Who needs Love?

mon âme sœur

I step of the plane and my shoulders still weigh me down, but it doesn't feel like my shoulders. Not just my posture but my character. I feel deteriorated and drained, desperate and wanting to be alone at the same time.

The wheels of my suitcase roll against the cobblestone pavements, and it doesn't really phase me when it catches onto a rock. I don't...feel anything. I keep going, keep wading through the ocean of life hoping, maybe even praying something would happen. Someone would happen.

I wave a taxi down and the silver car comes smoothly in front of me, the driver makes haste chucking my luggage in the back and I sit in the front passenger seat. Giving him the address he turns on the ignition.

The slight edges of my mouth turn up a little, my eyes crinkling at the messages I get from my god-parent's son, Ames. However, they dim at the sight of millions of messages I get from my parents. Their texts overtake my phone, and I scroll an endless list of how naughty I've been for Christmas. It's an ever flowing reminder of what I do wrong. Constantly.

Dad: Where the fuck are you!?
Mum: GET. HOME. NOW!
Mum: Answer me!
Mum: Don't you dare ignore me!
Dad: What in the hell do you think you're doing!?
Mum: Good Daughters don't act like this!
Mum: YOU don't do this!

I click my phone off, close my eyes but no, I turn it back on in last minute thought and scroll to their contact. 'Blocked,' it now shows.
I turn it off silencing their grasp over me, scattered tear drops stream down my face but I wipe them away before the cab driver can ask anything of it.
They can't hold me anymore, they can't box me up as their play doll anymore, can't tell me to be happy anymore, can't show me I'm nothing anymore and they certainly can't pretend they care about me anymore. When in reality I was just a package to them, I might have just been the thing that reassured them that they had done well in life, to give them contempt. Well, I won't give it to them, no matter how much I may still love them, I won't give myself up...my existence up, I won't slap on that fake smile or clasp my hand over my mouth every time I cry just so they won't hear me.

The cab pulls up to a little cottage surrounded by a green hedges. It's almost like a pixie house, one from a fairytale. If only I still did believe in those. I wave the cabby off with a butchered 'Merrci boocoo,' and drag my little blue suitcase up the steps.
Clunk! ...Clunk! ...Clunk!
It hits each step as I go up and I haul with all my might wishing I did keep up with gym. The loud ruckus I make alerts the house's inhabitants and the white door clicks and clocks open. Emerges a blonde haired boy from my photos. Except now he is much taller, muscular, and has a stubble lining his soft jaw. It makes me still, I feel like an outsider. I don't really know this boy - man, and I'm not exactly sure how to approach him. I just look at him, and then force a tight lipped smile.

'Uhh, Bonjour." I try to pronounce in my best french accent but I end up making a weird 'oo' sound at the end.

I must be entertaining well because the man gives a light chuckle and he takes a few steps down handling my luggage, "I thought you'd never come, mon âme sœur."

I tilt my head to the side slightly and then nod slowly pretending I understand, he must have said 'my love' or 'my friend. My french, rusty, and having quite forgotten my french lessons back in Australia, I am starting to think I should have remembered them.

With once slight hand he places on the small of my back he welcomes me into his home. It's petite but quaint, with a little sun room in the back and two rooms up in the attic. His palm presses softly, fingers curled slightly feeling the little indents in my back. His hand stays there the whole time comforting, and almost...protecting. He settles me down into the little bedroom and gestures to the conjoined bathroom, apologising if he takes up the shower for too long in the mornings but I wave him off.

I give lopsided smile to his rambling and cut him off, "Ames," he looks at me,  his sea-green eyes still, searching, "Thank you."

His features soften and shoulders relax, his hand dropping from the back of his neck. He gives me the same valued smile, nothing forced. Purely out of one thing I hadn't felt before, and to this day still don't want to believe.