Midnights In Paris | Jenlisa

Marie Antoinette's House

Lisa found herself in a spacious apartment probably at the third floor. Or fourth. However French people counted stories.

Looking around, she noticed that, even though the space was elegantly arranged, it looked straight out of a design magazine. Maybe even too much. It lacked personal touch, like no one lived there.

Jennie had said it wasn't her house, after all. Then whose was it? Would Jennie take her to a stranger's house? Lisa highly doubted that. If there was something Jennie hated more than surprises, was asking other people favors. And asking someone to let a drunk stranger crash at their place at three in the morning went even beyond that.

Lisa was too busy looking around the spotless apartment to notice that Jennie had disappeared behind a dark wooden door as soon as she had taken her shoes off. She came back after a while still wearing the same things she had on when she had come to pick Lisa up. Even though her outfit looked kind of messy, her composure never made her look unkempt to another's eyes.

The moonlight shone through the three high windows that adorned the living room. Or what Lisa could make out of it, anyway.
She had yet to acknowledge Jennie's presence so, as any normal person in their drunken state of mind, she laid on the floor. The vaulted ceiling looked way to0 ancient and therefore fancy that it managed to make her feel uncomfortable. That's why whenever she was in Europe she always stayed at a hotel. No air&Bs for her, no ma'am. At least nothing that was built when Marie Antoinette was still telling people to eat croissant. Right before they cut her head off, just to be clear. There was something about sleeping in beds where potentially other dozens, if not hundreds, of people had slept and maybe died on, that gave her the creeps.

A shirt and a pair of pants were suddenly dropped right into her face, abruptly interrupting her French Revolution digression about Jennie's "not-house" ceilings.

'Wear these. I'm going to bed. The guest room is the last door on the right." Feline eyes were looking down on Lisa who was still sprawled across the hard wooden floor.

Before she could say anything, Jennie had already left the room. The sound of a door being shut followed shortly after.

Struggling to get up, Lisa decided to do as she was told. She hadn't seen Jennie in two years but she sure remembered how scary she looked when she got mad. And if Lisa could read the room even a little bit, she had probably already crossed the line that night.
The floor creaked under the girl's weight and the latter cringed at the noise. She worriedly wondered how she was going to manage getting herself to bed without disturbing the owner of the house who would, hopefully, already be asleep. She cursed at herself for not having asked Jennie for some water to help her sober up. God knew her drunken state hadn't helped her at all in the last hours.

Going down the long hallway of the apartment, she stared at the doors that seemed to go on forever. When she finally made it to the end, she retraced her steps. She was standing in front of three doors: one right in front of her, one on her left and ,lastly, one on her right. It couldn't be the middle one, Lisa thought. She was pretty sure Jennie had told her to go either on the left or right one. Which one specifically, that the brunette girl couldn't say.

Tentatively, she took a step towards the right door. What if she walked into the wrong room? By the looks of it, the house seemed pretty empty. So if the odds were in her favor, which to be honest wasn't something Lisa could say rather often, she wouldn't walk in on her ex sleeping soundly. With a hand on the doorknob she slowly started to turn it when something stopped her. A gut feeling. Something was telling her that the left door was the right one. Dwelling on it for a few more seconds, she finally gave in and went to open the said door.