An hour and a half into Harry and I’s lesson two things had become increasingly clear. The first, I was picking up on English much to fast, and Harry was way to good at learning French. About ten minutes in his accent was perfect and he sounded more confident in the words than I did.
“How did you know I wasn’t French?” I asked, and he raised a brow when I said those words. Granted, he never said he knew I wasn’t exactly a Parisian, but I could tell he picked up on it. My voice was void of all accents except for my own, a thick British accent.
“I didn’t know-“ he started, but I gave him a glare and he sighed, his shoulders dropping. “You pronounce the consonants after the vowel,” he added, “and your accent isn’t exactly convincing.” I frowned and leaned back, crossing my arms. I guess my memory hadn’t served me well after all.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked, and he looked at me.
“I was going to speak to Gemma about it, but you brought it up,” he replied, and I sighed, looking down at my lap. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say next, because honestly, the whole French nurse concept was already a stretch. Even if he believed it, I doubted I convince Louis as well … if he were still outside the house that is. He had stayed on the phone since he had first gone out, not pausing for any breaks.
“Oh,” I muttered, lifting my eyes slightly, realizing that Gemma’s brother was still watching me. “So you know some French?” I asked, feeling stupid with the fact that I’d been pretending to know a language I obviously didn’t for hours now. It had no point, and it made me flush with embarrassment that there was no point in it.
“I’m fluent actually,” he admitted, and I hear his voice unsure of whether to disclose this information, although I’m not sure if it was out of pity for me. “Although, I can say, I don’t think I’ve ever heard French spoke the way you did,” he added, and I felt myself take a quick breath in and out of my nose.
“You mean terribly?” I asked, and she shook his head.
“I meant with urgency,” he replied, “you said each of those words like your life depended on it. Projects were important to people in my classes, but they never spoke like you did,” he replied, and I felt my jaw clench, my hair brushing against my jawline. I guess I did rely on the language of the French a bit much in those few hours, but I hated that he had picked on up that. “Who are you?” he finally asked in a breath after a moment of silence.
“Alice,” I replied simply, pushing myself up from the chairs and leaving the area where I’d left Harry in his chair, his eyes following me as I went to get a drink. I wasn’t thirsty, just in need of something to do, and pouring myself something to drink seemed worthy at that moment.
“I mean, what are you doing with my sister?” he asked, and I paused, just for a moment, before I opened the fridge and pulled out some sparkling water. I didn’t reply, but obviously noticed my tension. “She obviously knows you’re here so I don’t think you’re dangerous or anything … but why you two lie,” he asked, and I could hear his voice louder after his footsteps subdued. He was closer than he was before.
“We’re friends,” I replied, also quite simply. I wanted Gemma to waltz through that door, for some freak reason being home much to early, “and she’s letting me stay with her.”
“You look a lot younger than her though,” he blurted, “how old are you?” I bit my lip, not that I actually knew the answer. The days in the madhouse had blurred together in an uneasy fashion, and before that for about a year I wasn’t sure of anything. I hadn’t bothered with discovering it since I’d come to Gemma’s, and I didn’t plan to.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to ask a girl her age?” I asked, no hint of that being an interrogative sentence other than the wording. I paused for a small moment before I spoke again. “I’m seventeen,” I decided finally and I could hear the swish of his face nodding.
“You know, you can tell me why you’re here,” he said, and I frowned, spinning around and tucking a golden strand behind my ear.
“Actually I can’t,” I retorted, his brow furrowing. He lips were set in a line and he was watching me. I was suddenly aware of his height versus mine. I wasn’t petite by most standards, about 5”6, but across from Harry I felt small.
“You know, I think I liked your simple phrases better when I thought you were French,” he said, and I couldn’t quite read if the words were meant to cut or not. I didn’t do anything in reaction, just kept my eyes on him, something dogs do to show they weren’t going to back down. Eventually someone would back off and then you’d have the ability to leave with pride.
Technically neither of us won or lost since someone else had burst into the house. I knew I would’ve lost though. I’m not good with confrontation. Especially when the one opposing me has eyes so similar to ones I remember from my last stint in wild world. Green eyes. They were intense, they were startling, and most important, they were familiar …
Authors Note ~ I would be making a nice long note, but alas, in a twist of events, I have a date today. Kinda cliche, being asked out on valentines day, but also cute, so I'm going on a date with a boy from my school. Sorry for the short length of this chapter, but I wrote it quickly before I'm about to get dressed. Wish me luck on my date lovelies :D
Oh and the dedication was given because xx_zaynluvr_xx brought to my attention that Harry was in fact fluent in French ... well I used it :D
<3
Luce
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The Mad Ones (A One Direction Fan Fiction)
FanfictionAlice isn't just falling down a rabbit hole anymore.
