"Welcome to France," says the custom's worker in English, probably assuming I don't know French. She stamps and passes back my passport through a small hole in the plexi glass. Then she turns around in her chair to call the next person over.

Using the French signs, I walk in the direction of the exit in hopes of calling a taxi; but that idea quickly disappears when I walk outside and notice a large line of people waving their hands frantically, yelling taxi at every yellow car that passes.

Holy shit, I am going to be here for fucking days. God, I just want to sleep. Is that too hard to ask for? I look down at the same suitcase I dragged to America with me and a backpack tied around the suitcase handle. I can do this.

That was 30 minutes ago, before I truly knew where the hotel was located. Maybe the buildings have changed since the last time I was here, I think while pulling up Google maps on my phone.

You will arrive at your destination in 10 minutes.

Fucking hell, I just want to sleep.

"Bonjour, can you please tell me where this is," says a woman in her late-20s, maybe my second oldest brother's age, which is 26, with a British accent. She pushes her phone into the other woman's face and the French woman sneers and pushes past her.

I divert my eyes and continue to walk down the sidewalk. I am not talking to that women even if someone pays me. Ok that may have been a lie, but I am not getting paid.

When I didn't heard anything I thought I had gotten away, but I had just celebrated too early.

I heard quiet footsteps from behind me, and a loud, "Bonjour" in my ear.

I internally groan, but still put a wide smile on my face and turn around. "Bonjour," I reply, my French accent revealing itself through the French word. While an American accent had started to grow the more I spoke English, every time I cursed in French, my accent appeared again.

The woman's light green eyes tinged with yellow, dim slightly. She is thinking I wouldn't know English with the accent I give off.

"I know English," I mumble out, catching her eyes again.

"I didn't realize I could be read so easily," she laughs, letting out a sweet, high pitched sound. "Do you know how to get to this hotel," she points out on her phone.

I look at the text message that says the address and name of the place.

"That's where I am going. You can just follow me." Ok, this is easy. All she has to do is follow me. I didn't even have to point in a random direction.

"Ok, thanks!" She smiles, dragging along her two, one pink and one blue, suitcase. Gosh, even her aura is happy. She reminds me of what I acted like in America. A disgustingly, happy innocent flower.

Damnit, I wonder how Rose is. I told her I would be gone for the week, but I have never left before. I never had a reason to. I told her I was going on vacation to celebrate my graduation. Of course, then she told me to try and find someone new.

I didn't have the heart to tell her I will be trying to hide from more people then meeting them.

"Are you from France?" The woman questions from behind me.

"Yes I was born here, but I moved to California," I say, keeping my answer short.

"That's cool, I'm from the UK, but I've done an exchange program in Nevada," she speed walks for a few feet so she is directly on my right closer to the buildings.  

"So, are you here for vacation," I say, trying to keep the conversation from dying now that she can stare directly at me.

"Oh, well, not to bring the mood down, but I'm here for a funeral. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss," I said cringing internally at my horrible subject change. "I'm just here to see some of my relatives."

What's the luck, we are both here for a funeral. I turn to look at the girl a little more thoroughly. I've never seen her or a face similar to hers around the underground before. It's probably for someone else.

I look down the street and I see a giant beige hotel with a gray castle like roof. "It looks like we're here." I turn my head to look at her.

"Oh yes. It was nice to meet you... I'm sorry, I never asked for your name," the woman says, the red on her face rising into her brown messy bun. Is she truly embarrassed because she forgot to ask my name?

"It's Luke," I smile, trying to comfort the woman.

"My name is Mia, I hope to see you around," she waves, then rolls her suitcases into the lobby.

————————

I unzip my suitcase and let the flap fall casually onto the edge of the pristine white sheets. I push past all the extra metal knives and guns my ex-boyfriend gave me to protect myself with till I find a black shirt and sweatpants to use as pajamas.

You see, my ex was training to become a police officer and he wanted to make sure I was always able to keep myself safe when he wasn't around. That's why he always had me work out with him, not that I complained, I preferred to always be at the ready in case something really did happen. I didn't like to be useless in those types of situations.

He was always overprotective of me seeing as criminals would go after what was the most valuable to him to get back at being thrown in jail. Criminals always want revenge, I am living proof of that since I have decided to return.