Between Two Men

Chapter 1. Rain in Paris

I held the stack of papers in my hand, the manuscript. My writing framed but a section of her life, the story was merely the border, not the whole entity. Of course I couldn't start at the very beginning of her story. Her birth? Her parents' birth? Where would I begin? And naturally I could not write up to the very end of the story, because our stories never really end. A writer can only crop out small parts of the full picture, and try to represent them as best as possible. Therefore I begin on November 1st, 2016.

Olivia Richards sat outside a cafe in Paris, France. Rain dripped about her and threatened to splash onto her arm, the cold water drops eager to climb into her sleeves and cling to her skin.

The waitress had suggested she move inside, but still Olivia sat on the stiff metal chair, drinking her tea. Like any miserable person on a rainy day, Olivia watched each drop as it fell from the grey sky and melted onto Paris, thinking about just exactly how miserable she was.

Olivia hadn't always been so despondent. She had had that happy stage in her life where she was content to just live. That stage went past relatively quickly.

"London's rain was never so bleak," she grumbled to herself like a child. In all actuality, London's rain, no matter what variation, was always bleak.

What Olivia didn't want to admit to herself was that she didn't miss the environment of London, but rather the company. This longing was indeed extremely bleak. Images of her loved ones filled her eyes, the only thing that had the ability to replace them was tears. Her heart clenched itself, willing Olivia to get a grip.

She never missed anyone much before. As a child, when her parents left for long business trips she never minded. But this time was different. This time instead of someone leaving her world, she left her world.

Olivia took another sip of her tea as she sent a long cold glare at the world. Behind her the waitresses stood in cahoots with each other, complaining about the stuck up English woman that only drank tea and refused to sit inside. Roughly translated, one of them wanted Olivia to "pull the silver spoon out from her arse and use it to stir her tea."

"Brûle en enfer!" They called with cheery smiles as she payed and walked out of the cafe. "Burn in hell" wasn't particularly in Olivia's French vocabulary, but she got the jist of the message, they certainly weren't saying come again.

"Merci!" She said one of the few French words she knew in as much sarcastic cheerfulness as they did, replacing her scowl for a moment with a sickly sweet smile.

Olivia pulled her fold up umbrella out of her messenger bag and lifted the bright polka dotted umbrella above her head. She took a shaky breath. "I am happy." She tried to convince the rain. The rain called her bluff and beat down at her with added vehemence. "I've always wanted to visit France and now I'm here!" Even the exclamation point couldn't be convinced.

She furrowed her eyebrows together; this time she was really going to mean it. "This is my dream and I'm not going to go back to that little apartment to walk up the same stairs and walk past the same people every day." She even raised her voice and spoke faster in her mind like she always did in real life when she was mad.

The desired sincerity of the statement was lost as her heart lingered upon said people. They were her neighbors, they were her entire social life, her happy little company of loners. And she left without a word.

And then there was Evan, she imagined him in his workshop, quietly carving the pieces of wood, his eyes focused and his features relaxed. She blinked slowly, a few stray tears being squeezed out of her eyes. She had now stopped in front of her friend's flat, the one she had been staying at for almost two months, and as she turned the doorknob, for the millionth time, she wished she was walking into her own apartment.