Roaming In France

Chapter 03

Day 0 of being unmarried



“Oh, you’re up?”

I yanked the thick blanket to cover up my exposed chest out of panic when he slowly turned his head back. He looks at me casually while fixing the short towel tied around his hips, being the only thing that’s covering him. f*****g s**t. How did I end up in his bed? There’s just no way I’d sleep with him!

Thoughts and curses are running deep in my mind as I clutch on the sheets hard while squinting. I must’ve lost it. “You’re gonna worsen your headache doing that,” he lightly says, while I am here about to explode.

“What the f**k! What did you do?!”

A sharp, spearing pain radiates through my throat, intensifying with each word that comes from my mouth out of anger. I hurriedly got up to stand on the side of the bed with the sheets being the only cover for my body. s**t, the floor’s cold. My palm meets my forehead as I try to deal with the throbbing ache that pulses relentlessly in my head. “You’re a bastard,” I uttered, struggling to keep my cool.

He snatches a crumpled white buttons-up polo from the edge of the bed and throws it in my direction, landing with a soft thud on my feet. “Wear that. You’re too gruesome to look at,” he orders, full of disgust.

“Excuse me? You’re an actual f*****g bastard. Why am I even naked to begin with?” I snarl once more at his annoying face while he looks at me carelessly.

My fingers are clutching into fists while holding onto the blanket. “Please, just wear something first. And don’t let the blanket touch the floor,” he bossily barks more commands before swinging the door open and abruptly leaving the room after grabbing clothes hanging on the door knob.

“What the f**k?!” I mouthed as soon as I was left alone. I picked up the polo he threw at me and swiftly scrambled to cover myself up. He’s such a bastard. How can he leave me here like this?

My eyes start exploring the room while I button the shirt on me. I could tell I am up high in an apartment after a short glance at the balcony on the other corner of the room. The sun is brightening up the whole room. The only thing I’m sure about is that I am definitely still in Paris, seeing the view out the glass door. I am still fueled with so much anger, that I can’t even button this up quickly. Men are so shitty, I shouldn’t have once again trusted one. He doesn’t even give a pinch of concern for me and I ended up in his bed? f**k! I am so, so stupid!

The anger flowing in me is making me forcefully scrunch my forehead, making my brows meet each other. I look around the room again as I hesitate to go out. I am only wearing the long-sleeve polo he yanked at me along with my underwear inside. However, it is long enough to cover up my thighs. But I am still uncomfortable being seen like this.

I threw the sheets on the floor, even stepped on it with my bare feet before finally walking out of the bedroom, and slamming the door behind me. “Hey! We’re not done, so answer me,” I greeted him with loud yells echoing around.

He looks in my direction plainly as he places plates on the dining table. “Sit down,” he commands, shortly breaking eye contact as he walks towards the kitchen counter.

The delightful smell of cooking soup enveloped me quickly. It’s like I have again been tamed the moment I see him take the pot of food to the table. But I must not give in. This man is fooling me. Get yourself together, Alili.

“What happened last night? Why am I here?!” I bombarded him with even more questions.

He leans on the counter to face me. “You don’t remember?”

A lump formed in my throat as I gulped when I couldn’t answer his question.

“You...” his voice fades as he gazes directly into my eyes. “You ordered a bottle of whiskey and passed out after the first shot.”

I had to let out fake coughs and even cleared my throat. Despite my hard efforts to hide my embarrassment, I noticeably failed to do so as I tried to avoid eye contact with him. “That’s not the point,” I firmly said.

“Maybe I was a little drunk... But I don’t think I gave you my consent to bring me here!”

“A little huh.”

“f**k you! I’m gonna call the cops,” I roared at him, immediately turning my head in different directions to find my things.

I found my suitcases stacked on top of each other with my duffle bag by his living room beside the couch. I dashed in its direction and dropped to my knees, rifling through my bag in a desperate search for my phone— only to discover it drained. This might be it for me. I scratched my head out of frustration. I’m done.

“You can use my phone.” I hear him speak from the dining room. He’s f*****g crazy.

I got up on my feet and marched to face him. “I shouldn’t have trusted you!” I hollered, straining my throat even more.

“Stop yelling, you’re going to get us in trouble.” He quickly shifts his sight to the door and back at me.

“You think I care about your lousy neighbors—?”

His hand swiftly clamped over my mouth, stifling any attempts to yell as I struggled in his grasp that covered half my face. “I’ll talk to you when you stop shouting,” he promises as I nod my head in return.

“You know, you need to stop touching me without my consent,” I roared at him again the moment he took his hand off me.

“You’re the one who can’t handle your liquor.”

“Just because we drank together doesn’t mean we can sleep together too!” My voice erupted once more, almost tearing up, causing him to look back to his door.

I feel sharpness piercing inside my throat while I stop myself from sobbing. I would never do this sober. I may not have loved and grew to be the stereotypical Maria Clara my father saw me as, but I have strong preferences in lifestyles. That’s a very awkward claim for someone who got engaged with her first love. I never had significant experiences, but I witnessed a lot. One night stands, cheatings, and things I had to search up while hearing about it. My soul knows how much I despise the hook-up culture. I hate doing something I hate so much that I feel like I’ve disappointed my younger self.

I look at him intensely while my sight starts blurring because of the tears that are about to burst out.

“I slept on the couch.”

“What.”

The tension on my shoulders swiftly vanished as I blinked a couple of times, allowing my vision to see clearly when I heard what he said.

“What?”

He remained silent while I was still confused. “Why was I naked then?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

He scratched his chin and positioned himself to stand up straight in front of me. “Look, I threw you on the bed and left you in there right after. I don’t know how you ended up naked.”

I bit my lower lip. I don’t know if I should believe that. Why would I end up naked alone in the room? That seems impossible.

“Are you lying?” I asked aggressively.

He, again, stares directly into my eyes as he towers over me with his tall body. “Should I pinky promise?” he sarcastically says with a serious face.

Ugh. I rolled my eyes at him and stepped back a foot. I’m still full of questions and doubts, but now, I’m also forcing myself to believe that what he said is true. “Where are my clothes?”

He nods in the direction of another door beside us. “The bathroom.”

“What? So you took my clothes!” I exclaimed, fueling with anger again.

His breath escaped in a heavy sigh. “I’ll just let you remember what you did,” he says and proceeds to carelessly sit on the chair.

“You’re a f*****g jerk!” I stomped my foot as I watched him feed himself on the table, while I am standing in front of him enraged.

He slams the spoon aggressively on the table, and shifts his attention back to me. “Look at you walking around, stomping your feet,” he stated.

His eyes traveled from my feet back up to my face in a second. “If something did happen between us last night, you wouldn’t have been able to stand.”

Wow. That’s probably the boyest thing I have heard in a while. Not impressed. Extremely far from it, I won’t even bother to respond.

“If that’s convincing enough, sit down and eat.” He goes back to eating his food while I move the chair with force and plop down into it instantly.

“I wasn’t convinced. Just hungry.” I say.

The scent of the carrot soup wafted towards me. I savored each spoonful I could get. It was very warm and tasty. This man doesn’t seem so bright, but he at least made a good decision choosing this for breakfast. And a treatment for hangovers too. The taste was just so perfect that I totally ignored the fact that he’s feeding me again before I could even pay him for all the food I had last night. I think it might be the perfect time to bring it up since this awkward silence is torturing me.

“I’ll pay you back for the dinner. I just need to— ”

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” He cuts me off.

I fixed my posture to look at him. I don’t want to be too shameful, even though I am still angry. “It must’ve been expensive. I’ll pay you.” I insisted.

Maybe I am going through a personality switch up, I’d never be too shameless. Especially to someone I barely know. Well, okay, I think I’ve swore a thousand times that I will quit being a people-pleaser, it’s never a bad idea to make a good impression. Though that’s not too good of a logic, right now that I have already slept with him. Stupid.

“I own that restaurant.”

“What.”

My eyelids flutter while he looks at me seriously in silence.

“You’re lying.” I brushed it off with a small chuckle.

“Want me to pinky promise?”

I returned my attention to my plate, completely ignoring his playful banter. He must think he’s so funny.

My eyes wandered to the plates and silverware as I noticed how familiar these were. A sense of familiarity washed over me as I remembered how similar these were to the ones my mother had before, which were very rare and expensive. Okay, fine. He does look like he’s well off. Everyone knows how hard it is to find spacious but affordable apartments here in the center of France. I mean, those are pretty much nonexistent. His place looks wide and decent, and the balcony even has a nice view. It must’ve cost a fortune to settle here. But his kitchen amazed me the most. It’s almost as big as my room back in my country, it’s unbelievable. Maybe owning a popular diner wouldn’t be too impossible for his wealth.

A knock on the door disturbed the silence we’ve been keeping.

He took a bothered sigh before standing up from being seated. Who could that be?

I hear a man’s voice from the other side of the door, demanding to open it for him. Tension, again, starts lingering in the air between us. “Hide your suitcases in the bedroom, and wear something respectable,” he orders, kind of scary to hear.

“What?”

“Hurry, or we’re both dead,” he threatens, making me get up from my seat and swiftly do what he ordered.

The knocks on the door and the voice from outside became more aggressive and threatening. I went inside the room with my bags and changed clothes as quickly as I could. What could that be? This is making me panic. Seeing how disturbed he is, it’s probably something scary.

I put on a black wrap skirt that covered up my entire thighs and kept the shirt I was wearing. “Are you done?” he quietly asks from the outside of the room.

“Yeah.”

“Stay in there until I call you out.”

I hear him gradually step away. The knocks on the door abruptly cease after a faint creaking of the door knob. I was able to hear the strange man’s voice even louder. The sound of their voices washes over me. I hear them converse in French, adding to my confusion. Their serious tone sends a shiver down my spine. s**t, am I in more trouble? Could it be the easily disturbed by noises neighbor he was afraid to bother? I pressed my ear against the door, thinking it would help, but it didn’t do much.

Their conversation lasted for several tense minutes until the faint sound of the front door closing reached my ears. This neighbor must be really grumpy.

“Ah!”

A startled scream escapes my lips as the door swings open unexpectedly, hitting my head with a painful impact.

“What are you doing?” he asks seriously, holding the door knob.

I tenderly massage my forehead with my fingers. “Who was that? What happened?”

“It’s a cop,” he answers with another dismayed sigh.

He opens the door wider and makes a way for me to walk out of the room back to the table. “There have been murder cases here and there, the cops have been coming to check for days now,” he explains.

“Murder?” I looked at him confused.

“Yeah. They think the suspect is an illegal immigrant.”

I didn’t think there’d be such cases here. I guess it’s not much different from home. I nod in response as I watch him clean up the table. “So why were you panicking? Are you the murderer?”

He stopped midway through stacking the plates together to look at me. “Between the both of us, who here does not have a passport and a visa?”

Oh.

I uncomfortably bit my lip and cast my gaze downwards. So that’s why I needed to hide? I owe him another one. If that po-po caught me here, he would’ve asked for my documents that I clearly don’t have. The least thing I want to happen is to get sent to the station.

“But what did you talk to him about? He sounded very angry.”

He continues placing the dishes on the sink with his back facing me. “A neighbor reported a disturbance last night...”

“Saying they saw me with a foreign woman along with big suitcases causing a scene on the streets.”

The continuation of his explanation only intensified my anxiousness. Who was I last night? I grappled with the heightened tension of the situation. “I’m not gonna get arrested, right?” I gulped.

He pays no attention to my anxiousness and continues washing the dishes. He is too laidback, it’s irritating me. “Well, the cops know you’re here,” he shoves it off negligently.

That doesn’t calm me down. Geez. I was planning to go to the station to report my stolen stuff, but now I’d look too suspicious. I should’ve gone there before carelessly sleeping in a stranger’s house.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we just told him my things got stolen?”

“They’re still gonna hold you there until they find proof you’re not who they’re looking for.”

Great. I thought my miserable situation would end yesterday, but it won’t just let me take a break. I pace back and forth, my palm pressed firmly against my forehead as waves of worry crash over me. “Isn’t there someone you can call to help you out?” he inquires.

“I’m all alone,” I said, still walking around. I spent the past few months all alone. I even only managed to tell my family about my stay in France a day before my flight. And I swore, to everything valuable to me — that I would never get in contact with any of the people back in the country while I’m here. It’s not like they’d willingly help me out when I’m struggling.

My steps came to a sudden halt, and I slowly turned to face him. “Wait, if they know I’m here, why didn’t they take me?”

I hear the faucet go off before he faces me. “I just took care of it.”

“How, what did you say?”

“Just some lies that were somehow believable.”

“What lies?”

“That you’re my wife.”

I forcefully shut my eyes before giving him a reaction. “I’m in no mood for your shit.” I gaze at him directly as I slightly shake my head, in the most serious manner I could pull off. Really. This man is truly amazing. In the most awful way I could think of. Not to exaggerate, but I have never met a man as unserious as this person.

He nods in silence before taking a heavy sigh. “Okay, then. If you don’t want to play along, then, please grab your bags, go through the front door, and ask the crabby officer for a ride to the station.”

“That doesn’t sound too awful to me. I don’t kill people.”

He dismisses my words with a careless shrug, and lets a minute pass by without saying anything in response. As if he’s actually waiting for me to leave. That’s fine. I’m used to this more than anyone else. Also, it’s not like I am his responsibility, and I no longer have any desire to stay with an i***t man for another hour. Not like I wanted to. Not for once. One of the worst things I hate are people who can make jokes at someone’s despair. I tore my gaze away from his insensitive eyes, and made my way back in the room to get my bags. I heard the sound of the faucet running again the second I turned my back at him. He is surely not bothered, so I must be too. I dragged my suitcases aiming to get out of this place, resisting the urge to glance back at him. I’m not sure why I’m getting those urges. But, I feel like looking back would only shatter the fragile courage I’ve mustered to walk away. I shut the door behind me softly when I successfully managed to walk out, and I was greeted by a hallway I am greatly unfamiliar with.

Not sure how to feel now that I am alone. Again. I shouldn’t be, to be honest. I have been alone for such a long time that I thought I had already mastered independence. Now I sort-of feel off. However, I was able to swiftly remove the concern from my mind. I have a lot of other things to worry about. Like, for example, finding out if this building only has stairs for me to carry these things down. From the view of his window earlier, I could tell that I am at least four stories above ground. I know it is a bad day, but nothing could go worse than how it was yesterday. Let’s be optimistic for once. I’ll try to forget about waking up on the wrong side of — the wrong bed. Please.

I walked my way down to the end of the hallway, passing by about five identical doors beside and in-front of his. The place looks decent, but not too luxurious, yet I still feel eerie each step I make. I reached the edge, and, okay, there are elevators in between the stairs. One with an open door, exposing old, moldy walls, meaning the lift is probably broken somewhere down or above. While the other has its door open as well. The lift was there, yet a yellow caution sign was placed by the entrance. So I do not have a choice — but, hey, I am not letting this get into my head. All anger does is make things worse.

Each step was torturing my hands as they held the weight of my bulging luggages. I was finally able to confirm my hunch, the apartment was on the fourth floor. And by the time I realized that, I was already close to the bottom of the staircase, where I could see the sunlight hitting the last steps.

And also one tall and bulky man in a dark blue police uniform, with an old lady, who was very startled to see me.

The woman’s trembling hand hovers in the air, and gnarls her finger pointing to me. “C'était elle!” she shouts.

Oh well. No optimism and reverse psychology would work on my unlucky aura. The cop turns to face me, squints his eyes, and says “You.”

It was one english word, yet he managed to say it in a really french enunciation, which really adds more to my nervousness.

“You live here?”

My eyes wandered on their own. “I- I was just visiting.” I start to stutter. Holy s**t, I thought I was confident to face this. I may not be the murderer on the loose, but being a tourist without a visa, passport, or any IDs on hand makes me feel as guilty as that damned suspect. I do not want to get deported, and sent back.

“Who are you visiting here?” he walks up a step, getting closer to me.

“Just…someone. He invited me over.”

My attempt to back up a level badly failed when I could not lift my suitcase as his palm had already laid flat on it. “Who? What’s the name of the resident?” he asks again, pronouncing each word harder.

I feel sweat cascading down my cheeks and my heart beats faster each second. I don’t know. I have no idea who he is, and what his name might be. If I create a false name as an excuse, I’d get in even deeper trouble. How do I explain my situation? I do not even remember how I got here in the first place. All I can do is gulp and clear my throat, praying that this is all a dream, and the real me is still sleeping on the plane.

“This is trespassing! It’s my first time seeing you here,” the old woman adds more fuel to the burning fire. Oh shut the f**k up, I have not seen you once in my life either. And that did a lot. A lot more to my misery. I could tell that the cop got more suspicious of me by the way his eyes narrowed.

“What is the name of the person you’re visiting?” His voice became even more terrifying. His voice was like a chill wind that sent shivers down my spine, making it harder for me to breathe this time.

“Lenfer.” A voice from behind made me turn my gaze in an instant. Of course. “Chance Lenfer,” he — Chance — says again while stepping down to my level, as a vivid memory unfolds in my mind the second I hear his name.