The Language Barrier

sept. confiance

sept.

|| confiance || 

            Evelyn was the first to wake up the next morning, her whole body aching from the night spend tangled on Honoré’s uncomfortable couch. Her exposed skin stuck to his, her body uncomfortably warm. Estelle had told her men were like space heaters at night, and she’d been extremely right.

            She considered remaining in his arms until he woke up, but she was much too hot and too hungry to wait it out, so she began quietly untangling herself, slowly extracted her legs from his and placing his heavy arms around a pillow she’d found on the other couch. He kept sleeping, his lips partly open, dark curls stuck to his forehead in a light sweat. It didn’t seem right to leave him; this was not a one-night-stand, nor something equally impersonal.

            His apartment was small and sparsely-furnished, though it must’ve been expensive for its location. Evelyn headed down the only hallway in sight, revealing four doors. She passed the two bedrooms, one of which was occupied by an antique bedroom suite and the other filled with canvases, the floor covered in drop cloth, and made her way to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face from the ancient faucet, and wished she had brought a spare toothbrush, but the water was enough to awaken her senses and she was ready for whatever conversation lay ahead.  

† † †

            Honoré awoke nearly an hour later, rubbing his dark eyes before stretching out, his long limbs going in every direction and nearly knocking the vase off his coffee table. He seemed confused at first and glanced around his living room, failing to notice Evelyn watching him from the kitchenette. It wasn’t until he had regained his senses and began ambling to his bedroom that he noticed her. She smiled at him and returned to the pan on the stove.

            Honoré wandered into the kitchen and placed his arms around Evelyn, who leaned into him and clutched his arms with one hand as she flipped the eggs. He buried his face in her hair, tangled after the long night.

            “Bonjour.” he spoke quietly. She reached out and turned the stove eye off before pushing the quiche onto two chipped plates, turning to face him.

            “Good morning,” Evelyn replied, not sure what to say. She trembled as she handed him a plate, and walked past him to take a seat to the bar. He stood there, staring at her for a few moments before opening the fridge and pouring two glasses of orange juice.

            “Are you well?” he asked, pulling out a stool for himself. Evelyn nodded and took a bite, not sure how to initiate the conversation. He seemed to sense her discomfort and nodded back before taking a bite of the quiche himself.

            “This is good.” he said quietly.

            “I made do with what you had.” she replied. His fridge was bare, save a few staples like eggs and milk, as well as the orange juice they currently drank.

            “Is Estelle aware you came?” he asked nonchalantly. Evelyn shook her head in response, and they finished the meal in silence.

            Honoré came to stand beside her as she washed the plates, no dishwasher in sight. “What is happening, ma cherie?”

            She nearly dropped the fork she was drying off. “Nothing,” she whispered, “I just…don’t know how to feel. I hardly know you, Honoré, and I’m not the best with…relationships. Or friendships, whatever.”

            He wrapped his hands around her own, taking the towel from her and placing it on the counter. Honoré stared at her until her eyes met his own, a hand still resting on her shoulder. “Do you want to discuss these?”