Damaged

34 | oh, paris

Paris is gorgeous. 

The architecture is miles away from the garish structures at home, and the people are endlessly different. Being in the city feels like a  breath of fresh air. Paris is the city that allows enchantment to seep into the very marrow of the body, filling the atoms with hope and euphoria - It felt like that to me anyways.  

America is the land of dreams, of the free, but I couldn't have felt more trapped at home. I've forgotten the enchantment of going somewhere else in the globe and forgetting who you are in the midsts of the crowds. I could be anyone in this city, I could reinvent myself like I'm the main character in the story of my existence, tinkering with the details as the narrative goes on. I have power at home, brought by my name, school and credit cards. Here my strength is different; I find power in the unknown, the in-between moments where nobody knows me. 

We arrived in the early hours of Saturday morning and went straight to where we were staying. It wasn't the Ritz, but the charming boutique hotel had beautiful rooms and flowers everywhere. The floors were marble and there were floor-to-ceiling glass walls on the main hall, which were filled with throngs of girls looking at themselves and then collectively gasping upon seeing their minimally puffy faces. 

Alex looked like he belonged in Paris. The leather jacket he was wearing, along with the jeans and white shirt, made him blend in perfectly. No, Alex could never blend in. He always stood out from the crowds like a blinding light, so beautiful nobody could take their eyes away. 

He stood in the hotel lobby and his azure eyes were bouncing around the people in the room, observing what was happening around him like the chaperone he was supposed to be. I watched him as I leaned on one of the walls and a particularly dramatic flower arrangement hid me away. 

Alexander Clarke really was something. I looked at him in awe, cherishing every inch of skin I could see under his winter clothing. I couldn't believe he was mine. He was mine when nobody else had truly been. He was also good, which was a trait I had a hard time accepting in people. 

I grabbed my sketchbook from my bag and continued in the hidden corner. I looked at him like an artist would, observing the curve of his chin and the slope of his nose. He was a masterpiece and I wished I could do him justice, but the lead on the pencil could never capture the crimson tone of his lips, present on his flushed cheeks as well, or the endless blue of his eyes. 

Once the sketch was finished I placed everything back inside my back. Mika had just gotten our room key and we were ready to settle in. We managed to score a triple room, which made the trip even better. 

All the girls were staying on the third floor while teachers were on the fourth and boys on the fifth. They were smart; booking a single floor for all students would be disastrous for the chaperones. I found satisfaction knowing that Hunter would have to risk being caught if he wanted to go to Selena's room, and that would be no easy feat with the roommates involved. But I also found myself feeling glum knowing that Alex's room would be on the floor above my own, and if I went there I could bump into the stray, unwanted teacher by accident. 

I could always come up with an excuse if I got caught in the corridor, saying that I felt nauseous or something in those lines, but coming out of his bedroom with sex hair would be in another ballpark altogether. 

Ava flopped down on the plush bed as soon as we entered the room. I walked towards the window and opened the doors that lead to a small balcony. The hotel was situated in a street filled with cafès and tiny shops and had enough movement to keep us entertained. We were staying in the infamous Montmartre district, which had the best vintage shops and trendy stops to explore. I could peek the top of the Sacré-Cœur from our balcony.