French Connections Ch. 02

"Bullshit." The word was out of my mouth and into the air before I even realised I had said it. Jean-Luc looked stunned.

"Bullshit!" I repeated, a little louder this time. "Then what the FUCK are you doing here with me!? Why are you HERE with me, making love to me, when you're about to become engaged to someone else?!" My bewilderment and astonishment at what I was hearing, was too overwhelming to even try to hide -- not that I particularly wanted to hide it.

"It's because I love you. You are so beautiful and sexy, and you make me feel so alive when I am with you." He took a deep breath and knelt on the floor beside me, before hesitantly continuing, "I never wanted to hurt you Cherie, but I think of the future... and you are too much into your career to be the proper wife."

"The 'proper' wife?" I repeated with undisguised incredulity. I had no idea what he meant by this, but I didn't want to. I was still shocked to hear such a phrase come out of Jean-Luc, and even more astonished at how he had made it sound like it was my fault that he went back to her.

"So, because I've been a little distracted with my P-h-D lately," I enunciated each letter carefully to emphasise the importance of my doctorate and hint at the considerable demands of such an undertaking, "you think it's okay to shag another woman... or worse, make ME the 'other woman'?" I exhaled sharply. I could feel my nostrils flaring as I continued... still just gearing up on my rant: he was not getting off this hook lightly!

"BULL... SHIT!" I yelled right in front of his face. Jean-Luc, to his credit, had the sense not to even try to respond to my (entirely justified) tantrum. I stood up and starting pacing the room, too worked up to sit still as I continued to interrogate him. I needed to take a few deep breaths to gather my thoughts before continuing.

"When did you decide that you were going to propose to her? Was it just a spur of the moment decision earlier today? Did you just think to yourself," I put on a bad French accent "'hey I've got a nice antique diamond ring, I'll get Claire's name engraved on it. Jane won't mind me being late to meet her." The fake French accent slowly vanished as I exchanged pronunciation for volume; "And for that matter, Jane won't mind either if I STRAND her in a cottage in the middle of nowhere and FUCK her while I've got another girls named carved on an engagement ring!! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME JEAN-LUC?! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?!" I was in full rant mode and getting louder and louder as my tirade went on. I could feel my face getting redder as I yelled at him, my blood boiling.

"I'M SORRY OKAY!!" he shouted back. "What more do you want me to say, I'm sorry. Okay?" I saw the tears well up behind his eyes as he finally met my gaze. I was still too much in shock and too angry to cry.

"Sorry. You're sorry." I replied, in an eerily calm tone. "Well then that just solves everything, doesn't it? I don't know why I'm STILL pissed off so," the sarcasm dripping from every word as I paced the room again. "I mean you've said you're sorry, so now everything is suddenly magically better."

I paused and took a deep breath, looking Jean-Luc over again, unable to keep the contempt from my voice as I continued my rant. "Sorry is just a word Jean-Luc. It doesn't mean anything to me that you're sorry - especially when the thing that you're the sorriest for is getting caught!" I took another deep breath. I was so angry I was shaking. "You know what you can do with your 'sorry' Jean-Luc?" I leaned in closer to him, carefully enunciating each word making sure nothing would be lost in translation, "you can take your 'sorry' and you can SHOVE... it... up... your... ASS!" I screamed that last word so loudly my throat hurt.

He just stared down at his feet, unable to look at me. And unable, or unwilling - or possibly even a little afraid - to answer me back. With a frustrated sigh I stormed out of the living room, down the hall and into the bedroom. I couldn't stand to even look at Jean-Luc at that moment. I was so furious that I was starting to feel light-headed and dizzy. I had to get out of there. Even though it was already after 10pm, dark, cold and possibly even dangerous outside; I just had to leave. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I was on the verge of a full scale panic attack!

I quickly pulled off Jean-Luc's t-shirt and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I pulled on some clean socks and huffed out of the bedroom, into the living room, passed Jean-Luc and grabbed my coat and shoes. I put them on, while announcing at the same time that I was going for a walk. He didn't try to stop me. Part of me wanted him to.

Actually, two parts of me wanted him to. Firstly, the part that was still in love with him and longed for him to show me any kind of consideration and affection - or at the very least some concern for my safety. And secondly, the part of me that was looking for a fight! But neither part received a satisfying response. A barely acknowledged 'okay' was all the response he could muster. I stormed out of his would-be 'fairytale' cottage into the night, allowing the doors to slam shut behind me but not actually deliberately banging them -- a subtle but powerful distinction, although one I'm not sure he realised.

So off I went, in a big huff and a little panic down to the gate... and stopped. The gate was locked. Fuck! Back I went, now in a worse panic than before. And to make matters even worse, now I actually had to talk to the French git again to find out which key I needed to open the gate (that stupid gate was just a little bit too high for me to climb over... and besides I wanted to retain what little shred of dignity I might still have left!).

Back down to the gate I trudged. In the darkness, and in my state of blind panic and fury, I couldn't get the key into the lock. Then, when I finally did, the blasted key wouldn't turn! There was no stop inside the barrel of the lock to let you know how far to insert the key. I tried again and again, pulling at the handle of the lock, banging shit out of the solid metal gate and praying hard to a god I'm not actually all that sure I believe in to get this stupid gate open and set me free!

Eventually, a deep breath and a gentler touch allowed me to manoeuvre the key to the correct position within the lock and the gate opened. There was hope at last! I returned the keys to the house, throwing them on a table just inside the kitchen door, but not actually entering the house myself -- another subtle yet important distinction to point out.

Third time lucky; I marched down the garden once again, out of the gate and into the tiny unknown French village with only a sparse sprinkling of street lights to guide my way. I headed for the main road away from the house, up the hill that I could not see beyond and told myself that I just needed to make it to the top of the next hill -- just over this close and inviting horizon and off into another world. All the time, I sobbed. I sobbed and cried out loud. But no-one heard me. There was no-one else there. And even if there was, would they care?

I marched and sobbed my way up the hill, to where the street lamps ended and the lonely dark road began. The moon was not full, but there was enough of it there to guide me along this winding country road. The view of the stars was amazing: one of the few perks of being in the arsehole of nowhere in the pitch dark! I walked this lonely road, talking to myself (out loud!) asking the stars for their opinion on these latest events and confessing my troubles to them, telling them all about what this bad man had done.

I wandered the road for quite a while; walking up to where the forest begins, back to the last street lamp and the same again. I was reminded, staring up at those stars, of being a very young girl and staring at the stars from my bedroom window. I remembered their calming effect and longed for it to envelope me once again. I thought about all my hopes and dreams when I was that idealistic young dreamer, wishing on a star...

Then, I saw a shooting star and stopped still in my tracks. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes... and made a wish. I wished to be loved and to fall in love; to know the security and sublime happiness and contentment of a loving, caring, relationship -- something that I was foolish enough to think I had found with Jean-Luc. I wished for the courage to keep searching for my perfect partner, someone with whom I would be truly loved for being myself, someone who would celebrate my successes in my career with me rather than be intimidated by them. Most of all, I wished to find 'him'... sooner rather than later. Then I thought about Jean-Luc, this selfish guy whose life is in a big disorganised mess and asked myself, looking at the man for who he really is and not who I wanted him to be in my head, if this was really 'him'? And, in all honesty, I had to answer 'no'.

After my walk, when I had finally calmed down enough to bear returning to the cottage, I came back to find Jean-Luc on the phone. I went straight back into the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind me. I sat on the side of the big bed, in the little room, feeling very isolated and alone. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted company. You know the expression 'not if he was the last man on Earth', well he was the only man, woman or dog in the vicinity that I could talk to. So, I did. I went and sat on the armchair in the living room. Jean-Luc had finished on the phone and was in the kitchen. I stared mindlessly into the fire until awoken from my trance by the mug of hot tea which hovered majestically in front of my face.

"Black tea, with honey and milk. It's a little bit cold outside, I thought you might like something hot to drink" he said as I took the cup from him and muttered a quiet 'thanks' back. I held the mug of steaming tea in one hand and sipped it. Jean-Luc crouched beside the armchair, took my other hand and held it between his and quietly whispered in his annoyingly sexy French accent; "you're hands are freezing, Cherie." His hands were warm and inviting. He took my hand close to his lips and brushed them against my fingertips - almost kissing my fingertips but not quite. My heart reacted to this in a very nice, but deeply treacherous way. This was just too much for me, so I pulled my hand away.

He asked me if I was okay but I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say to him; I was still somewhere between wanting to shout and hit him, and wanting to ignore him completely -- although I would like to think that I would not be childish enough to do either... again. Besides, I wanted to keep the little bit of dignity I had left. But even so, amidst the pain and the anger, there was still that little corner of my traitorous heart that would willingly melt in his arms and in his bed again. And if that ember should be teased correctly, I feared it would become an all-consuming flame. Damn him! And damn my stubborn heart for continuing to love him so.

"I was just speaking to Jacques on the phone." Jean-Luc said softly, "He can come in the morning and collect you, if you want?" Jacques is Jean-Luc's older brother. "Or you can stay here, you are welcome to stay Cherie" he added quickly, placing his hand on my knee as he spoke. I could not sustain his gaze and I had to look away. I also had to fight the temptation to come back with some witty catty remark when he called me 'Cherie'. I was not his darling or his dear anymore. He was making an effort to be considerate though. I suppose it was the very least that he could do.

"I would like to go home" I said quietly, "as soon as possible."

"Okay. I'll call Jacques."

And that was the end of our conversation. I finished my tea while Jean-Luc telephoned Jacques to make the arrangements.

Now, there is something that I should explain to you: I love Jacques. And he loves me back. He is one of the most caring, loveable souls I have ever met in my entire life. And as if that wasn't enough, he is drop dead gorgeous too! We get along so well that he would seem to be the perfect guy for me in almost every way - except one. No, the problem is not that he's Jean-Luc's brother. After what Jean-Luc just did, I think the universe would forgive me if I wanted to have a fling with his hot brother. No, that's not the main barrier standing between me and Jacques becoming an item. You see, it's actually much simpler than that: Jacques, like most of the perfect men I seem to meet, is gay. He also happens to be in a deeply committed relationship with another annoyingly loveable perfect guy called Anton (the 6'4 German hunk!).

There were not a lot of people I wanted to see or talk to right then, but Jacques was one of them. I knew he was someone that I could trust. Even if he did know about 'her' already, which I'm assuming he did, the fact that he didn't tell me was merely proof of his loyalty to his brother and is not something I could be angry with him about. Jacques was not the type of guy to betray anyone's confidence. Besides, I knew that this was not something Jacques would have approved of Jean-Luc doing, and I was sure that Jean-Luc would be hearing all about what Jacques thought of the situation!

I showered and packed before heading to bed, so that I would be ready to leave when Jacques arrived. I hadn't actually talked with Jean-Luc about the sleeping arrangements, but I hoped it was fairly obvious to him that he would not be sharing a bed with me. Just in case, I took a pillow and a spare blanket from the bedroom and left them on the couch.

I feel asleep surprisingly quickly, considering how stressful the evening had been. I guess between the bike trip to Reims, the sexcapades in front of the fire and the following emotional roller-coaster... I was just worn out! What a day! And, like the song says, what a difference a day makes... Just twenty-four little hours ago, I was cuddled up with Jean-Luc in this very bed, feeling like the luckiest girl in the universe. What an idiot I was!

In the middle of the night, I rolled over and in my sleep state snuggled into the warm body lying next to me in the bed. I'm not sure how long I lay on his chest, whether it was minutes or hours, before realising that I should have been sleeping alone that night. I forced my eyes to open when I realised this and was fully prepared to literally kick Jean-Luc out of the bed if necessary. Fortunately, before I started yelling and kicking, I realised that it wasn't Jean-Luc in the bed with me -- it was Jacques. I reached over to the nightstand to check the time on my watch; it was just after 4am. Jacques must've pretty much dropped everything and drove all the way out here to come to my rescue. I smiled and remembered why it was that I loved him so much -- he was just that kind of guy; the kind of guy who will drop everything and rush to help out a friend, even if it means driving half the night to do it!

I lay back down beside him and put my head back on his chest, snuggling into him again. I was relieved that I had decided not to sleep naked that night -- that might've been awkward! Instead I slept in a t-shirt and panties, as did he -- well, boxer briefs in his case. He stirred a little as I cuddled him, and brought his arms around me.

"Sorry for the intrusion, but the couch was taken." Jacques whispered softly as he cradled me gently in his arms.

I laughed softly. "No problem, I'm just glad you're here. Thank you for coming so soon."

"I had to make sure you were okay. Honestly, if he wasn't my baby brother, I'd kick the shit out of him. In fact, I might just do that anyway!" Jacques stopped himself before going any further with his rant. I was grateful for his support but an anti-Jean-Luc speech was not what I needed to hear at four o'clock in the morning, especially not from his own brother.

"Are you okay, Jane?"

"Honestly," I took a deep breath while considering his question, "I'm not sure. I just feel kind of drained at the moment."

"I understand. You should sleep some more, we can talk on the drive back tomorrow." He craned his neck down and kissed the top of my head. Sometimes it almost felt like he was my big brother too. I hoped that we could remain such close friends in the wake of the break-up, but I doubted that that would be possible.

"Jacques?"

"Yes?"

I hesitated before I spoke, but I wanted to get this out of the way "I understand why you didn't tell me about her. I'm not angry with you for being loyal to your brother. I wouldn't expect any less of you. You're a good guy and you've been a good friend to me. I just... I don't want you to worry about that, especially not after driving all the way out here in the middle of the night." I didn't know if it was a silly thing to say or not. But I needed a friend and I knew that if there was ever any hope of Jacques and I remaining friends that I would have to respect his relationship with his brother and not ask him to choose sides. Besides, I was sure he would side with his brother, even if he knew that it was the wrong side. That's what family does.

"Thank you, Jane. I appreciate that." He gave me a little squeeze and kissed my head again. "But the truth is I didn't know that there was anything to tell. I knew he was seeing her again, but I thought that they were just friends... and I didn't know he was keeping it from you. He hid the true nature of their relationship from me too. I would not have stayed quiet about it for long if I'd known; but you're right, I wouldn't have told you myself... I would have made HIM tell you!"

"Thanks." I kissed Jacques' chest through his t-shirt and snuggled him. Even though I would have understood Jacques siding with his brother, I was relieved to hear that he didn't know. That was one less betrayal (however minor) to cope with. I drifted back to sleep, feeling protected and loved and safe in Jacques' arms.

The next morning Jacques drove me home. I didn't speak with Jean-Luc again. He made a few attempts to contact me; left me phone messages and sent me some e-mails but I didn't respond to any of them.

The first few weeks were the most difficult. Jacques was a great help at first. He was really there for me and he cheered me up when I felt really down. But as the weeks went by, and the temptation to ask about Jean-Luc grew, I realised that being around Jacques was actually making it harder to get over Jean-Luc. I think Jacques realised it too. We saw each other less and less as time went by until... we just stopped calling each other altogether.

I did my best to put them both out of my mind. I threw myself into my research and even started hanging out more with the other grad students from the research institute - and eventually managed to form a new circle of friends. But none of my new friends knew what had happened between Jean-Luc and I. Some new that I'd been dating a French guy I met when I first arrived in Paris, and I guess they figured the relationship had run its course. Two different guys from work asked me out, but I turned both of them down using the excuse that I didn't date guys I worked with. It was a lie. It sounded good nevertheless though, and they backed off with their feelings and their pride intact. Truth is: I just wasn't ready to date anyone new yet.

In fact, I still wasn't sure that I was ready to meet anyone new, even when a handsome American tourist caught me staring at his ass outside a bistro a couple of months after Jean-Luc and I broke up -- on the very day he was supposed to marry another woman as it turned out. Jacques had mentioned the trip to Lyon and the date of the wedding to me in passing one day, without thinking. He apologised immediately for mentioning it. I knew he wasn't deliberately trying to upset me, so I of course forgave him. Even though we eventually stopped being friends, I never felt anything negative or held any kind of grudge against Jacques. He was always one of the good guys.