Kids That I Once Knew

Le Prologue

Prologue

Juliette Franceschini

September 22nd, 2010 (Colchester County, Nova Scotia, Canada)

          I scoffed, my arms crossed across my chest. “Yeah, and you are a fucking saint.” My voice dripped with pure sarcasm as I narrowed my eyes into slits.

          We were at my parents’ living room. However, the house was dead quiet, probably because my family didn’t want to get into our argument. The wooden furniture contrasted beautifully with the cream-colored floor and walls. The living room itself was beautiful. It was such a shame that such warm place was the setting of another of our fights.

          He sighed and ran his hand down his face, pacing around the room. “Juliette, I did not say that.” He stated incredibly calmly, before sighing again. “All I’m saying is that—“

          “You’re saying that I go around flirting with every guy that steps in my way.” I snapped. “But, of course,” I started, raising my hands in mock innocence, “whenever these big-boobed sluts come to you, you just stand there, letting them rub their hands on your body.” I said the very last part through clenched teeth.

          He laughed a humorless laugh, before raking his fingers through his golden hair. “You’ve got it all wrong.” His dull, gray eyes locked with mine. “I have done so much for this relationship you have no idea.” He took a step closer to me, putting his hands on my upper arms and leaning over so that his face was near mine. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I would never let anyone tear me away from you.”

          His words held so much sincerity, and I could only stare at him without saying anything.

          “But it’s sad to see that you would.” He completed, shaking his head.

          With that, the warm feeling his words had built inside of me came to an end and was replaced with anger instead. 

          I violently shrugged his hands off my upper arms and glared at him, after taking a step back. “You’re unbelievable.” I spat with venom, a muscle in my neck twitching in rage. “I can’t believe you think that I would cheat on you.” I shook my head incredulously, already feeling my eyes fill up with tears.

          “Juliette, it’s just that—“ he started with a sigh, taking a step closer.

          “No!” I put my hands on his chest and attempted to push him back fiercely, only to stumble back myself. “I don’t want you near me.” I said through my tears that had already managed to spill down my face.

          It was logical that he hadn’t moved an inch back for the guy was built. He didn’t take a step toward me this time, though. “Wow.” He said brokenly, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “These new friends of yours have sure as hell changed you.” He shook his head in disappointment, looking down.

          I was about to retort to that, but I stopped my mouth. I squinted my teary eyes to look at his face properly. I furrowed my eyebrows together in confusion.

          He sniffed and wiped at his eye, before looking up.

          A gasp left my lips as I took in his face. His eyes were slightly pink and watery, and a single tear was smudged against his cheek. I instantly felt a tug at my heartstrings. Seeing him this vulnerable made my heart ache with guilt. And what hurt the most was the fact that, unfortunately, he was right; he had always been the one who cared about our relationship, whereas I always challenged him into leaving me, knowing myself that I couldn’t live without him.

          Again, the tears cascaded down my cheeks like Niagara Falls, as I wrapped my arms around his torso. He kept shaking with every sob but eventually embraced me back. I buried my face into his chest, staining his shirt with my dark, smeared makeup, while he cried into my shoulder.

          We stood like that for a few minutes, both of us shaking badly. As for me, I was shaking not only from my sobs, but also from the cold September air that blew through the open windows. The outfit covering me involved a tank top, a leather vest, very short black shorts net tights, and combat boots. It was until later that I understood how inappropriately I used to dress.

          “Please don’t leave me,” he pleaded quietly. His Irish accent was muffled by my hair, and I barely managed to make out those words.

          “I would never leave you.” I whispered, my face still nestled in his chest. “Never.”