Charlotte (Charlie, Lottie)
2:56AM
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Blood drips down my mutilated thigh, and all I do is watch. I could apply pressure with a towel, I could sterilize it to prevent infection- Yet, I just watch as it stains the shower mat. It's satisfying, listening to the drip, watching it slide down my skin.
I don't feel the pain anymore, just afterwards, when the cuts are rubbing against the fabric of my pants, all sore and raw. That's the part I dread.
Everyone left about four hours ago. I tried to bid them farewell, but they all left in such large clumps, it was hard to single anyone out. I didn't notice Arthur anywhere, I assumed he left earlier. Being in Papa's house must be hard for him, too. I don't understand why they won't just talk.
Haha, look at me. Stressing over Papa's romantic problems while my leg looks like ceviche. I grab the bandages from beneath the sink, and wrap it around my leg tightly. It helps with the pain, and prevents blood from staining my clothes. Ripping off the excess with my teeth, I use clips to secure the cloth. I've gotten good at first aid over the past year, given the circumstances... also because I fear Papa may do something to himself- something rash. I should know how to do CPR, at least.
I look around, not bothering getting up from the bathroom floor. It's comforting here. A place where even Papa doesn't bother me. He assumes I'm doing "Girly things" when I'm in the bathroom for more than ten minutes. More than five, but less than ten, and he assumes I took a shit.
I wonder what I should do tonight. I don't want to sleep. I've been having terrible dreams lately. Dreams of an old man, stroking my face and whispering sweetly into my ear. It sends shivers down my spine just thinking about it.
I shoot up quickly, scrambling to my feet and skipping out the bathroom. I know what I should do!
I look up and down the hallway, searching in vain for any sign of life. Papa hasn't come out of his room in months, why would he now? Still, I tread lightly down the stairs, careful not to step on the parts that squeak, and dig my key out from one of the coats hanging on the coat rack.
"Au revoir", I purr, before sneaking out into the dark.
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3:24AM
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"Mrs. Lola! Bonjour!", I knock ferociously on the glass doors, and laugh when she jumps in fright.
Her plump cheeks burst with color as she gives me a whole-hearted grin, tiptoeing over and unlocking the doors.
"My, it's so late! What are you doing out at this hour, ma cherie?"
"I was craving your macarons", I smile, throwing myself down at the counter.
The cafe used to be an old 60's themed bar before the 90's came in and trashed everything old-timey. Mrs. Lola still kept old, glass beer bottles lined up on the shelves behind the counter, though, as tribute to the olden days. If you go in the back, you can still find old posters advertising Coke and.. well.. Coke.
Mrs. Lola quickly slips behind the counter, and pulls out a platter with her infamous macrons placed neatly in a sweet, sugary tower. My eyes twinkle as I take one from the top, popping it in my mouth effortlessly. She doesn't watch my reaction- she knows I love her baking- and instead leans against the glass, finishing up whatever paperwork she has sprawled out.
"Whatcha signin?", I ask, leaning over to try and get a better look.
"Oh", She sighs sadly, her shoulders slumping. "Some company is buying the cafe. Turning it into a restaurant"
I burst out laughing, almost choking on the macaron shards left in my mouth. I cough violently, then cackle some more.
"You're a funny one, Mrs. Lola", I admit, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. "C'mon, seriously, what're you signing?"
She smiles, but not in the sweet, joyous way I'm used to. No, her eyebrows are arched, and tears threaten her waterline. I retract, my smile slipping from my face as quick as it came. I get up, jump behind the counter, and quickly take the papers from her.
"You have got to be joking", I gasp, reading as quick as possible.
"I'm sorry, mon petite lapin", She whispers, taking the papers back and clicking her pen a few times. "Times change. Only you come here now that that boyfriend of yours is out of the picture.."
She sighs, and pushes the plate towards me. "Tell your Papa that everything is on the house until closing"
"...Thanks", I mumble, taking another macaron.
The discount is bittersweet, and now, the macaron's have lost their distinct sweetness. No- they're tart now. I know it's just me, but I can barely choke them down. I can't imagine this place being turned into some up-and-coming restaurant. I mean, they'll destroy it! The lightly chipped pink painting, the big sign saying "Lola's cafe"- The sweets! They'll be trashed!
I stare at her, and quickly swipe the papers from her hands. She scowls and holds out her hands, a smile playing on her lips.
"Come on now, Charlotte. Don't be so reckless, I don't have a copy of those."
I grin from ear to ear, and burst out of the cafe. She screams after me, and I just know she's grabbing the broom she used to whack me and Bryce with when we fooled around with her tables. Rushing over to the rail, I hop up, balancing carefully, and extend my arms out towards the sea.
"Charlotte Bonnefoy, you put those papers down right now!", She calls out, and I hear her light footsteps approaching quicker and quicker.
I look over my shoulder at her, and wink, letting the papers slip from my fingertips and flow gracefully into the water. Mrs. Lola finally reaches the rail, and looks after it, watching in shock as the paper begins to disintegrate. I smile cheerfully at her.
"Now you don't have to sell it, oui?"
Her face quickly churns into a ball of fury as she whacks me upside the head with the broom, screaming furiously. I laugh a bit, using my arms as a shield.
"You silly girl! I don't have enough money to keep it anyhow, it's going to shut down either way!"
"Ow! Owww! Hey! Quit it!"
"How could you be so foolish, they offered enough money to pay for my medical bills!"
"Medical bills?? Hey! Stop!"
I finally grab the broom from her, and slip down from the rail. She could have made me fall in! I realize now that I tower over her in height, which only accents the fake superiority in my voice.
"What medical bills? Mrs. Lola, are you sick?", I bend my knees a bit, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She glares at me, and shrugs my hand away. "So what if I am, you fille idiote! It doesn't mean I still can't beat you!", she swipes the broom back, getting ready to strike.
"Mrs. Lola, I'll buy the cafe for ten times more than it's worth!", I blurt out, closing my eyes tight as I await impact.
When no pain arrives, I open my eyes slowly, only to meet her shocked face. She shakes her head slowly, and gives me that infamous sweet smile.
"Charlotte, mon cherie, I don't want your Papa to pay for-"
"Mrs. Lola, it will be my money once he dies. Consider it inherited money. It would go to you regardless", I assure her, but it doesn't seem to convince her.
She looks at me, as if she knows something I don't, and starts to walk back into the cafe. I follow her closely, rambling on about how it's practically her money already, and how I've always wanted to own the cafe- nothing convinces her.
She slams the glass doors in my face, and when I try to open them, they won't. I scoff, and peer inside to stare at her smug face. Stupid automatic lock! I scream her name, but that doesn't seem to do much. She just opens up her laptop, and I assume searches for the next buyer. The irritation is still evident on her face, but I don't care.
Nobody but me is inheriting Mrs. Lola's cafe.
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France (Francis)
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I stare at myself in the mirror, gliding the razor effortlessly across my jawline. Angleterre is sleeping peacefully and hungover in my bed, hogging all the pillows and blankets. When I go in to give him secret kisses, my beard tickles his nose, and he almost wakes up. It's time I shave the thing anyways. Stubble looks better on me.
I hiss as the razor gets caught on my skin, leaving a tiny nick. I run my hand across my neck, the blood smearing subtly. I'm never this careless when it comes to my looks.. Perhaps Angleterre's presence is throwing me for a loop.
When I finish, I slap on a bit of aftershave, and admire my beardless face. I can finally see my chin again! It's been a very good night so far. I wander back to the bed, wrapping my arms securely around the brit before me. I missed this sleepy, intoxicated, helpless face. Somebody could just waltz right in and take advantage of him and he wouldn't be able to fend for himself..
Perhaps I'll stick around and protect him.
He murmurs a bit, groggily shifting towards me. He doesn't consciously mean to, but I smile anyways.
"I love you", I whisper, and the words almost catch in my throat.
I don't expect him to respond, so I kiss his forehead gently. But, as fate may have it, his eyes shoot open, and he stares at me like I had just confessed a murder. I give him a crooked, weary smile, and edge away from him just a bit.
"B-Bonjour, Angleterre", I mumble. "It's still dark.. Go back to sleep."
He stares at me for a second longer, before closing his eyes once more, and pulling me close. My heartbeat pulses in my fingertips as I stroke his hair gently, and I realize that this is the only thing that matters to me. He's the only constant in my life.
Then, a sinking feeling floods my senses. I rest my chin on the top of his head to hide my face, still playing with his hair to keep him satisfied.
I completely forgot about Charlotte.