Demi saw the amazement and awe in his gaze as he smiled, "Is there anything this magnificent in Paris?"
Then, he turned to her.
If it was possible, Andre's gaze's awe, adoration and amazement increased by a magnitude as he removed a curl from her vi...
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"So, what do you do when you maybe... omitted to the love of your life and your potential wife and mother of your children that you were going back to France in less than 2 months? And she... happened to hear... it from... someone who wasn't... you?"
This was the first thing that Andre asked his inquisitive therapist once the virtual call picked up. The older white man blinked in surprise, his sparse, gray brows furrowed. Clearing his throat, his therapist spoke, attempting to get clarification.
"As in, you did not tell her your airline or the time of your flight?" Dr. Richard Brown responded in his usual British accent, brows flying to the edge of his salt-and-pepper hairline. Of course, Andre's extra parents had to hire one of the only psychiatrists in the world with a Nobel Prize in medicine for discovering some compound that helped Alzheimer's patients and was recognized as a National hero in Britain for treating over 25,000 war heroes suffering from PTSD.
Without looking at his therapist, Andre shook his head and slowly clarified; "No... As in, I did not tell her... that I was leaving the country... yet."
Silence.
"Are you sure she's the love of your life, Alexandre?"
"Well, considering that every time I'm near her, I feel at peace and completely vulnerable and my heart nearly wants to burst out of my ribcage, and I can't imagine spending the rest of my days without her, I would say yes,"
Dr. Brown blinked again. Three times.
He blinked a lot, Andre had noticed. One blink meant that he was listening, but what he was hearing was slightly concerning. Two blinks meant that Andre might need at least a year more of therapy.
Dr. Brown blinked again. Three times.
"Do you think someone who is the love of your life and makes you feel all those amazing things deserves to know that you are leaving?"
Finally facing his annoying-ass therapist, Andre scowled, "Yes, hence why I ask how to go about it."
"Why do you think you didn't tell her?"
Now, Andre was pissed off. Here, his therapist was supposed to give him berate him and say crap that made him feel more shitty, and here this old man was, being an actual therapist.
"I do not know, maybe because I am an idiot, teenage boy, who has the emotional and mental intelligence of a fly," Andre retorted the same verbatim he had been telling himself agitatedly since Demi asked him the question in his car.
Andre couldn't even remember what he told Demi in the car; he had blacked out most of the conversation honestly. But, what he could never forget was the look of confusion and disappointment in Demi's eyes.
She hated him.
Why wouldn't she? Damn, he even hated himself.
"Or maybe you were afraid. If she is the love of your life, do you think that a part of you was afraid of telling her something that might change the dynamic of your relationship?"
