Alone in Paris: A Standalone Young Adult Romance

by Ashley Earley

  No one ever sees me, my mind whispers.

  ∞

  I creep around a corner, my bare feet quietly padding on the perfectly white and sanitized floor. Seeing that the nurse’s station is empty, I quickly bolt to the other side of the hall. Nearly all the rooms in the hospital are pitch-black, and there isn’t a nurse or doctor in sight. I make it out of the hospital easily; ducking around corners to avoid nurses and doctors before exiting through the sliding double doors.

  A breeze carries through the air, blowing my hair back. I look around me, trying to get my bearings.

  Where am I going to go? Where can I go?

  I blink multiple times to try and dismiss the tears that are welling in my eyes. I hug myself and start making my way from the hospital. As I move away from the blinding lights of the hospital and into the darkness, I become chilled, worried and tired.

  Where am I going to sleep? Where am I going to go? I can’t go home. I don’t have money for a plane ticket. I was at the hospital for over five days, but no one had come looking for me; no calls, or visits from any family members. No one has stepped up to offer me a place to go.

  Hours seem to pass as I walk. As I wander from street to street. I stop as I walk by the Eiffel Tower, my heart falling slightly as I take a long look at the illuminated structure. It’s beautiful, but the tower was part of the cause for everything that has happened. Staring at it right now—after barely surviving the worst week of my life—made me feel sick to my stomach.

  I turn away when I can’t stand to look at it any longer.

  I aimlessly wander the streets a while longer, unsure of where to go, or what to do. After who knows how long, I end up on a bench, curled up and ready for some sleep.

  I found my apartment the next day and immediately decided to move into the abandoned building.

  ∞

  I keep my knees pulled up to my chest with my arms wrapped around my legs. The curtain to the bathtub is drawn, making me invisible to the outside world. I can hear them talking downstairs. I can easily pick out Nathan’s voice. His voice is happy and deep, yet smooth and comforting. I could recognize his voice anywhere.

  The footsteps make their way up the creaky staircase. My heart begins to thump faster as I listen. I’m in a good hiding place. They won’t look here. As Nathan had pointed out to me earlier, they’re going to tear down the building, so why would they check out the bathrooms.

  Footsteps echo through the halls. My bedroom door is open, making it easier for me to hear. I listen carefully as they amble down the halls, their voices bouncing off the walls as they talk.

  “Having any second thoughts?” one of them asks.

  “No. This place is close to collapsing on its own. I think we should just tear it down.”

  I press my forehead against my knees, panic bubbling under my skin. No! I have nowhere else to go. What will I do? Where will I go? I have no one. Pain and fear grip my heart at the thought of being homeless. I don’t want to resort to sleeping on park benches, again.

  “All right. I’ll give you the papers so we can move forward.”

  “Great, I’ll sign them tomorrow. The sooner we get this place torn down, the sooner we can rebuild.”

  Nathan is silent as his father and his associate continue to talk about tearing down my home. I wonder what’s going through his head as he listens to this.

  “All right, let’s get going,” Nathan’s father says. Their footsteps travel back down the hall before I hear the stairs creak. I don’t hear anything after that. I don’t hear the floor creak or a door groan as it shuts.

  I don’t hear anything.

  Just silence.

  I wonder if Nathan will come back after they leave.

  I stay crouched in the tub for a few more minutes, listening for any sign of them as my heart beats against my chest. The curtain is suddenly wrenched back, causing me to jump. Nathan chuckles above me. “You’re jumpy.”

  I stare up at him, not making a move to get out of the tub. He’s dressed in the blue jeans that I was all-too familiar with, and a T-shirt that clings to him in all the right places. I purse my lips. “Yeah, well, after hearing them decide about what to do with this place…”

  He sighs, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m sorry.”

  I nod, turning away. I suddenly can’t face him—can’t look at him. I’ll have nowhere to go. I have to figure something out. Soon. “When are they tearing it down?” I ask, staring at the bathtub handle. He doesn’t answer, which causes me to look up at him. He avoids my eyes, looking down at his shoes as he shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Just tell me.”

  “In a little over a week.”

  A week? A week? My heart starts to beat in panic and my thoughts become tangled. I don’t want this to happen, but what can I do? I can’t really do anything. There’s no solution…

  I nod, getting to my feet. “Okay.” I run my hands through my hair, roughly, nearly yanking my hands through the strands. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Taylor. My dad is ready to move forward with his plan.”

  I smile faintly. “You must really mean it if you’re not calling me by one of those stupid nicknames.”

  He holds a hand out to me, and he helps me from the tub. When I step out, I find myself inches away from him. I want to take a step back, but my heels are against the tub. He doesn’t let go of my hand. He’s close and towers over me. He doesn’t move away, and my heart is beating quicker from a different king of panic. He clears his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  “Do you have newspaper clippings from the accident?”

  Oh, yay, another one of his random questions that make me uneasy. “Yeah,” I answer, shifting uncomfortably, my eyes moving down to our hands. I know I should pull my hand from his and move away since we’re so close, but I don’t want to.

  “Can I see them?”

  I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. I have to move away from him now. “Yeah. They’re, um, in my room.” I take a step, moving closer to him so that I can move past him. His eyes follow me as I brush past him. I can feel them linger on me as I head for the door. I can’t bring myself to look back, though.

  I can hear him following behind me as I push my bedroom door open and move past the rocking chair. I sit on the floor, in front of my many stacks of books. I start going through them, searching for the clippings I’d cut out from newspapers.

  Nathan takes a seat beside me and quietly watches me as I search. I find the clippings in my complete copy of Sherlock Holmes. I hand the papers to Nathan, unable to risk a glance at them in case I accidently read a single word.

  He takes them and begins reading, his dark hair falling in his eyes. He doesn’t brush his bangs away, knowing that it would be hopeless to try to contain them. They would just fall back into his eyes. I find myself staring at him, taking in his features as he continues to read, unaware of my lingering gaze.

  I want to draw him. My fingers are tingling with the need to reach for pen and paper—with the need to get his distinctive features on paper. My eyes trail from his long, dark lashes to his nose, then to his lips; they’re parted slightly, but they don’t move as he reads.

  My cheeks warming, I turn away.

  Nathan finishes reading through the articles a minute later. He holds the articles in his lap, staring at the wall in front of him with a confused expression. “There has to be someone looking for you.”

  I shake my head, brushing my hair back behind my ear as I stare down into my lap. My cheeks are still a little warm, and it didn’t help that I kept thinking about his stupid lips. I shake my head again, only—this time—it’s to try to shake the image of his lips. “No one came looking for me.”

  “You just left the hospital?”

  I nod. “Yup, and ended up here.”

  “Shit, Taylor-Tot, that’s—that’s intense. That’s a lot.”

  “Yeah.” I still don’t look at him. I can�
�t. I stare down at my hands instead.

  “You really just—”

  “Have no one,” I finish for him with a nod. I’m finally able to look at him then. I stare straight into his gray-blue eyes. A fierce shiver suddenly runs through my entire body. I don’t shiver with the trembles that vibrate through me.

  He carefully reaches for me, as if he was scared that he would spook me, and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone—”

  “I’m sorry if I think you don’t count. I am alone. I have no one; no family, no friends—”

  “We’re not friends?” I open my mouth to try to backtrack, but he doesn’t give me the chance. “’Cause I thought we were. You are not alone, Taylor—”

  “So what? You’re here for me? Why are you even here, Nathan? Because you’re doing nothing to help me—”

  “Nothing? I’ve done nothing to help you? I saved your life!”

  I jump to my feet. “I didn’t want your help! I wanted to die! That’s what suicide is! I wanted to die, and you kept that from happening. I wanted—“ I choke. “I wanted to feel relief. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore, and you prevented that from happening.”

  As the words pour from my mouth, the truth slaps me in the face all over again. I had wanted to die because I couldn’t fight anymore. The flashbacks and the emotions that came with them were far too much. I couldn’t handle it all. I wanted it all to end.

  But he’d gotten in the way. He stepped in and “saved” me when I didn’t need saving.

  I couldn’t decide whether to be relieved by this, or upset.

  My heart and mind are torn between not wanting to live because I am so far beyond the ability, and wanting to see what the world has to offer me. So far, the world has thrown nothing but sadness in my direction. But it’s also thrown Nathan in my direction, though I’m not sure why yet. I’m not sure if meeting him is even a good thing.

  He makes me think too much—about things like the accident, but also much more than that. He makes me question everything. If something happened to me…He’d forget about me, right? The memory of me will drift to the back of his mind—where it will stay without another thought.

  Yeah, he’d forget about me. I’m just a weird, suicidal girl living in the abandoned building that his dad is planning on tearing down.

  He reaches out, gripping my hand. “Whatever you need, I’m here. I’m here for you.”

  “But what can you do, Nathan? Really, what can you do?” I pause, taking a breath to try to hold the tears back. “Because I’m lost. And after you’re father tears this place down, I will have nothing left, and nowhere to go.”

  He’s quiet for a long moment, processing. “We can figure something out. Maybe I can ask my dad—”

  “No! No, you can’t tell anyone about me! I’m not eighteen yet; I’ll be sent off somewhere. I can’t—I can’t be sent to some foster home. I need to stay hidden until I turn eighteen.”

  “When do you turn eighteen?”

  “In a few months.”

  “Taylor, my dad is planning on tearing this place down in about a week. We don’t have a few months. What are you going to do?”

  I take in a shaky breath. “I don’t know, but you can’t tell anyone about me! I have to stay hidden.”

  There’s a long pause before he nods. “Okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Boy’s Portrait

  I cup the mug with both hands, letting it warm them. Instead of staring down into the dark liquid in my mug, I’m looking at Nathan. We’re in the same coffee shop we’d been in a few days ago, where we’d first played twenty questions. We’re even sitting at the same table in the same corner of the shop, sitting across from each other with our legs touching. The touch is as light as a feather but as noticeable as an electric shock. Neither of us pull away, and neither of us feel awkward. If anything, the feeling of his leg brushing against mine is exhilarating.

  He drinks his coffee tentatively, glancing at me every few seconds, watching me. Every time he glances in my direction, I quickly turn away though he obviously knows I’m watching him. He can feel my eyes on him. I know he’s wondering why I’m staring at him, but he doesn’t ask.

  I finally take a sip of coffee, set the mug back on the table, and voice what’s on my mind, “I want to draw you.”

  He stares at me, taking a moment to respond. “You want to draw me?”

  “Yes, but not here; it’s too dark. I need more light.”

  He raises an eyebrow, questioningly. “Why do you want to draw me?”

  I shrug, playing off my true intentions. I want to draw him because I see something in him. I want to capture it—him—on paper. Every detail—from the glint in his eyes to the distinct curve of his lips when he’s just about to smirk—needs to be captured on paper to be made immortal. I don’t voice any of these thoughts, though. Instead, I say, “Something new to capture on paper.”

  His eyebrow stays raised as he asks his next question. “How would you have me positioned?”

  I bite my lip in an attempt to hold back my laughter. A small snicker still manages to escape, though. Of course, he would take an innocent sentence and somehow make it dirty. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Okay,” he says, jumping up. The chair scraps back with his jerky movement. “Let’s go.”

  “Now?”

  “Yup.” He starts for the door. I have to jog to keep up with him as he walks down the street. He moves quickly through the crowd, brushing past people without feeling skittish. I, on the other hand, dodge everyone on the street.

  When we make it back to the apartment, he quickly disappears up the stairs. I take my time, thinking about how I should sketch him. Maybe I should have him sit on the window seat with his knees pulled up to his chest while he stares out the window. I could capture the casualness of him. I could sketch him from an angle to get those piercing eyes of his. I could sketch him leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  I find Nathan sitting in the rocking chair. He looks up when I walk in, staring up at me with the sharp eyes I was just thinking about. The way he looks at me makes my heart jump. I make my way across the room, taking my sketchpad and pencils out of my messenger bag. When I stand, I find that his eyes are still on me.

  “Sooo what? You want me to sit here?” he asks, raising a single brow. I step toward him, reaching out and taking his chin in my hand. I guide his head to the side so that his face is angled to catch the light that’s coming in from the window; it strengthens his features. He complies, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Fold one of your legs over the other.” He does. I take a few steps back. He keeps his face angled toward the window, allowing it to catch the light and shadow parts of his face.

  The corner of his lip curves into a grin. “‘Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.’”

  I burst into laughter. “Did a guy really just quote Titanic?”

  “Uh, yeah! It’s a classic!” I stare at him in surprise. “What? A guy can’t like a chick-flick?”

  I shake my head, biting my bottom lip to hide my smile. “No. It’s just surprising; that’s all.” I take a seat on the floor across from him. My pencil touches the paper, and it goes to work across the page.

  We both are silent as I work. I start with his figure; outlining his body. Then, I move on to his hair, darkening and shading it in places. His eyes are next, then his dark, bushy eyebrows. I save his mouth for last, focusing on the crook in his lips.

  I almost sigh to myself, wondering how they could look so perfect. I shake my head, tearing my eyes away from them. I move my attention back to my pencil, moving it to focus on shading his figure. I shade in his T-shirt, darken his pants.

  I don’t know how much time has past before he breaks me from my trance. He has to repeat himself twice before I look up. “I want you to come over sometime.”

  My pencil immediately stops moving across
the page. I look up at him, staring at him through the hair that’s covering my eyes. “Like…to your house?” I ask, pushing my hair back.

  “Yeah, like, to my house.”

  I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to throw my pencil at him. “Your parents wouldn’t mind that you brought home a stray?”

  “Nah.” He pauses. “Well, I did bring home a stray cat one time, and my mother didn’t really appreciate that. She did let me keep it, however, so maybe I’ll get lucky a second time.” He waggles his eyebrows, and I find myself unable to contain the grin that’s spreading across my face. “So, can you come over tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? What happened to sometime?”

  “The sooner, the better. I’m tired of hanging out in this old, stuffy apartment.”

  I press my lips into a thin line. “I don’t know, Nathan.”

  “What, are you busy tomorrow?” He chuckles lightly at that, still being careful not to move out of the position I have him in. Ha.

  “No,” I grumble.

  He grins at that. “Good. Then we’ll hang out at my place.”

  “I could have been busy, though, you know.”

  He smirks, getting to his feet. I open my mouth to call out for him to sit down so I can finish my masterpiece, but he makes it across the room to me before I can get a word out. He holds his hand out to me and pulls me to my feet when I take it. I find myself with my back against the wall, not even a foot away from him. My chest started to rise and fall at a faster pace as my breath quickened. I was finding it difficult to form a coherent thought. “I’m sure whatever you have scheduled for tomorrow can be moved,” he tells me, his warm breath tickling my skin.

  I blink, struggling to recall what we had been talking about. “Maybe it can; maybe it can’t.”

  His eyes drift down ever so slightly, landing just below my eyes. I tense, realizing he’s staring at my lips. His eyes shoot back up to meet mine, and he takes a step back. Our eyes stay locked for a long moment before he moves back to the rocking chair, not saying another word. Feeling out of breath, I sit back down.