Deadly Devotion

I

Blood covers her shoes and arms. She desperately tries to scrub the red liquid off but it's not budging. Her hands clutch the marble sink as she looks at herself in the mirror. She's shaking uncontrollably and she didn't realize until it was too late that she had stained the sink with bloody hand prints. She screams as she rakes her hands through her hair. She tries again, snatching the soap from the cabinet, pouring the lavender scent all over her arms and white sneakers. Turning the water on, she tries again to wash it off.
"Get out! Get out!" She yells. She doesn't understand how this could happen. Tears cover her face as she gives up and collapses to the ground.

She sits up in her bed realizing the tears that wet her face. She wipes them with the back of her hand as she feels the sweat stained sheets from underneath her. She looks at the clock. 5:19 AM.

"Fuck," she whispers to herself as she stands up, removing her sheets.

She has these nightmares often even though it's been a little over two years. She always wakes up in a pile of her own sweat and tears. She wishes it could just end. She is forced to relive it almost every week and each time, she can never fall back asleep.

The scent of coffee fills her nostrils as the machine disperses the caffeinated beverage into a white mug. She never waits for the coffee to cool down, she just sips it when it's scolding hot which ultimately burns her tongue but she doesn't care. Usually she would pour a shot of whiskey into the mug but last night, she ran out of the liquor she despises so much. She hates whiskey but that's the point. Making people think she's someone else. And sometimes even convincing herself that she's someone else.

Her name is Charlotte Lemoine according to her ID and that's how she introduces herself. Although she didn't want to, she had to change it because no one else in the world is named Mamrie Hart so people would know exactly who she was if she were to introduce herself as that. And that's definitely not what she wants. She also changed her appearance. Her hair is dyed light brown now and she wears brown contact lenses. That's how the majority of the people here look so she's able to blend in with the French crowd. She's developed somewhat of an accent over the past couple of years but people can still tell that she's from the states. A lot of her customers ask where she's from and she always tells them New York, which, of course, is a complete lie but again, that's the point. Plus, people in France are pretty much only familiar with California and New York so there are no more questions asked when she answers with "New York." Although, she does hope one day people will just think she's from around here. But her French isn't exactly the greatest. It's much better than it was before thanks to Le Café Marie.

When she first arrived in France, she didn't have a job. Le Café Marie was right across the street from where she lived so she decided to apply there. Luckily, the owner, Louise, spoke English well enough to communicate with Mamrie. Louise had owned the café for 40 years. She told Mamrie that it had been a family business, and was passed onto her when her mother, Marie, died. Mamrie took a liking to Louise and they got along well while working.

"Charlotte dear, if you teach me more English words, I'll teach you some French."

And from that day on, they'd each have a "word of the day" pinned to the board in the back room. One in English and one in French. They made a little game out of it. They each had to use the word in a sentence to each other while working. It was fun and educational for them but it did earn them a few confused glares from customers, which made it even more hilarious.

After a year of working at the café, Mamrie found out that Louise was sick. Some type of rare cancer. Mamrie was right beside her through it all. The doctors gave her three months to live and Mamrie was devastated. Even though Louise was in her 60's, she was still the closest thing she had to a friend in France. She was the only person Mamrie interacted with regularly and she even spent countless hours listening to all of the incredible stories Louise had to tell. And now, the only person she had was dying. The week before she died, Mamrie told her everything. She told her her real name and why she left home to come to France. Laying in her hospital bed, Louise listened to Mamrie as she sobbed and relived everything. She stayed silent until she was sure Mamrie was done speaking.

"Well, Mamrie, I love your name. Belle."

Mamrie looked at Louise in awe and whispered, "Merci."

The fact that Louise didn't comment on Mamrie's whole story and only decided to say something about her name, made Mamrie confused but somehow relieved. A few days later, Louise brought up something that Mamrie hadn't even thought about.

"Can we talk about Le Café?"

"Oh uh yeah of course. What about it?"

"I want you to have it," Louise said as she took Mamrie's hand.

Mamrie looked at her with wide eyes.

"What? W-why me? Won't your children want it?"

"No no. They're off doing other things. They wouldn't want it," Louise paused, "But if you want it, I want you to have it, Mamrie. Everyone knows you there and you're great with the customers. I have no doubt in my mind that you'll make le café an even better place. Continue ma and I's legacy."

And so, Mamrie left the hospital that day with a pair of keys and a signed paper that stated Le Café Marie was hers. Well, Charlotte's.

The next day she had two coffees in hand, ready to bring to Louise but as she rounded the corner, she heard a noise. It was the sound of someone flatlining. And it was coming from Louise's room. Mamrie dropped the coffees and ran inside to find doctors and nurses standing and looking at the lifeless body in front of them.

"Why are you just standing there?! Do something!" Mamrie cried.

"Elle nous a dit de ne pas ressusciter, madame."

"What? She signed a DNR?"

The doctors pushed her out of the room because she was a mess and she knew it. She slid down the wall and gathered herself in a ball on the floor, trying to calm herself down. Louise was the only one who knew and she was gone. After what seemed like hours, Louise was being wheeled out in a body bag.

"Oh Jesus Christ," Mamrie began to cry again.

A few minutes passed and she felt a small tap on her shoulder. She looked up and a doctor held an envelope with the name "Charlotte" written on it.

"Charlotte?"

Mamrie nodded.

"Um for you?" The doctor said, clearly struggling with English.

Mamrie carefully took the envelope and opened it when the doctor left.

Mamrie,

If you're reading this, the doctors must've found it under my pillow and given it to you...or you must've just been snooping around and found it...either way, I'm glad you're reading this. As you know, Le Café, is now yours. But that's not the only thing I'm leaving to you. In my Will, it states that everything goes to Charlotte Lemoine. Everything. Now before you get all pissed at a dead woman, hear me out. When I was diagnosed with this illness, I called my children. They said they were sorry for me. That's it. They didn't visit me or anything. So please believe me when I tell you that you're the only person I want to have my things. After everything you've been through, you deserve it. Take the money and save up to go find the girl you love. Go visit her. Or at least call her. Tell her you're alright. Tell her you're alive. She's probably in a lot of pain. Go fix it. Go mend her heart.
You may sell Le Café Marie if you decide to move back to the states or you can sell it if you just don't feel like dealing with it anymore. I won't be upset. Oh, I want to be cremated and spread in the basement of Le Café, that's where Ma is and I'd like to be with her.
Word of the day: Voyage
Example: faire un voyage (take a journey)

Au revoir,
Louise

P.S. I am not asking, I am demanding that you contact your amour.

She has that note framed and keeps it next to her mirror so that she'll see it everyday. She made a vow to herself and Louise that she would continue the "word of the day" game. She finds different French words on the internet and writes them on her hand each day. It's a part of her daily routine. Along with getting drunk alone.

She hasn't touched the money she inherited from Louise yet. It sits in her bank account, collecting dust like the books stored under her bed. She refuses to spend the money even though she's really struggling with rent and Le Café Marie isn't cutting it anymore. But she will not spend that money just to pay bills. She needs to do what Louise told her to do with the money. But she won't. At least not now. Someday. Un jour.