Status: steadily updating
Letters to Paris
Neuf/Nine
Louis
I went back again the next day. I don't know why I did. I'm an idiot.
My chest throbbed painfully, as my lungs filled with air repeatedly, legs burning with exhaustion with each step as they pounded painfully into the sidewalk street. I flew past people, some muttering dirty words as I passed, and some just stared in shock, almost if they wanted to ask if I was alright. None of them did, of course. I had my own problems, and they had theirs.
I found her sitting on her balcony just like last time, but instead of holding a mug, she held a piece of paper between her hands. A smile so wide and so joyous played on her features, I didn't know I called out her name until she waved at me to come up the hidden steel steps.
I mean, I can’t explain how much I regretted standing there, staring up at Chanel like a lovesick puppy, I shouldn’t be doing this, I have a girlfriend. When I reached the top she stood waiting for me with that butterfly-stirring smile on her lips.
But, standing in front of her felt so right, being near her felt so right. "Bonjour, Louis," the way my name slipped out of her French lips made my stomach flip. "Where has Harry been?
My inner thoughts hissed at me, startling me out of my stare, "He isn't aloud out of the sight of security."
She set her mouth open wide, as she looked sadly at me, "Because I kept him." Chanel's eyes flicked down to her feet before they connected with my own. "Eleanor called me this morning and said she's worried about you, is everything alright?"
As much as I wanted to run up to her, and kiss her right there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. I turned the other way, and walked across the street.
“Are you home alone?” I heard myself asking, feeling as though my mind and body were two separate entities. My mind was screaming to stop and think of my loving, beautiful girlfriend who was worried about me. But instead I watched as Chanel's eyes widened, as my hand reached up to stroke her face, then her cheek, and my thumb brushed across her bottom lip.
“Louis,” she whispered, “Are you-”
Ah fuck it.
And I ran.
Out into the cold France afternoon and into the crowd of French people and Paris tourists, not a glimpse behind me.
I’m so fucking messed up.
I went back again the next day. I don't know why I did. I'm an idiot.
My chest throbbed painfully, as my lungs filled with air repeatedly, legs burning with exhaustion with each step as they pounded painfully into the sidewalk street. I flew past people, some muttering dirty words as I passed, and some just stared in shock, almost if they wanted to ask if I was alright. None of them did, of course. I had my own problems, and they had theirs.
I found her sitting on her balcony just like last time, but instead of holding a mug, she held a piece of paper between her hands. A smile so wide and so joyous played on her features, I didn't know I called out her name until she waved at me to come up the hidden steel steps.
I mean, I can’t explain how much I regretted standing there, staring up at Chanel like a lovesick puppy, I shouldn’t be doing this, I have a girlfriend. When I reached the top she stood waiting for me with that butterfly-stirring smile on her lips.
But, standing in front of her felt so right, being near her felt so right. "Bonjour, Louis," the way my name slipped out of her French lips made my stomach flip. "Where has Harry been?
My inner thoughts hissed at me, startling me out of my stare, "He isn't aloud out of the sight of security."
She set her mouth open wide, as she looked sadly at me, "Because I kept him." Chanel's eyes flicked down to her feet before they connected with my own. "Eleanor called me this morning and said she's worried about you, is everything alright?"
As much as I wanted to run up to her, and kiss her right there, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. I turned the other way, and walked across the street.
“Are you home alone?” I heard myself asking, feeling as though my mind and body were two separate entities. My mind was screaming to stop and think of my loving, beautiful girlfriend who was worried about me. But instead I watched as Chanel's eyes widened, as my hand reached up to stroke her face, then her cheek, and my thumb brushed across her bottom lip.
“Louis,” she whispered, “Are you-”
Ah fuck it.
And I ran.
Out into the cold France afternoon and into the crowd of French people and Paris tourists, not a glimpse behind me.
I’m so fucking messed up.