Chapter 4: Paris

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Was it the evening breeze? The less crowded streets? Chalamet strolling beside me? It could have been any or neither of these, Paris just seemed different. My fists weren't clenched, eyes weren't scrubbing against the floor. I was finally getting a look at Paris for the first time. A horde of cars rode quietly over the interlocked streets as a woman got a portrait painted under a café shade. It looked beautiful. "I'd like to try that sometime". "Artists are often on the streets through the day. You could probably get one sometime". A wave of colors washed over as we kept strolling. The mild evening sun fell through a mass of green umbrellas hanging above as slender poles hoisted up little balls of light.
Ding ding. The doors swung open to the familiar cream and chocolate of café chez Marie. Quicker than the scents of roasting coffee and toast rushed to my nose, she shot out from the counter. "Welcome". We simultaneously gave off nods. "Is this the cat you mentioned earlier?". She remembered. "Yeah, he's been a big help". We both chuckled as she walked me to a familiar table. "What can I get you?" she asked as I sat down. "I'd like another plate of toast and cranberry sauce please". She gave the warmest smile before walking away.
My eyes wandered off through the large window. "Enchanted maybe?". I glanced under to Chalamet, laying belly up on my lap. "There's only so much you can see in movies after all". He rolled over "Well, there's alot more to Paris so don't fill your eyes just yet". "You two seem close". I sprung up. "Ye...yeah". Chalamet shot up at the table, hearing the clacking sound of a plate hitting the table. "Oups. I might have to bring another". I let out a laugh, following her lead. "Please do". She walked,briskly to the kitchen.
"Miam. This is delicious". My arms shot out, plucking him from the table. "Stop talking. I'm pretty sure it's not normal for cats to be doing that". His copper eyes fixed on me as he licked the sauce from his paw. "Relax. You're the only one that can hear me. To everyone else, it's just another meow". A mite or rage seeped into my whisper. "What does that mean?!". "That bruise on your arm is what connects us. The spot where our blood twined. The thread that is now wrapped around both of us". I fell into my seat. "We're... We're not married are we?". He fell from my lap, rolling hysterically on the floor. "Of course not". My head fell to the table, letting out a sigh. "Don't be embarrassed. Think of it as a mark of our friendship". "Friendship?". "Yeah... Your father and I had ours as well". He lifted his paw to my face. "it's all covered up, but this spot is what connected us". I looked over to the covered cut on my arm. "And this is what connects us". "Right you are" he said, stuffing his face with another chunk. "Here's your order". I turned over. It was her brother. "You look like you're doing fine. I'm glad". "Thank you". I pulled the plate as he drifted with the evening breeze.
My eyes shot open as the flavors seeped into my mouth. "I want to taste more of Paris" I thought to myself, stuffing my face, spoon after another.

The bells clanked as I pulled the door open. "Be sure to come again anytime". Her words sunk into me, exposing my smile. Chalamet and I strolled back as the sun handed over it's baton to the slender street lights. I felt around the walls of the dim- lit living room, falling on a candle and match. With a strike, it's wick burned as I charged up the staircase. "Where are you going?". "To the shrine". "Wait. I thought we were taking a break from that till we found out what was going on". The thumping of my feet quieted as I turned back toward him. "The only way we're going to know is right there Chalamet". I turned around as the thumping continued. "Are you coming?". He gave a loud sigh before the sound of tiny, running feet followed.
"Okay deep breaths". "Are you sure about this?". Emptying out my lungs, "Yeah". I turned the knob as my eyes were greeted by the scorched remnants of the socks I had on. I took a number of deep breaths before walking into the room. A combo of shuddering breaths and quaking feet ensued as the wooden slabs grew hotter. Chalamet's voice cheered from the hall. "Just stay calm. You got this". My eyes closed, remembering the colors I had seen in the woman's painting. The slabs grew warmer as I lunged forward with another step. "Wooooo! You're doing it!" I turned over to him with a grin like a Cheshire cat. "I think the room may be responding to my thoughts... When I first walked in here, I was thinking of my father and I guess that's why it felt warm". "I never thought of that. Well that just means you have to think about things that make you happy right?". That wasn't wrong. It's just, I had been doing that for some time and the slabs had only gotten hotter. My left foot launched off the ground "Uh... I think there may be more to it than that", scurrying to the shrine, clasping the book in my hand. "Oh I know, just think about a happy moment with your family". The room turned dark as Chalamet's words echoed in my mind. My limbs stiffened as images of my mother flashed. "TWINKLE! SNAP OUT OF IT!!" My eyes peeled open, yanked out by Chalamet's voice. The mist of my breath clouded my view as a fog covered the room. A sense of foreboding surged. The once burning room had turned bone-shakingly cold. My toes burned as I struggled to make my way out of the room. The sounds of clacking teeth and shuddering breath overpowered my senses as my vision grew murkier. "Was I even heading in the right direction? Could I make it out?". Neither of these questions seemed appealing to answer. It became clear in that moment, if my feet stopped moving, that would be the end. The aching in my feet grew louder as my joints yearned to stop. With my eyes shut and only a faint memory to rely on, I threw a few steps forward before "THUD!". My body gave out.
The sun peeped through the living room window as a warm orange fell on my face. My eyes peeled open, squinting away from the light. The tips of my fingers and toes felt so cold I thought of dipping them in boiling water. The weight of a duvet held me down on the couch as my eyes darted around the room. Chalamet's voice moved from across the room. "You're up!". He sprinted across the room, leaping on my belly. "You should have seen yourself. You were amazing! Like some mountain climber powering through a blizzard. It was awesome". A smile stretched across my face but was interrupted by a thought. "Wait. What about the journal". He grinned at me, pointing to my hand. "Take a look under". As I raised up the duvet a gust of air pumped into my lung. There it was, firmly tucked under my right palm's grasp.

"The journal!". "You held onto it all night. Your grip was so tight I thought you were going to rip it's back off". I yanked him into my arms as my eyes leaked down my cheeks. "Merci. Merci beaucoup Chalamet". I felt his warmth as my fingers ran through his grey fur. "Relax. We haven't even opened it yet". Still stroking his fur, "you're right". "Can you let go of me now?". "No. No soft and warm". "We need breakfast".

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