invasato [h.s]

73

Elaina Basset

Paris, France

Mom would be so proud of me.

I left Denver. I travelled. I chased my dreams. I worked. And I worked hard.

I loved. I cried. I got on the train. I rode it all the way. I got in the cab. I saw the Eiffel tower peaking over the buildings.

I did what I said I would do, and mom would be so proud of me.

But pride has been buried deep, deep down and replaced with grief and heaviness and a shadow that won't let up.

My mind can't surrender him..

I want him here. I want him to watch me achieve. And that's so wrong of me.

My wandering thoughts all lead back to him—what he's doing...what he's thinking...if he's drowning in regret.

I should enjoy the thought of someone who hurt me so bad suffering and being consumed by guilt. But I can't. Not Harry. Not the person I'd surrender this life and the next for if it meant saving him.

I love him. And it's ripping apart my insides.

The cab pulls in front of the hotel which is being paid for by the Institution. The door is opened for me by a man in a suit, and once I'm out of the car, he retrieves my bag from the trunk as well. He gives me a smile and a nod as he hands me my suitcase.

"Merci." I perform.

Suitcase rolling behind me, my baby pink Mary Jane covered feet carry my nearly soulless body up the stairs and through the doors.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle." another stranger greets me at the concierge desk. "Checking in?"

"Uh, yes." I smile politely as I can and nod. "For Elaina Basset?"

He types nimbly on the keyboard, "Yes. We have you." he turns around and opens a drawer. "Your room key. House keeping should just be finishing up." he tells me, handing the key card over to me with a friendly grin.

"Thank you. Merci." I correct myself and head for the elevator.

I've been given a suite on the penthouse level—luxury that I've yet to get used to even when I was with Harry.

I get into the elevator, leaning against the wall and releasing a sigh of tension once I'm alone. I look to the top of the elevator, seeing a mirror.

Meeting my own face in the reflection, I don't recognize what's looking back at me.

My skin is dull. My eyes...they're lightless.

I'm done up in a skirt and blouse, but I feel like a mannequin.

I have to look away.  

I pull out my phone, looking down at a text from Isaac asking if I'm at my hotel.

I caved. I texted him the entire train ride, told him I was also going to be in Paris. He was like a vice for my sadness and I'm not in any way proud of it.

And what's worse, is he is the only person I can text right now to let them know I've arrived at my dream destination.

He wants to come to my display premiere, but I'm not too sure about that yet. I don't know if I want to actually see him in person.

He wasn't the one who was supposed to show up and support me.

The elevator opens to my floor. I'm on the very top floor, and all the way at the end of the hall.