Our Blank Canvas

Chapter Two

Hi everyone!! It's been awhile since I've found something to continue, but I think this might be a project I keep up. Hopefully. If I can keep myself on track... anyways!!! Thanks for reading!! I hope you're enjoying!!

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Marinette

Entering the town I grew up in shouldn't be this painful. With every mile marker I pass, it feels like I'm being sucked into this abyss of the past that I left behind for a reason. I suppose the view of the ocean from out of my window makes it somewhat better, but it still feels like there's a hole in my heart here that I don't think I'm strong enough to fill. Not now, and not over.
    I wonder if he's here still. The thought sends goosebumps down my arms, and I rub my arm with my free hand to try to get them to go away. The world speeds by, the road in front of me disappearing as towering buildings appear in the distance.
    Paris. The city of love. And yet, all I can think about is the love that I lost here. Or maybe it's because I moved out of Paris. Maybe love doesn't thrive outside of the city of love. I find myself chewing on my lower lip, and pass the big sign.

    'Bienvenue, Paris.'

    I try to decipher the words. Is it telling me welcome to Paris, or is it telling me something more along the lines of, 'Welcome to the place where you lost all your friends! Oh, and the love of your life, too!'
    I can see buildings begin to appear. As if exponentially, the French countryside turns into urbanization, and I begin to recognize the businesses. I can see the Bourgeois hotel from here, across the city. The Seine flows next to the road I'm driving on. Avenue des Belle Vue. It's named after 'La Belle Vue', a hotel on the street. I used to want to live on this street. The houses all look like Victorian style mansions, and even better - the street name rhymes! I chuckle to myself at the memory, and turn onto Avenue Champs-Élysées. This is one of the most busy streets in Paris, and it's pretty clear that that has only worsened since I last visited here.
    My parents moved their bakery, and now they live on this street. So when I pull up, there's almost no room for me to park. Stepping out of my car for the first time in about an hour, I stretch, cracking my neck with a groan, and walk to the storefront. The bell on the door brings back memories, and I smile a little.
I'm kind of glad that the store is somewhere else. I have too many memories from inside that building. When I open the door, it's silent though. Nobody's in the front, so I slowly look around. Ah, different building. Same layout.
My breath hitches. It was in a booth like that one where he and I shared our first croissant together. It was inside that closet that we had our first kiss. And many, many more kisses after that. It's almost too much to take in, and I could feel my chest tightening, so I went to find something to do, instead of just sitting here.
I walk into the kitchen, and find a few small messes of flour or egg on the counter, wiping them up with a small rag, and upon putting the rag in the hamper, I find that the trash can is overflowing. So I do what my old chore used to be, taking the bag out of the can, and I tie a hasty knot, hoisting it over my shoulder.
But what I see when I walk towards the dumpster shocks me. I stare in disbelief, and it feels like my heart just jumped up into my throat, or like a snake constricting around my neck. I find I'm holding my breath for far too long, and my hands are sweaty. I feel like I'm drowning.
The name creeps up my throat like poison, the sweetest and most tempting poison that anyone ever heard. Spoke. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out yet.
I watch as the figure lifts the lid to the dumpster. A painting. He's throwing away a destroyed canvas. And for some reason, my chest tightens, like I need to stop him. I need to talk to him.
"Felix?" I call out, my words echoing in the small space of the alley. His entire body tenses up, and I almost regret speaking.
He's turning around.
Oh my hell, he's turning around.
We keep each other's gazes for awhile. I scan over his features. He's taller than before. Skinnier too, a little bit on the worrisome side. His jaw is sharp as always, but his lips are pressed tightly in a thin line, and I can see the stubble that lines his chin and neck. His once-perfect golden hair falls into his eyes, messy and greasy, and I feel bad. Did I do this to him?
"Marinette," he says in the softest voice. I'm not even sure how I heard it, because it was so quiet. His voice is deep, and smooth just as it always was. I could feel my own body grow warm. I feel sick. If I really thought about it, I might actually throw up from the mixture of regret, butterflies, and road sickness twisting in my stomach.
The sour taste of bile fills my mouth, and I think I might be crying. Yeah. That's a tear rolling down my cheek. Maybe I didn't do the right thing all those years ago.
I don't know what else to say, so I just say what comes to mind first. "It's been so long since I last saw you," I say, and then mentally slap myself.
Damn it Marinette, you ghosted him! That was stupid!!
Before I can correct myself, he replies. "I don't see how that has anything to do with me."
His words are bitter. They hit me like a sack of bricks, and I swear my entire body shut down for a few seconds while registering that. He's mad. Really mad.
I open my mouth to apologize, and tears are now streaming down my face faster, hotter, more painful. I try to call out his name but he's already storming off. The canvas he was holding crashes to the floor and I wince at the clatter it left behind, realizing I'm alone.
I can't let him leave. Not like this. I should never have come out here. "Félix!!" I call out desperately, but my voice is drowned out by the turning on of an engine. I run. I sprint, hoping to catch up to him before he can leave. But I can't.
He's gone. And as I look out, finally stopping to catch my breath, I can see him looking at me through the rear view mirror.
I can see him crying.
And it breaks my heart all over again.