Ne Me Quitte Pas

 ​​​​​"Cath, Cath!" I frustratedly chased after Cath into our bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor with her arms crossed. "Cath, please just look at me?"

She made no effort to move. God, she looks so beautiful, even as sad as she is. Sunset-coloured hair falling over cerulean eyes make her look like a masterpiece, her effortless grace and charm that has me seeing her as a living angel.

"Look, Cath, I'm sorry!" I ran a hand through my tussled pink hair, messing up the gelled spikes into half-natural curls. "Please just look at me, you can't ignore me forever."No reaction, of course. Why do I keep expecting one? She's not going to look at me or even acknowledge me until I do something to fix it.

I left our bedroom to walk into the poorly lit living room, complete with a nice view of the park across the street from our apartment. I hear Cath sobbing, but I can't bring myself to go back into the bedroom to comfort her. Instead, I chose to sink into my old beanbag chair, which was still covered by my grey duvet, as Cath had somehow allowed it to stay on top of the beaten piece of furniture.

Staring out the window, I felt my gaze drawn to the many policemen and the ambulance surrounding the pavement a couple streets away, the gaps in the trees that decorated the park giving me a clear view of the neon yellow police tape.

My trance was briefly broken by Cath dragging herself to the kitchen counter, which was only a few feet from the bedroom door. I watched carefully as she pointedly ignored the entire living room setting, picking up a stack of letters that were spread out messily along the counter. She pulled on her favourite orange headphones, presumably to drown out the sounds of wailing sirens, and slowly pulled out one of the stools that sat, sadly unused, at the barstool.

Sitting on the stool, Cath shifted through the handful of letters on the counter, every so often wiping tears from her cheeks or sniffling softly. I could hear Ne Me Quitte Pas playing through her headphones, but Cath clearly wasn't listening to the haunting French lyrics.

"The frozen city starts to glow. And yes, they know that it'll melt. And yes, they know New York will thaw, but if you are a friend of any sort, then play along and catch a cold! Ne me quitte pas, mon chere, ne me quitte pas."

New York. I loved this city almost as much as I love Cath, but no longer is it the city of opportunity and freedom, now it's a reminder of everything I failed at. People dream of moving to New York like Cath and I did, but for us it's more of a nightmare. Trapped in an ever-moving city that hustles around our problems, everyone stuck in their own heads.

The song isn't wrong, though. The frozen city does glow in the frost-filled air, but the searing tension within the apartment melts through the cold light. The snow is enchanting, almost enough to let me forget about the turmoil that surrounds me, but only almost.

"That is unless I'm getting found, and if you are the ghost of New York City, then won't you stick around? Ne me quitte pas, mon cher, ne me quitte pas."

Cath is too busy tearing up over the letters on the counter to even attempt to notice me, so I withdrew from my reverie to wander around the desolate apartment. Pictures adorned the walls and tables, but I chose to instead focus on the loose-leaf papers that were thrown on the coffee table that were being given the limelight by the white light streaming in through the same window that I had just been glaring through. The scribbled words on the papers taunted me, arrogantly flaunting the fact that I would never be able to finish the inked stories, or at least not the way I want them to be.

I looked around, not bothering to even read the papers. Some were tossed on the bookshelf and were wedged between book pages, the crumpled and torn pages sticking out from behind the wooden shelf frame. I guess I can do something other than just sit around. As I made my way over to the sturdy old bookshelf that was firmly rooted behind Cath's seat at the breakfast bar, I let my eyes graze over the soft orange and yellow and beige hues of her hair, nestled under the orange band of her headphones. Cath was still going through the too-many letters, too absorbed in them to pay attention to me.