word count: 35,000+ slow burn.
Seven years ago, Sam pointed to the moon. What followed was France, A Firefighter, London, A Balcony, and a townhouse with peach-coloured walls and an upstairs kitchen.
Lyla didn't expect to ever see "someone" Kiszka a...
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I awoke suddenly that same night and something dawned upon me to check my phone. It was 1:17 AM. After a few seconds of waking up, I discovered the urge I had was due to the constant vibrating, pinging and ringing from Jean. There was so many notifications everyone at home probably thought I had an alarm going off that I was sleeping through. It was just Jean obsessively ringing me over and over.
I turned towards the wall and tried to ignore the constant ringing, but I couldn't. It had been ringing now for 20 minutes, and I know that everyone in the house could probably hear it, and even if I put it on just vibrate, the vibrating would be just as annoying.
I answered the phone, and just as I expected, there was shouting. I didn't say a word, I just listened, analyzing what he had to say.
"Ces derniers jours, j'ai commencé à avoir l'impression de ne plus t'aimer du tout." He stated. Monotone. It made my jaw drop in shock.
-These past few days, I've started to feel like I don't even love you at all.- is what he said.
I told him that he doesn't mean that. I told him I hadn't done anything but what I wanted to do, and I told him that if he can't accept that, he should leave me. I opened up about the way he made me feel. Explaining that over the past few days, I have felt like he doesn't know who I am. And he has surely been treating me like he didn't like me. After I had done absolutely nothing wrong. All I did to him was accidentally respond to a message in English. All I did was fall asleep without telling him. I knew there was other things I did which would cause him to be angry, but these things he did not know.
"Vous m'avez épuisé. Je ne suis loin de toi que depuis trois jours et je le préfère déjà. Je suis assez mature pour croire qu'on peut s'en sortir, donc je te demande, viens à Londres, je sais que tu as toujours un billet de train, et arrangé ça avec moi. Si tu ne veux pas faire ça, tu peux partir et ne plus jamais me parler." I added.
He sighed as if I would never understand what he was trying to say. I had just told him that if he doesn't come to London and try to speak with me, he could leave me and never speak to me again. Because it would be a perfect example of his immaturity, which I could deal with, but not on this level.
He didn't say anything for a few seconds, then put the phone down on me. I layed there, numb, drained. He had never ever been this horrible to me, in the whole two years we had known each other. He was always controlling and hated it when things didn't go his way but he was never so verbally horrible and disrespectful towards me. All of my opinions of him being a respectful gentleman was thrown out of the window. I don't know how he managed to hold back this intense hatred for so long. I couldn't help but think something had changed at home. Something for him to be guilty about. However I shook the thought because it was extremely unlikely.
I tried to get myself back to sleep, but failed, as my head was now pounding, from the restlessness of my emotions. I decided to go and get a drink, but as I stepped out of my room I was startled to see Danny standing in the kitchen, drinking a beer and looking through the cupboards. He turned around quickly, equally startled, and watched me carefully with narrow, tired eyes.
