So here;s the X-Men story I've been mulling over for a while now. I'll just leave it at that and let y'all read on. Before that though, Amèlie's name is pronounced (A-MEEL-YAY). Her nickname, Amie, which is not used in this chapter is pronounced (A-MEE) and finally Benevuis is (BEN-AY-VOO). Happy reading!
The crisp autumn air blew several brittle leaves down the street. The entire night seemed eerily still, like it had all set into slow motion to match the feelings in the house. Christian Benevuis stood with his wife in front of the large window which looked into the family dining room. Both had been a whirlwind of emotions over the past few weeks, and neither knew what else to do. No matter what treatments they tried, their young daughter's 'condition' only seemed to get worse.
Amèlie, the Benevuis' youngest daughter, was only six years old when her pediatrician diagnosed her with X-Linked Agammaglobulinemia or XLA, an immunodeficiency which caused her body to not produced an adequate amount of antibodies to fight the diseases her body contracted. Over the next three years, young Amèlie had contracted several diseases long unseen in the Bayville, New York area. Her parents could not help but worry.
"We've exhausted every other option dear," Christian began, holding his wife closer, "We have no other choice."
Jocelyn looked up into her husband's eyes, which reflected the same sadness as her own. She wiped the remaining tear stains from her face as she turned to look out the window toward the Eastern horizon. At the very edge it seemed, there stood a large building along a cliff, which belonged to a Professor of sorts, who had approached the Benevuis several years ago, saying he could address young Amèlie's infirmity before it got out of control. It seemed their decision to not get their daughter help before things had progressed to the seeming point of no return had come back to haunt the Benevuis.
"Make the call Christian," Jocelyn said simply with a heavy French accent, "I can't stand to see Amèlie this way anymore."
Christian nodded and went into the next room. As Jocelyn remained frozen in place, she could faintly make out Christian's voice speaking frantically on the phone. Jocelyn ran her hand through her hair, which remained slightly disheveled from dealing with Amèlie the night before. Jocelyn had never seen a child so sick.
As Jocelyn's mind wandered to the impending fate of her younger daughter; Estelle, the Benevuis' elder daughter, newly turned 16 wandered down the stairs into the foyer. Her eyes held the same dismal look as her parents, coupled with dark circles from the lack of sleep that came with attending school and afterschool activities and caring for a dreadfully sick sister.
« Maman, pourquoi est-Amélie si malade? Et pourquoi ne sont pas le médecin fait rien pour l'aider? » (Mama, why is Amelie so sick? And why aren't the doctors doing anything to help her?) Estelle questioned her mother, eyes full of worry.
Jocelyn didn't know how to answer her daughter. Amèlie had been sick for what seemed like lifetimes, and they were all on edge and hoping for anyone to offer help.
«Estelle, ma chérie, il ya plus à Amélie que les médecins sont en mesure de guérir. » (Estelle, my darling, there is more to Amèlie than the doctors are able to heal.)
«Mais que dire de ce professeur Xavier? Il semble plus disposé à aider que notre propre médecin. » (But what about this Professor Xavier? He seems more willing to help than our own physician.)
«Estelle, il ya plus à ce que vous comprenez. » (Estelle, there is more to this than you understand.)
Estelle's body visibly tensed as she started at her mother, fists clenched angrily at her sides. Her eyes became fiery and she could feel the anger building inside of her.
«Oh, je comprends très bien. Les gens ont peur de ce qu'ils ne comprennent pas! » (Oh, I understand just fine. People fear that which they don't understand!)
Jocelyn's eyes widened at Estelle's sudden change in tone, and then narrowed as she herself became frustrated with the entire situation
«Ne parlez pas de cette façon! Je ne le supporteraient pas. » (Don't talk that way! I will not stand for it.)
Jocelyn's voice wavered as the sadness that she felt threatened to take over. Estelle noted the tears forming in her mother's eyes and her entire body relaxed as Estelle realized how upset she had made her mother.
«Je suis désolé maman. C'est juste que ... Amélie, elle est si malade. » (I'm sorry mother. It's just...Amélie, she is so sick.)
A couple of tears rolled down Jocelyn's face. She wiped the remaining tears away before she again began speaking to Estelle.
«Je sais Estelle. Mais, nous devons faire cause jusqu'à ce professeur Xavier est capable d'arriver. » (I know Estelle. But, we must make due until Professor Xavier is able to arrive.)
Estelle's own eyes became watery and she stared at her feet as she replied to her mother.
«Je viens de ... J'espère qu'elle ira bien» (I just ... I hope she'll be okay)
Jocelyn's expression softened as she noticed the tears dot the corners of her daughter's eyes.
«Nous faisons tous plus chers. Maintenant, je veux que vous alliez au lit. Vous l'air épuisé. » (We all do dearest. Now I want you to go to bed. You look exhausted.)
Estelle wiped her face clear of the tears and turned to begin her ascent of the stairs.
«Oui maman» (Yes mom.)
«Bonne nuit Estelle» (Goodnight Estelle) Jocelyn addressed her daughter before she saw her reach the top of the stairs.
«Bonne nuit» (Good night) With that, Estelle disappeared down the hallway, retreating to her own bed for the remainder of the night. Jocelyn exhaled a breath of frustration and began to once again run her hands through her hair as her husband came back into the front living room, having just gotten off the phone.
«Quel était-il exactement? » (What was that all about?) He asked as his wife glanced up into his eyes which were full of concern.
"Everything's fine Christian," Jocelyn stated, the exhaustion beginning to show more on her face, "I just want this whole thing to blow over."
With that, she walked forward into her husband's arms, which he instinctively wrapped around her and held her close.
"I know Cherie. I know." Christian simply stood there holding his wife, as he once again glanced outside the large window and saw three shadowy figures, one very distinctly in a wheelchair, at the front gate of the old Victorian house.
I have a serious problem. I keep getting these bad writing bugs. For everything. Except my already posted stories. So, here's another product of the mosquito that is my muse.
I realize that much of the French dialogue and grammar is probably wrong. It has been a while since I have been enrolled in a course and (as of now) I do not have a beta reader who is fluent in the language. So this will do. For now.
Well, leave some reviews, let me know what you think. Thanks lovelies!