This is the Goodbye Scene

Mon Amour (pt 1)

She had realized very quickly that she had fallen head over heels, knock you on your ass, in love with Michel. Suddenly she was afraid of him, well not of him, but of the way she was with him, and the way he made her feel, and the way her skin warmed under his touch, and how her lips swole after kissing him. She subconsciously began to run her fingers over every spot that he had kissed that had driven her mad with lust. She also remembered that her student visa will be up at the end of the semester, and she'll have to leave, she can't afford to renew it and has nowhere to stay after her allotted time in student housing. She thought of a domestic life with Michel, but it seemed more of a fantasy, their relationship had been, for the most part, easy. They hardly fought, they spent time together and seemingly never tired of each other's company, or at least she never tired of his. She felt comfortable and the warmth of love in his strong arms, and if he wasn't holding her, she was content to be in the same room, or the same building, just knowing he was near comforted her. Her body ached to be next to him when they were apart, and she couldn't imagine the aching she'd feel if they were in separate countries, an ocean away. Her stomach churned just thinking about it. She recognized her codependency and thought it didn't matter, but she began to see how...unhealthy her love had become. Could it be unhealthy, if he loved me back the way that I loved him? She thought, Does he feel for me the way I feel for him? she began to remember his transparency regarding previous lovers, he had assuredly been in love before, many times over, he was very French in that regard. He had been in love before, but she had not, not like this. This love, scared her, it scared her because she knew that it would cut her to the bone if it didn't last, and the idea of suffering such immense pain frightened her. She didn't want to go through that in 3 months when she had to leave, she'd rather just go through it now, and at least that way she would be surrounded by the beauty of France and French culture.

She sent him a quick text message inviting him to dinner, she'd figure the public place would lessen the chance of a shouting match, should he shout, she didn't think he would, he'd never shouted at her before, but she'd never broken up with him before, she didn't know how he'd respond. He responded with "of course, mon cherie." with a kissing emoji. Dear god. She imagined his lips all over her body. Come 5pm she was dressed and ready to meet him for dinner. At the restaurant he greeted her with a warm embrace and a lingering kiss, normally she'd have wrapped herself around him, pressed her body against him, slightly putting him off balance, and they'd have laughed. She rested her hands on his upper arms, and let him kiss her for as long as he wanted. When he pulled away he gave her a curious expression, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, let his hand rest on her cheek, traced her bottom lip with his thumb and gave her a ginger short sweet kiss, and then said "Allons-nous manger? Let's eat, yes?" but he said it with little enthusiasm.

"Oui," she responded taking his hand, holding it tight, as if her hand was made of plaster and she was attempting to mold a statue of his hand in hers. They ate and talked and even laughed, and she drank in his beauty, she yearned to have him but didn't think that would be a great idea, considering what she was about to do.

"Alex, if you want to say something to me say it." He spoke abruptly. They finished eating and had been walking in silence for a little while. She was unsure of what to say and he was unsure what she wanted.

Her stomach churned. She was holding his hand, she placed her other hand on his wrist. Getting his attention, he turned to face her. "What is it, mon cherie?" The smooth way he spoke washed over her, he placed his free hand around her face so that his thumb was caressing the apple of her cheek. "You are not yourself tonight."

"Michel..." she didn't know what to say, she thought the words would have come to her by now, but they weren't there. "I need to tell you something, but I don't know how."