rays of sunlight // Antoine Griezmann

Chapter 10

"Belle..." Antoine says softly after a few minutes. 

I look at him, eyebrows raised, eyes faint. "Yes?"

He waits a few seconds, before saying hesitantly, seeming kind of uncomfortable, "In the kitchen... when I went to get you food and what not... there were, uh, pills, it looked like, all over the floor..."

I sigh. Oh yeah. Now I know that the man I saw last night is him. It had to be. Obviously it was him.

I didn't kill myself because I saw Antoine Griezmann, and something inside me decided that was my hope. That was my reason not to do it.

Antoine Griezmann was the thing that stopped me from killing myself, and neither of us knew it at the time, last night.

"Is that what I think it was?" Antoine asks softly.

I find myself sniffing, trying to hold back tears. Isn't it funny the way that when I can't cry, I desperately want to, and when I have to cry, I fight so hard not to?

I nod. "Last night... I almost... Well, yeah. I almost did it."

He stares at me with those big empathetic eyes. "Belle..." he says, then gently touches my arm. I look at it, covered in gauze. "Did you do this to yourself?" There is a place or two where blood is coming through the cloth.

I feel so bad that Antoine is here right now, having to go through this. He doesn't have to see me like this. If I knew he was coming to town, I'd cover up with makeup and a smile, and make myself look like a pretty happy young woman with a life full of success and good times.

But he had to go and catch me off guard, like he has so many times before.

All I can do is nod vaguely, refusing to meet those concerned eyes of his, wiping the tears coming on me.

"I'll be right back. I think these wounds need to be re-wrapped."

I nod again, glancing up at him as he leaves the room, then I look down again, staring at the sheets.

Why is he just such a good person. How does he have so much concern in his eyes? Where does all the sympathy in his touch come from? When did so much empathy get infused into his words? How is he so gentle? How is he so strong? How is he so caring?

Caring.

Why does he care so much? How does he care so much, to be doing all of this? I don't deserve it, after how much of a failure I've been.

Why, Antoine? Why?

He comes back, and starts gently unwrapping the cuts. It's hurt, but I hold back my winces. He still notices, though, and is very mindful of saying 'sorry' in a gentle tone every so often. Finally, some antibiotic and gauze later, my arms are wrapped up again.

"So tell me about this new boyfriend of yours," he says, gently rubbing my hand again.

How does he do that so well? He's so calming.

I sigh. "You keep making me cry."

"I'm sorry."

"No, thank you for that. I need to cry. It's been too long without tears. I'm just a little scared of crying, maybe."

He nods quietly, giving me time.

Finally, I'm ready to say, "Eden... He's not good. Not at all. He doesn't care. And that's probably clear to you, because if he did, he'd be here right now, and not you. He just wants me for my curvy body and sex. He cares about nothing else, and it's so obvious, but he pretends he cares. If I tried to break up with him, he'd get mad, and talk about how much of a unemotional selfish person I am to break up with him after all he's done for me. So I won't because, at least where I am right now, I can't deal with that. I just can't. I'd rather be objectified by him that go through a breakup right now. My father just died recently, and my... my life is just falling apart, more and more. So I just can't deal with that. At least not right now. I know it sounds stupid and cowardly, but I don't care... I guess I am just kind of a stupid, depressed, ugly, cowar-"

"Belle, stop," Antoine suddenly interrupts firmly. "Don't you dare say that about yourself. Even if you think it, because I don't want to hear lies."

I stare at him for a few moments. His light brown, short hair. His tanner peach skin. His thick, dark concerned eyebrows. His toned, strong bare chest.

He's handsome. That's the only word that suits his appearance. He's handsome.

Okay, he might be hot, too.

 I sigh, and he wipes my cheeks, saying, "I shouldn't keep you awake any longer. You should sleep."

I nod. "Then you can go home now."

He nods, scribbling something on a paper that he gets from his pocket and a pen he finds on my messy desk. He puts the paper on my desk with the pen, saying, "My phone number. I'm here for a break for the next two months. I don't have anything going on. If you need me, for any reason, whether you're in need of care because you're sick, a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, or someone to laugh with, then just call me. I'm sure I'll be available. I still deeply care about you, Belle, so I will do it for you, because you have a special place in my heart as a special friend that I love deeply. So really, if you need anything, please just call me, okay? Promise you will?"

I can't help but smile, just a little bit, and I put my pinky out to him. "Pinky promise."

He smiles, laughing a bit, linking his pinky with mine. "Just like we did when we were kids, right? You always made me pink promise we'd play the next day, remember?"

I smile. "I remember," I say.

Then I'm waking up before anything else happens, alone, in the bed. I quickly look to my desk, and am relieved to see the phone number. Good. It wasn't a dream.

Suddenly, emotion hits me, but for once it's not completely sad. It's melancholy, so kind of in the middle of happy and sad. I think about Antoine. He remembers our childhood. He still cares. He still has thought about me. He's done so better than me, who literally pushed the fact that he even existed out of my mind.

But the part of it all that touches me the most is the fact that I'm pretty sure that he's sorry about leaving me like that.

And just that heals some of the deepest, forgotten wounds deep within me.