ridiculously fake, British accent that was beginning to drive me up the wall, "can we get out of here, you know, go somewhere less.. busy?" she seductively said in a hushed tone to the object of her 'affection' who was blatently out of her league. The novel '20,000 Leauges Under the Sea', sprang imeadiately to mind.
"No," he smirked, his eyes still burrowing into mine, "I like it here, with the guys.. and you." the malacious glint in his eye dissappeared only as he turned his head to face her, and promptly start kissing her neck. It were as if it were a magnet, that when he tried to pull away, drew him back by the pull of his lip ring. I rolled my eyes and took asip gulp of wine, while Mikey and Gerard enjoyed themselves making wretching noises at the sight of Celery very near orgasming right there in her seat.
"Mrs. Nicholls.." a clean cut waiter said in an, almost hilariously typical, French accent. I looked up, annoyed.
"Miss. Suuskind." I corrected him sternly.
"I have been sent to give you this messege." he said, quietly handing a folded piece of paper to me, before bowing his head slightly and taking his leave. I glanced down at the note, and screwed it up in one hand, while I pressed my palm to my forhead with the other. This wasn't happening.
"So Dill, you going to take a photo of me tonight, or just everybody else?" I looked blankly at him, no emotion or animation at all. "Oh," he recoiled, "are you trying to tell me that.. that I'm not photogenic." he smirked, knowing full well he was. The table, quieted down, obviously sensing the tone in which Frank was using. He was winding me up like a toy.
"No, no.." I smiled, "of course you're photogenic Frank, with those perfectly shaped eyebrows of yours. It's just, vegetables aren't that 'unique' enough for me to want to shoot.." I smiled falsely, before adding an addendum with bite, "..in a photographic sense of course. Because I'd quite happily, literally, shoot a vegetable. Especially a root one." Mikey sniggered to himself, while the others were perplexed. The expressions on their faces matched that of chimps facing the daily dilemma of 'fling fruit? or faeces?'.
"Was that a personal attack on me, or to the result of my decision finally move on?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"A little of both, cheese!" I snapped my finger down, and got a brilliant shot of Frank's gormless face. Maybe I would turn it into a large poster and get him to sign it for me. He ground his teeth together and placed his hand ontop of Celery's.
"Babe," she said in the ridiculously fake, British accent that was beginning to drive me up the wall, "can we get out of here, you know, go somewhere less.. busy?" she seductively said in a hushed tone to the object of her 'affection' who was blatently out of her league. The novel '20,000 Leauges Under the Sea', sprang imeadiately to mind.
"No," he smirked, his eyes still burrowing into mine, "I like it here, with the guys.. and you." the malacious glint in his eye dissappeared only as he turned his head to face her, and promptly start kissing her neck. It were as if it were a magnet, that when he tried to pull away, drew him back by the pull of his lip ring. I rolled my eyes and took asip gulp of wine, while Mikey and Gerard enjoyed themselves making wretching noises at the sight of Celery very near orgasming right there in her seat.
"Mrs. Nicholls.." a clean cut waiter said in an, almost hilariously typical, French accent. I looked up, annoyed.
"Miss. Suuskind." I corrected him sternly.
"I have been sent to give you this messege." he said, quietly handing a folded piece of paper to me, before bowing his head slightly and taking his leave. I glanced down at the note, and screwed it up in one hand, while I pressed my palm to my forhead with the other. This wasn't happening.