Andy’s P.O.V

I sink into my chair and sigh deeply, running my hands through my hair and tugging on it gently. "Ich bin Verwirrt," I whisper.

"Warum?" Amber asks, sitting down across from me and sliding me a cup of hot chocolate.

I take it gratefully and sip at it before my brow furrows in confusion. "Du sprechst Deutsch?"

Amber laughs, sipping at her coffee. I shudder at that. Coffee is too bitter for me, and it just makes me anxious.

"Ja, ich lerne Deutsch," Amber says.

"Wenn?" I ask.

Amber frowns and I can tell that she's searching her German vocabulary for the right words. "Ich weiss nicht," she admits.

I laugh and sip at my hot chocolate, almost sighing when I can feel it warm my insides. Hot chocolate truly warms the soul.

"So warum bist du Verwirrt?" Amber questions.

I almost laugh at her broken German, but I can understand what she is saying. “Ich hatte Jungen,” I groan and bury my face in my hands.

Amber’s lips quirk in a half-smile. “Warm?”

“Jungen saugen,” I whine.

Amber chuckles. “Ja, das ist Wahr.”

I smile half-heartedly at her before whispering, “Er hat mir weinen gemacht.”

Amber’s brow crinkles. “Wer?”

“Louis Tomlinson,” I groan, the name sounding strange as it passes my lips, my German accent mangling it.

Amber’s eyes shoot up almost to her hairline and she asks quickly, “Darf ich mal Englisch sprechen?”

I chuckle at her rushed question and answer, “Ja, na klar.”

So Amber says breathlessly, “What? Tell me about this? When did this happen? When did you meet Louis Tomlinson?”

I sigh, but then I talk. No one but me knows the true story. I tell her about Beau, my voice shaking as I do so and then I tell her about Louis and the night when I finally had enough, and left, my voice growing stronger as the story leaves me. I wrap up my tale with how I got here, and when I saw Louis yesterday and my late-night search of him. When I’m finished with the whole awful anecdote, I whisper, “Ich hat dortbleiben mit er gewollt.”

Amber leans forward and rests her hand over mine. I glance up at her and she says firmly, “Du kannst nicht.”

And I know she’s right, and I truly do, but some part of me wants to go back there, where I had a chance with Louis, where I loved freely, where I wasn’t famous. I was a nobody, all alone. But Amber’s right. Ich kann nicht.

I can’t.

…

I sigh, running my hands through my hair, vaguely noting that it’s getting rather long and I am in need of a trim. This day was a long one, my thoughts not on my business, but on my past, and certain boy named Louis. I’m sure any work I did do was illegible, and probably didn’t make any sense. I might as well have been working in German. Thinking of my native tongue makes me lonely. Speaking it today with Amber did help, as it isn’t often I get to communicate with people that way, as everyone speaks English nowadays, but once in a while I’ll meet someone who understands German. I miss Germany. Life was simpler there.

I had a family, I wasn’t alone, and the places were beautiful. Although I love New York City, it isn’t the same as home.

Amber pokes her head in my door, knocking to get my attention. “Ma’am?” she asks.

“Ja?” I speak in German without meaning to, which is happening more and more as I’m speaking more German. “I mean, yes? What is it Amber?”

“The office is closing up,” she says timidly. “Are you going to go home, or stay late and get some more work done?”

“Um…” I trail off, glancing around my office as I debate whether or not I should stay. I should be staying, getting done more work as I didn’t get much done, but all I want to do is go home and sleep for hours. “I’m going to head home.”

“Alright,” Amber says, already withdrawing her head. “I’ll let them know.”

Amber closes my door behind her and I stand up, bracing myself with my hands pressed firmly against the flat surface of my desk. I’m quite tired, and all I want to do is go home and never leave the safe confines of my apartment. I gather my things slowly, moving sluggishly. Closing my door gently with a soft click, I turn around and start to head out of my building, pausing outside it before debating a taxi or simply walking.

I decide to walk, enjoying the fresh fall weather of New York and I set of at a slow walk, meandering my way around pedestrians until I collide with someone, stumbling backward until they grab my hand and yank me upright, jolting my arm. I look up, about to open my mouth, when I realize I’m looking into the eyes of the one and only Louis Tomlinson.

Louis’s P.O.V

I grab the girl’s hand and pull hard, making sure she doesn’t fall. She glances up at me, looking like she’s about to give me an earful but then all of a sudden she freezes. Great, I hope she’s not a fan and is about to start screaming.

“Are you okay?” I ask quickly.

The girl nods. That’s strange. Maybe she’s just shy.

“Are you sure?” I ask worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did I pull too hard or something?”

“Nein,” the girl says. “Es ist okay. Mir geht es gut.”

“What?” I ask, utterly confused. Is she speaking a different language? “Is that English?”

The girl pauses, looking up at him thoughtfully. “Deutsch,” she says.

“What’s ‘deutsch?’” I ask, completely confused.

“Ich spreche Deutsch, und du?” she says quickly, so that her words blur together and I’m even more confused.

“Do you speak English?” I ask slowly.

The girl frowns, and in very slow, broken and accented English she says, “I no English.”

“No English?” I ask. She nods, and I hope to God that that meant that she doesn’t speak English. “Well, um, sorry then, have a nice day!”

I’m about to leave the scene when a bunch of paparazzi jump up around us, snapping pictures and yelling questions at me. I’m about to tell all of them to piss off when I realize they aren’t asking me.

“Ms. Kirsche, what are you doing with Louis Tomlinson?”

“Hey, are you two dating?”

“What brings you two here?”

“Kirsche, what’s going on with your business? Are you going to do an ad with One Direction?”

Ms. Kirsche? That must be the girl’s name. I’m about to turn to her to ask her questions, but she’s stumbling backwards, tripping over her black heels, eyes wide with fear as the paparazzi pack in around us. My curiosity turns to sympathy and I reach for her to comfort her but she shakes her head wildly and turns down an alley, running away.

Bewildered, I turn to the photographers, while only one remains. “Who was that?” I ask him.

“Who, Andy Kirsche?” he asks, still trying to get pictures.

“Is that her name?” I ask, feeling a bit like an idiot.

“Yeah, she’s a major CEO here, runs a publishing company,” he says gruffly.

“That name sounds familiar,” I muse.

“Yeah, well, most people ‘round here know who she is. She’s a big deal. Young too. Only twenty-two,” he says, clicking a lens cap on his expensive-looking camera.

“Really?” I ask, glancing back at the alley she ran down. She seemed familiar for some reason. “What’s with her last name?”

“She’s German,” the photographer says. “Moved here… about two years ago? She’s still got the accent and everything.”

“She said she couldn’t speak English,” I say, feeling somewhat hurt that she wouldn’t speak to me.

The man shrugs. “I dunno, man. But her last name means cherry in German. Wouldn’t mine popping hers,” he winks.

I feel slightly repulsed by this man. He must be at least thirty, and he’s married. I can see the wedding band on his ring finger. “You’re disgusting,” I say, and turn away, walking home.

…

 Andy Kirsche…. That name sounds familiar and I don’t know why. Something about it rings faint bells in my head. When I get to my flat, I instantly head to my laptop and pull up Google, and type in Andy’s name. A bunch of links pop up. She’s more famous than I thought. Apparently she’s published a bunch of books, well-known, popular  books. I click on images and in all of them she looks professional and beautiful, sexy even, if your fantasy was the hot office worker. Then, I stumble upon one that must have been taken a couple years ago, as she looks younger and isn’t wearing any makeup, just a simple black dress and holding up a children’s book, a big smile on her face, green eyes sparkling slightly.

My lungs fill so fast I feel like they’re bursting against my rib cage. Andy Kirsche, the CEO, the famous book publisher, the put-together sexy single woman in New York, is my Andy, the one who couldn’t walk in heels and the one I met outside a hospital, the one who I always collided with to meet, the one who walked out of my life forever outside of a club.

And like some sick joke, the universe made me collide with her one more time, as if reminding me of what a screw-up I am.

_____________________________________________________________________

German conversation translation-

{Andy talking to Amber}

Andy- I am confused

Amber-why?

Andy- you speak German?

Amber- yes, I'm learning German

Andy-when?

Amber- I don't know. So why are you confused?

Andy- I hate boys

Amber-why?

Andy- Boys suck

Amber- yes, that is true

Andy- he made me cry

Amber- who? may I speak English?

Andy- yes, of course.  I wanted to stay there.

Amber- you can't.

Andy- I can't.

{Andy while talking to Louis}

Andy- No, it's okay. I'm fine.

Andy- German

Andy- I speak German, and you?

So yeah, that's what they all said, if that's what you were wondering. Now, for any native German speakers reading this, it may be wrong, I just put in words I know and tried word order and prayed for the best. Sorry this author's note is so long, I was just translating because I know you guys would be confused. Here's a super long update, and no song lyrics because the next ones didn't fit this chapter and I wanted this chapter to be here! Bye!

Love ya!

-T A Y L O R