"I can't fucking breathe without you, Faye. You mean everything to me."
Why does this sound better than I love you? It took me this long to realize that he was serious. Now that I look at him, I understand. The never-ending saga between us and the h...
A/N: I'd dare to suggest this song for the next chapter:
Apart from the sad (ish) mood of the chapter, I wish you all happy holidays and a lovely Christmas with the ones you love! ❤️❤️
P.S.: Lol, I completely forgot the action happened during Christmas. What a "coincidence." ✨
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Faye
My fear of being stuck in the same state and unable to move on and improve was a constant power supply to my desperation. I truly wanted to believe that leaving England would come with leaving the bad memories behind.
Fast-forward, I was wrong.
More fast-forward, the first year in Spain fooled me into thinking that I was over it and that there were no wounds to heal anymore. The second year, though, was like an alarm clock on a Monday morning.
As Namjoon said, the fruit comes after the flower, but I did not know that back then, and I was trying so badly to water my flower and keep it alive. I thought that if it died, it was an endgame.
The volunteering projects I had in Paris brought me one step closer to my healing, but the one putting his mark on it became my boyfriend and my safe person. I still remember the first time we met as if it happened yesterday...
After a whole cycle of insomnia and thoughts that fed my insecurities, the bright sunlight of a warm morning got me out of bed at 6 A.M. That night I couldn't sleep at all, constantly tossing and turning in my bed as if I was sitting on pins and needles.
There was no point in trying anymore, so I decided to go for a walk until my feet were hurting and my heels were bleeding. Since it was that early in the morning, the pharmacies were closed, forcing me to take a break and wait, all riled up and furious by my bad luck.
I lit a cigarette and glued my eyes to the famous Tour Eiffel that looked... pathetic. An overabundance of iron occupying a space that could be used for something else. Something more useful.
People all around the world come to visit it, not taking into account that Paris has other things to offer. Or maybe it was my depressed personality speaking.
"C'est impressionnant, n'est-ce pas? À chaque fois que je la vois, c'est comme si c'était la première fois." a stranger approached me, taking a seat next to me on the bench.
