Hello, everyone! I am back with another AF fanfic, this one being the sequel to my previous one, Ephemera. I strongly advise you to read that one first (it's another oneshot) so that you can have a clearer picture of what's happening in this one.

As usual, read and review - the staple food of authors everywhere!

-NPR

These Wasted Words

"Goodbye," he said.

"Goodbye," she said, her voice faint and cracking over the telephone lines. He sighed softly and he ended the call and turned to the blonde who sat in her suede chair, only a few meters away form him, a martini in her hand.

"She is so annoying," She breathed through the cigarette smoke. It smelt faintly of coffee and a hint of her expensive perfume. The sheets wrapped around her waif-like body were tucked in elegantly, falling to the floor like a Grecian gown. Her crimson nail polish brought out the starkness of her pale skin, and her blue eyes sparkled with the eagerness of the night to come. She blew a stray stand of her hair out of her face as she moved slowly towards him and wrapped her arms around him.

"Please stop," he muttered irritatedly. "The smell of your smoke will linger on my suit. You know how expensive it is."

"I should. I gave it to you."

"Nevertheless."

"Ouch. You certainly are grouchy today." She undid his tie and flung it on the television set. From their hotel room, the Seine seemed to be a string of sapphires, the occasional boat cruising down the river. The Eiffel Tower rose majestically from the ground, its flashing lights wowing the tourists that had flocked to the streets for a night on the town. The city itself lived up to it's name, a veritable sea of lights, each calling out, beckoning the people to come out, promising a night of fun and adventure.

She pulled his coat off his shoulders, taking in the strong smell of his aftershave. "It's been a year now," she said softly, her fingers caressing his sunken cheeks. Her eyes quickly fell to the band on his left hand, a solitary diamond set in platinum. "And she still hasn't realized."

"Neither has yours."

"Alain is a fool," she spat, the venom oozing out of her voice, her soft, lilting French accent sending shivers down his spine. "He is blind to the truths of the world. He runs after me with gift after gift, hoping he can buy my love." She settled into the suede chair once more, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "I think he's having one, too."

"One what?" This conversation was making him uncomfortable.

"An affair, of course. Like us."

"It's such a harsh word," she continued, unbuttoning his shirt. He shifted uncomfortably, and started buttoning it on again. She frowned at him, the corners of her lips wrinkling in distaste. "After all, if they can't give us what we need, we have every right to look for it elsewhere." She went into a fit of what she called fou rire.

She started unbuttoning his shirt again, but this time he did not move.

His eyes were bluer than the coldest diamonds. If one were to search his face, one would first notice the worry lines on his forehead – far too early for a man his age. His thin lips were pursed together in a grimace, making them seem thinner than usual. And his paler-than-death complexion did nothing to improve his looks.

"Toi et moi," she said, collapsing on the plush bed as she removed her earrings, "you and me, we have marriages of convenience. You got the 'real girl' you needed, and I got my slobbering rich fool."

"It wasn't like that." He gritted his teeth.

"Hah!" she cackled, most unlike herself. "Are you going to tell me that you were once happy?"

He remained silent, avoiding her gaze.

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe? This is not you. This is someone else."

"We should stop this, right now." He said, his eyes examining the seemingly interesting carpet. "Before things get out of hand."

"It's too late," she said, eyes filled with disbelief. "Everything is done. She's probably left by now."

"Don't say that!" he roared, voice shaking. She shrank back a little, then pulled herself up to her full height. "Are you feeling guilty?" she asked him slowly. He turned to the window, where he could see tourists milling around on the Parisian streets, kids in tow, balloons in their hands.

"Ce n'est pas vrai," she said softly. "This can't be. You, of all people, choose to develop a conscience now?"

"I promised everyone. That I would stop. I didn't." He exhaled, feeling the full weight of his actions. "I'm leaving."

"No. I'm leaving." She threw a nearby towel at him, her face a mask of anger, hot tears rolling down her face. "Au revoir, monsieur." She walked out of the room and slammed the door shut.

I should probably call home to apologize, he thought, and dialed the number.

Not surprisingly, no one answered.

The 'Review' button is calling out...constructive criticism is welcomed!