LOVEY

⚘

WHEN DID I START LETTING MEN TELL ME WHAT TO DO?

First Percy, now William. They were always shutting doors in my face, telling me I had to be one thing, say one thing, follow their rules, and follow them. Those ignorant sods. Those idiot sods. Those sods.

My eyes haven't left the door. My fingers are tapping against my thigh anxiously. The walls seem smaller. My chest feels tighter and my throat feels closed. William just walked out of it, and it felt like he'd snapped the last strand of my sanity.

What the bloody hell was happening to me? To my life?

Everything was perfect last week, and now everything is crumbling. My ex-boyfriend is apparently a serial gambler, who would trade my life to cover his expenses. I've seen someone killed. I've been shot at. The man who's supposed to protect me just left me alone.

I'm so tired of it.

I'm tired of having to deal with men's messes. I'm tired of them underestimating me. I'm tired of having to pretend everything's okay, even though I've had to uproot my life and watch it fall apart before me.

Well not anymore.

My vision was clouded by anger as I threw open the door, stalking down the narrow hallway, into the complex lobby, and out of the building. The cold air twinged against my skin like a pinch.

I looked towards my right, the bustling street gleaming with allure. I was still wearing yesterday's clothes, my hair was uncombed, and my makeup was smudged. But no, it wasn't embarrassing. It gave me the strength to run. It made me uncomfortable, and it made people stare. It made me feel powerful. I was daring to do what no one else was doing.

God, I felt free.

Pacing through the streets, I hurdled past people of all kinds. I didn't know where I was going, but I had a hunger for risk. Is this what they call 'the crazy ex-girlfriend'? A woman who becomes so outlandishly wild, that a male-dominated society decides that there's no way she could skip crying over a man—so she has to be insane.

Thinking about William made my stomach hurt. I refused to let it deter me. Instead, I used it as fuel to keep me going. I was going to finally break free from the binds that held me back.

But first, I'm going to take a proper shower. I deserve it.

The knowledge of Paris streets was still unknown to me, but I managed to find my way back to the Coeur de Paris. I doubted Percy ever canceled the hotel room he got for me. The only issue was that I didn't have my key.

Much to my distaste, I found myself wondering what William would do in this situation.

He'd probably kick the door down. He'd pick the lock. He'd flirt with a Room Attendant and nick the master keys from her apron. God, no, don't think about him flirting with someone else. Fine. Whatever. I can't do any of those things, but I can do something similar.

The Room Attendant is a good idea. It took me a few moments to come up with a plan, but it was fully formed by the time I strode into the hotel lobby.

Some people—mainly rich guests—eyed me in disgust, but I ignored them. They were the least of my problems, and I had a mission on my mind. Making a beeline for one of the lobby phones, I sat down in a velvet chair and picked up the receiver from next to me.

I dialed the front desk and watched a man answer.

"Coeur de Paris," he said dully, "Comment puis-je vous aider?"

"Hi," I said, phone pressed against my ear. "I'm heading out for the day, but I want to come back to a clean room. Can you send someone in to clean it for me, yeah?"

"Oui, Madame."

"Merci."

I forgot what it was like to take risks. I'd had to shape myself into someone perfect for the last few years, and all the pent up anxiety I had kept was now breaking free. Did it make me obnoxious and deranged? Maybe. The point was I could do what I wanted without someone telling me not to.

Hanging up the phone, I stood from the chair and slipped across the lobby and into a closing elevator. It took me a moment to remember what floor I was on. I pressed the button and let out a sigh.

By the time I got back to the room, the door was already open and a cleaning cart was stationed outside. How efficient this hotel was, it hadn't been more than five minutes since I'd called.

I knocked on the doorframe, and a man who was emptying the bins looked up in surprise.

"Sorry, I actually want to take a quick shower before I head out," I said, "can you come back in two hours?"

He furrowed a brow in suspicion. "Est-ce votre chambre madame?"

"[y/n] Lovey, you can ask the front desk."

"Ah. Of course, my apologies."

This hotel entertained the richest of the rich. While my statement was true, there was hardly enough evidence to suffice, but yet the man didn't question it further—he most likely assumed I was some spoiled countess and didn't want to cause trouble.

I let him leave, closing the door and rushing into the loo before the sound of the cleaning cart disappeared down the hall.

I wish you could see me right now, William, I thought spitefully, turning on the hot water, I can do the same things as you. I just snuck my way back into a hotel like a spy.

'I'm not a spy', he would have said defensively, 'I'm an assassin.'

I chuckled under my breath. A part of me missed his stubborn behavior, even through my newborn independence. I've known him for such little time. Right now it feels like I can't let go of him. He's somewhere in my mind. He's everywhere in my mind.

I don't love him, but it feels like I'm meant to.

I spent thirty minutes in that shower, letting the hot water steam against my bare skin, but I couldn't wash the thought of him away. I ended up asking myself: why did I start feeling this way?

Maybe it started in the department store, when he looked at me with an expression other than hate. Maybe it was under the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe. Maybe it was when he first saved my life. Maybe it was when I cried, and he hugged me out of his own volition. Maybe it was everything and nothing all at once, but somehow, I can't help but wish it was never Percy and always him.

I stepped out of the shower reluctantly, the steam clouding the room as I opened the door. All of my old clothes were still in the closet where I'd left them. I pulled out a white, satin slip dress from the far back and eyed it closely.

I'd brought this in case Percy proposed. Looking at it made me sick inside, and I almost set it back. Sod off, I thought harshly, he's not going to ruin this dress for me.

I decided to wear it.

The water still dripping off my body made the fabric stick to my skin, but it still billowed just above my knees as I walked towards the mirror. I looked at myself: hair wet and uncombed, face flushed, cheek slightly bruised from where I'd hit my head yesterday. I looked different.

I liked it this way.

⚘

I DIDN'T LEAVE THE HOTEL ROOM UNTIL DINNER TIME.

I'll admit, I spent most of the time double checking the locked doors, closing the window blinds, and curling up into a ball in the bedsheets, but I didn't mind it. I was finally alone for the first time in a while.

Before I left, I dug my makeup bag out of my suitcase (which had been shoved underneath the bed), and decided to do it myself. I'd looked like a mess the past week. William didn't buy me maybelline at the department store, that's for sure.

The sky was a deep shade of grey when I finally stepped out onto the pavement. The air smelled like rain, but the cracks on the cement were dry—it hadn't started, but it would.

I slipped through the crowd, my white heels clicking against the ground. I felt a sense of confidence every time someone looked my way. I took it as a reminder of my worth. I desperately needed to feel that.

When I thought I'd stop, my body told me to keep moving. Every turn I took was the start of a new path. I knew I was lost. I didn't care. My head was swimming with thoughts, and if I stopped to think, I might drown in them. I walked for an hour. Maybe it was more than that, but the sky was already dark, and soon I felt rain dropping onto my skin.

Looking at the droplets on my hand, I turned another corner, distracted by the coming storm. I can brave some water, I told myself.

When I looked up, I realized the street was empty.

The first emotion I felt was confusion. I hadn't noticed the silence; it had been around me for a while. I don't know how far I had walked. Confusion turned into panic, and the rain started to pour a little harder.

"Where the hell..?" I mumbled under my breath, stepping into the street.

Suddenly I felt a hand in my hair, and was wrenched back violently.

I tripped off my heels and felt my pelvis hit the cobblestones beneath me. I screamed something incomprehensible. I felt a hand over my mouth, and another one clawing over my legs. Someone was trying to pick me up.

Hell. I'm going to die. I should have known the risks of going out on my own, but they didn't seem so drastic at the time. I was so sure of myself. Maybe I shouldn't have been. I'm being assaulted against my will, and I can do nothing but give up.

Nothing but give up.

My own thoughts were ringing in my head as I kicked and screamed, and I wondered where the confident girl had gone. She was here for a glimmer of a moment. As soon as I faced hardship, she disappeared, and the girl who was cowardly in the face of danger took over.

William isn't here. I made that choice. Now I'm deciding to give up?

Hell no.

"Leave me the hell alone!" I yelled, my throat straining in the cold air, "god!"

What would William do? I tried to think back to that day—the first time someone bad had their hands on me. The day where I was shoved inside a dark room, and didn't know if I'd make it out alive. What would he do?

I remembered watching him pause before fighting. He had a process. Think. Evaluate. Begin. Okay, okay, okay, okay.

My hands were fumbling as I assessed the situation. In the dimly lit street, I couldn't make out faces. I could only feel them dragging me against the cobblestones. One hand on my back, one on my arm—no, shoulder, two by my legs. Four, that's four.

Two people. Their hands are on me, which means they can't protect themselves. God, I'm so scared. There was a chill running all over my body, and I wanted to cry. I couldn't afford to.

Fight, Lovey.

Just fight.

Clenching my fist, I swung it through the air. It crashed into someone's jaw. I could feel their bones against my knuckles, and it felt like pain. When they screamed, their hands loosed from under me, and I toppled back onto the ground.

Scrambling against the cobblestones, I tried to find my way back onto my feet, but the second assailant grabbed the back of my dress.

William, I pleaded in my mind, how do I save myself?

It was almost as if he answered. Stop running.

Stop running.

These people—these men—would chase, and chase, and chase me until they got what they wanted. I couldn't run from them. I had to fight them with everything I've got.

Rolling onto my back, I lifted my leg, digging the bottom of my heel into my attacker's chest. He let out a sharp groan, clutching at his shirt as he crumpled. The rain made it too slippery to stand back up on my heels, so I wrestled with my fingers as I tried to get them off.

I managed to get one off when the first man came back to his senses.

I don't remember what compelled me. I swung my heel into his face. His head hit the cobblestones with a crack. There was no blood, but even if there was, the rain would have washed it away. The storm was thundering. My vision was in a disarray.

I don't remember feeling this angry. Uncontrollable and unable to stop my heart from bursting. I couldn't hear anything but my heartbeat crashing and thundering in my ears.

The rest of it was a blur.

I remember the last man fighting harder than before. I guess he didn't expect I'd fight back. What made it easier was he didn't want to hurt me—no punches, no shoves. All of his attempts were to restrain me and drag me off somewhere.

They don't want me hurt. Whoever was after me. Percy? The thought made me sick.

But suddenly it was over.

I stood there on the empty street, rain pouring down on my shoulders like it would crush me to death. The two men lay unconscious before me. I felt numb, but I felt proud. Scared, but relieved. Strong, but weak. How could someone feel everything good and everything bad all at once?

I heard footsteps patter against the rain behind me, and I whipped around. I was ready to fight again.

"[y/n]?"

Oh.

Oh.

At first the figure was too dark to see, but took a single step into the light of a streetlamp. I recognized them, but I didn't want them here.

William was standing in the center of the road, his brown hair almost black from the rain, and his eyes glossed over with an unreadable expression. He looked different—his eyes were red and exhausted, and his once obnoxious posture had crumbled like the air was weighing him down.

A part of me didn't want to be found, especially not after his rejection.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

He stood there, arms at his side as he looked at me. I wondered what he thought when he realized I was first gone. I wondered if he was worried, or sad, or cared at all.

He took another step closer. "Why did you leave?"

He didn't answer my question; I guess it was pointless anyway. It was his job, and he does it well. If these goons could find me, then he could too. But that wasn't the point. I didn't want him here—I had finally felt free, and fought. 24 hours ago, I wouldn't have been able to find the strength, but now I can.

"Leave me alone," I said, waving my hand to turn away, "I'm fine on my own."

"We both know that's not true."

I scowled. "I can defend myself."

"Not forever." He grabbed my hand, his fingers only latching on to the ends of my own. This time I was the one who flinched. "Don't go back to being stubborn, please. You know why you're not supposed to leave my side."

My mouth opened in offense. Was that all he had to say? Don't go back to being stubborn? My resistance before was because I hated him. It was because I didn't know him. But now I do.

"Have you ever considered that maybe I do know that?" I shot back. "That I just don't want you around me anymore?"

"It was never a choice."

"It was never my choice. So let me make it now."

His fingers slid off of my hand, falling back to his side. There was a sense of defeat in his gaze, and it horrified me. I never expected that from him. I never thought he was capable of ever feeling it.

The rain was pouring harder now, and I could hardly blink.

"Just explain one thing to me," I said, taking a step forward. "Did you ever feel the same?"

There was something oddly embarrassing about asking a man if he shared your feelings. Especially when he towered over you in height, and had rejected your advance hours ago. But I wanted to know. I needed to.

He paused, his mouth twitching as he formulated the words. "Yes."

Something twisted in my stomach at his words. I wouldn't dare call it hope.

"Then why?" I asked hesitantly.

I don't know what exactly I was referencing. Why he didn't kiss me? Why he left so quickly? Why he made me feel like there was something there, but this whole time there wasn't?

His answer was simple. "You can't love me."

"Who said it was love?"

"[y/n]..."

He wasn't saying Lovey. He always said it. This time he was avoiding it, as if he was afraid I'd mistake it for something else.

Suddenly, the anger I had felt moments before came crashing back. It bubbled under my skin, making my breathing feel strained and painful. I looked at him with utter disappointment in my eyes. Yes, he had said. We both know it was really 'no'.

"I don't care if it's love or not, just stop telling me what to feel," I spat out. "I don't remember the last time someone hasn't told me what to wear, what to say, how to act, and what to do. I'm not letting you do that to me."

"I'm not telling you what to feel," he sighed.

"You are."

"I'm being honest. Strangers can't love strangers, [y/n]."

"Strangers? Is that what you're calling us now?" I scoffed, looking away from him. It was unbearable to keep eye contact. "And since when have you ever called me by my first name?"

"We hardly know each other."

"You hardly know yourself. But I know you, William, and you know me. I know so much about you, and you hate that. I know you hate that."

"That's not true."

"I know you're lying right now."

I could tell his hard-shelled exterior was withering away. I was forcing him to be vulnerable, and he didn't know how.

All he could say was: "I'm not playing this game with you."

Game. He called this a bloody game.

"I'm explaining an issue, and you're saying I'm playing a game?" The words left my mouth harsher than I meant them to. Maybe I did mean it. Everything going through my mind was unfiltered and raw.

"You know that's not what I meant—" He started.

"No. Enough." I cut him off. "It isn't my job to 'assume what you mean', you should be able to explain it. I shouldn't have to stand here and defend myself from you."

He was driving me insane. My satin dress was ruined and drenched, and whatever makeup I had on my face was streaming down my cheeks. None of that mattered. All that I could think about was how he said yes—yes to feeling the same about me—but didn't have the courage to do anything about it.

All he said was 'I can't'. I wasn't worth the effort to him.

"Stubborn people never feel death," I said, shaking my head. It was a quote from the chapter he read to me last night. From the flinch in his eyes, I could tell he knew it. "and I, the most stubborn of us all, don't fear death either."

I don't need you anymore, is what I was saying, my life is in the hands of fate now. I looked at him, standing there in the rain, letting me beat him with my words. I wondered what he was thinking.

"Goodbye, William."

I turned, my broken heels dangling in my hand, and my body filled with pain and regret. The bottom of my feet were scuffed against the cobblestones, itching with uncomfort, but I kept walking. I didn't know when to stop—if I could stop.

But then I felt a hand on my arm, and suddenly I was looking into his eyes again.

The rain was dripping down his face, getting caught in his eyelashes and on the curve of his lips. He looked at me, breath heavy. There was something happening in his mind—something too intricate to dissect. He let go of my arm. His hand snaked its way onto my neck.

"I..." The word left his mouth, he didn't finish it.

Instead, he took my waist with his other hand, pulling me against him and kissing me so hard I might have blacked out. I could feel my dress sticking to his shirt, my hair getting tangled in his fingers, and the sting of his teeth when they grazed my bottom lip.

His kiss was like poison, but I wouldn't mind dying for it.

And maybe the rain felt like tears for a moment, washing down my cheeks onto my chest. The past few weeks drained so much out of me, taking any sense of stability away from me. This felt like I had a chance again. Like I could piece my life back together.

But then he pulled away.

For a moment, he just looked at me, not saying a word. Say it, I pleaded, say you want me to stay. No just for your job, but for you. Because you want me to. Looking back on it now, those thoughts were the result of a naive and broken girl.

And I broke further, watching him shake his head, slowly, as if he couldn't bear to say it.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

That's all he could say, but it meant everything. He was giving up. He was giving up on trying with me, just because he didn't think it could work. That his rules and his job stopped him from breaking free.

Even his hesitance wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

The anger came back, seeping into my skin, and I didn't think it would disappear this time.

"You're not sorry," I said under my breath. "You're not."

"[y/n], I—"

"You don't want to try, so you should have nothing left to say. I'm done."

Throwing my heels at his feet, I turned, running down the street as fast as I could. It was slippery, but I didn't care. If I fell, it wouldn't hurt as much as I did now.

My heart was pounding in my ears. I could barely hear myself think. All I could do was feel. Feel the hurt in my chest, the feeling of absent lips, and the calluses on my feet. Maybe he was poison after all. He gave me seconds of hope, but left me to die a slow death.

I ran so far, I couldn't figure out where I was. It was another empty street, but William wasn't here.

A car pulled up at the end of the block.

Not again.

But even as two men stepped out, I didn't run. I didn't fight back. I just felt numb and tired of having to hide from the world in fear. I didn't want to say my goodbyes, I didn't want to scream, I didn't want anything but one thing.

I wanted my life back.

I couldn't have that. Constantly being chased by these men made that clear. I let them grab me by the arms, dragging me across the street and towards their car.

I give up.