The Mom Next Door; The Sequel

1-Time Past

*Jens pov*

Roaming the beautiful streets of France has been my life for the past five years. And I wouldn't ask for anything different. Me and Giselle holding hands, just laughing and smiling at stupid stuff.

That is, until we broke up.

I remember the exact words slip out of her mouth like it was just yesterday. "It's just not working cherí..."

And I remember the exact way I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces. The way my stomach twisted into a knot and how my throat started to feel choked like I was about to throw up.

It hurt me in every way possible. It hurt so bad because we still loved eachother. It's not like one of us cheated or that we drifted. It just genuinely couldn't work.

Giselle had to leave France. Her dad fell ill and she had to go to Egypt to take care of him. Her whole family lives there, and they needed her to help. She'd been wanting to be closer to family anyway, so she decided to stay, permanently.

It's been about six months since our break up. I still find myself struggling with acceptance, but I always find myself thinking about her.

Just little things that remind me of her. Hell, all of France reminds me of her. That's why it's been so hard for me, but I slowly have come to terms with it.

Very slowly.

Sure, it sucks that we broke up and I've lost Giselle as my girlfriend. But what really sucks is how lonely I get. The only friends I had were Giselle's friends, and Giselle was my best friend..

I saw her everyday, we had sleepovers almost every night. Now I'm back to square one. Alone, in my apartment, staring at the ceiling. It's like I've moved here for the first time all over again. The only difference is that I actually have furniture.

My apartment is very well decorated now with posters, little magnets from the places we traveled, beaded curtains, funny knick knacks, records, pillows, and even silk sheets.

I've learned a lot since I first moved here. I learned French fluently, and I even graduated college. I got my degree in psychology, and I'm working on becoming a psychologist.

I am now completely licensed and qualified to become one. I couldn't believe all the things I learned about the brain, your emotions and how people think.

I think I would have probably committed after my break up if I hadn't learned ways to deal with my emotions. Five years ago I was a wreck when it came to how I felt. But now I've learned how to cope. I find healthier ways to heal and I focus on the positive. I try really...really hard to keep myself at peace.

I usually do well, but every now and then I do fall apart. But we all have those days, when you kind of just crack and you feel like everything needs to be let out. But even when that happens, I really only just cry.

Five years ago I would've cursed out inanimate objects...thrown the closest thing across the room, or punch a whole in the wall. (That only happened once.)

Nowadays I turn my head, and I breath. Well, I try to. It works most the time. But sometimes you really do just have to cry. Or scream.

In all honesty, I might be a bit of a hypocrite when I become a psychologist. I usually can't even listen to my own advice, and sometimes I might be in the same headspace as my patients, but I'm learning. And I feel good.

Well...I felt good, before my mom called me last week and convinced me to come back to New York for a visit.

Since then I've been having so much anxiety. I love New York, of course I do, it's my home. But I'm not sure if I'm ready to go back yet. It's only for a visit, but just the thought of going back after five years makes me scared.

Even just going back to the states makes me scared. I haven't been back in America once since I've moved.

Well...I did go back once. But that lead to the greatest heartbreak of my life. Maybe that's why I'm scared to go back again.

God that was brutal. I never thought that my life would turn into a tragic love story. And it really was tragic. Heart wrenching.

I thought I'd never forgive her for that. But that was before I took time to look at the situation. We both knew it wouldn't work. She was in New York, and I'm in France. And she had an ex husband who desperately wanted back in her life. And I had a pretty French girl that wanted me. We both gave in.

She took the ex husband, and I took the girl.

I found out later from my mother that the ex husband started coming around before I even visited. So that hurt my heart even more. But that's when I realized that I had Giselle in my bed before I visited too.

We were both in the wrong. God, we were so, so wrong. We fucked eachother up bad. Leah broke me, and I know if she knew about Giselle, then I would've broke her too.

I told Leah that I kissed someone else, but she didn't know about Giselle fully, and our relationship. If she did then I just know she would've hated that I was doing the things I usually did with her, with someone else.

I've changed a lot these past years. I'm twenty-six now. I let my hair grow a little longer, I paint my nails red instead of black and my clothes have more of a maturity to them.

I feel like in ways Giselle reminded me that I'm a woman, other than what I felt like standing next to Leah.

Some days I do still feel like a helpless little girl. Like I just don't really know what I'm doing. And I'm having a day like that right now.

I'm supposed to be packing for New York, but I can't seem to get myself out of bed. My flight is in two days and I let my mom convince me to stay with her for two weeks.

I really really don't want to, but my mom had a point because she knows when I leave to go back to France, I'm not going to visit her for a long time. Unless she comes to see me, which she's done a couple times.

A part of me wanted to ask my mom about Leah when we were on the phone, but I didn't bring it up. If Leah has moved by now then I doubt my mom would know much about what happened to her.

Somehow I convince myself to roll off the bed. I stand up and grab my suitcase from the corner of the room. Lazily opening it and tossing it on the floor.

I grab my phone and play some music while I open the drawers to my dresser and start to pack. I finish in about an hour then I throw on some clothes and leave my apartment before walking down the steps of the building.

I get to the lobby and glance at the handsome young French man sitting behind the front desk. The man who took Giselle's place. He bought the apartment complex from her and now he runs it. I don't know his name and I don't think I've had a real conversation with him other than a simple "Bonjour.".

He flashes a smile with teeth at me and I smile back before walking outside. I stop at a nearby corner store and grab something eat. I've laid in bed all day and forgot to eat.

Once I get home, I eat my food and lay on the couch, watching a movie. I try my best to focus on the plot, but my mind keeps drifting to New York.

Blurry images of what I can remember from Leah's house. Is she still there? Did her and Angelo get married again? And please, please god tell me that Sofia is okay.

Not a day has gone by that I don't think about Sofia. I shut Leah out of my mind the best I could for the sake of my mental health, but Sofia is on my mind everyday.

I can remember her face, screaming and crying on her front porch, begging me to stay. It haunts me. Guilt.

A/N

FINALLY GIVING YOU GUYS WHAT YOUVE BEEN ASKING FOR<3