Chapter 2: Here We Go Again

i.

"Okay, hmm, yeah, okay I love you too."

She puts the phone down slowly and sighs; props herself up with both her fists on the table. She closes her eyes and stands there for a while – listening to the sounds of the city rushing by outside the window of her studio on the 7th floor. She tries to calm down and pushes the moment away – his hot breath, his calloused thumb and the tingle when his skin touches hers. "This is just so stupid" – she mutters to herself.

"Is everything okay?" – Her eyes shoot open at the sound of his voice.

"Yeah" – She paints a smile on her face before turning around – "Everything is great."

He silently nods his head and looks at her while she keeps her eyes on the ground. He shoves one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck before breaking the silence between them.

"Look, R… I mean, Rachel. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"It's… It's nothing, really. I guess, well, I guess that's a wrap. I will pick the best shot and e – mail it to your publicist as soon as possible." – She quickly turns around and gathers her stuff scattering on the table; secretly praying he will walk away. Just walk away – as softly as when he comes to her – and leaves her here, in the city where every corner seems to be filled with flower – filled memories.

"Do you really hate me that much?" – He asks, and she can almost taste the bitterness in his voice.

She stops and drops her things on the table; sucking in a deep breath before answering him in a merely a whisper:

"No" – She turns around slowly and looks at him. He has his eyes on the ground, both of his hands in his pockets now, his head hung low. And it kills her to see him like this.

"No" – He looks up at her; his eyes seem to be almost gold – "I don't hate you. I can't ever hate you. And that pisses me off."

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, leaning back against the table and stares into his eyes. Funny, she never knew how much she misses his eyes until now. She misses the color of it – she remembers when she was just a child, she was quite fascinated with his eyes – she thought they had the best color ever. Most of the time they were light brown, but sometime they were a mixture between gold and amber.

She hates how she is still fascinated by them now.

He chuckles and is about to move closer to her but she quickly turns away and asks:

"How long are you staying in New York?"

"Just til tomorrow" – He immediately steps back – "I still have a reading and a party with a publishing house in Los Angeles before heading back to Paris".

"That's great."

"What's your plan for the rest of the day?"

"I'm supposed to meet with Mister East to discuss in further details about my exhibition next week, and then I'll have to see the location."

"Can I come with you?"

Her eyes go wide with disbelief, "What?"

"Look, I promise I won't cause you any more trouble. I haven't been in New York for at least 10 years. I want to go around and perhaps, you know, draw out some inspirations."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course I'm sure."

Before she can say anything else, he's already walking out of the door and calling out for her, "You drive".

ii.

The drive has been strangely comfortable so far. She really wanted to laugh when she saw him struggling to fit both of his legs into the small space. She has the windows and the roof down – she loves the gentleness of the August wind passing by. They drive pass several familiar places; he would always smile when they do, "That's the coffee shop I used to go every Sunday morning when you were in Paris", "Oh no…They replaced my favorite music store, god they had the best vinyl records". And she would turn to look at him from time to time – without him knowing, of course. He rests his chin on the arm propped up against the bottom edge of the window, the other on his lap – tapping a rhythm with his slender fingers.

And he'd smile – a smile she rarely saw when they were together. Back then, his eyes were always so sad – and he only smiles for her. But now, he's smiling with carefree and a bit of satisfaction – completion.

She wishes she could smile like that.

He turns around and catches her glance. Caught off guard, Rachel keeps her gaze and nervously awaits him to say something; he doesn't though.

Instead, he stares back at her and gives her a smile – and she sees it in his eyes.

He chuckles and closes his eyes, then leans his head back and soaks in the sunlight. She remembers him mentioning something about closing his eyes under a direct source of light. "Dancing" – is all she can recall.

They keep driving pass the trees whose green suits are turning into a shade of yellow while he camouflages himself with sunlight and everything beautiful she has ever seen.

iii.

"Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it might take long and you'll be wasting your time…"

"Rachel, I'll be fine. I'll just walk around here and look at all these paintings, they seem to be interesting."

He puts both his hands on her shoulder and turns her around, gently pushes her forward and chuckles in her ear, "Go!"

During the whole time, she's not so certain how many of what Mister East's words actually make their way into her mind, because she'd steal some glances with him from time to time; he'd give her a thumbs up then turns away to look at the paintings on the coffee – coloured walls of the loft and she'd look at him still; watches his eyebrows furrow and his lips set in a straight line in concentration and when he looks back and forth to make sure nobody's looking; he'd touch the painting and smile to himself.

And she'd always force herself to look away, to stop herself from smiling.

"Miss Berry? What do you think of it?"

"What?"

"The new setting." – Mister East furrows his eyebrows and pushes his glasses up on his crooked bridge of nose.

"Oh…" – She takes a quick look at the model on the table –"I think it's better than the last one, but I still don't agree with the way we're approaching my work."

"Miss Berry!" – The old man raises his voice – "I have already told you! What you are asking for is simply not suitable with our vision. We are thinking of a more modern, ravishing, scandalous exhibition."

"Scandalous?"

"Putting the third segment of your work upfront will definitely cause some news."

"I don't think you understand my work. It's not for the purpose of stirring up some reputation! Your boss didn't choose to support me for it!"

Everyone around them has grown quite, exchanging looks and whispering to each other.

Mister East nervously looks around him and snaps back at Rachel:

"It's just not our thing."

"Well then…" – She meets Finn's gaze and his lopsided smile –"I guess I'll have to find another agency. Thank you for your time and goodbye!"

Without another word, both of them walk out of the building under the stares of people.

All of a sudden, she feels the warmth of his hand around hers.

Rachel looks down just too see he has taken her hand in his, still walking with his eyes forward. Then he turns to look at her, and smiles.

She knows absolutely nothing but one thing, and she lets him hold her hand and take her back to what she felt when he saw her crying at the staircase back then.

"You're crazy." – He tells her as they approach her car.

"All the best people are."

iv.

She flips through her memories with him and asks herself questions she knew the answers to but perhaps too scared to actually speak of. Sitting here with him – his built torso leaning back against the arm of the cheap but comfortable couch tucked in the corner of a café – sipping coffee and not talking in the most perfect weather New York has ever granted gives her this strange sensation she was certain she would never feel – not with Finn.

Guess she's wrong.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Finish this coffee" – She tells him.

He chuckles – she wishes she could capture the vibration inside that throat of his – "About the exhibition, that's what I'm asking."

"I'll find another location, it's alright. I may have to pull some strings but it'll work out." – She puts the cup down and rubs her hands together – "It's going to be a real pain in the ass but I'll manage."

"That's what I'm talking about! Although, I feel like we should drink something stronger than coffee."

"Finn, it's 4 the afternoon."

"Who cares?"

"I still have to finish my work" – She covers her face with both her hands – "I still need one last piece for my exhibition".

"What do you need?"

"Something close to me, something personal. Something that will give people one chance to actually understand me, what I see, how I see it."

"I know just what to do".

Moments later, she finds herself walking with him around New York with no actual directions (she called Charlotte to drive her car home). He refuses to let her lead the way, says he'll draw them out from his memory. She says his mind has been stuffed with too many sounds, his eyes have projected too many images – too many tastes – how can he possibly remember all?

"Oh I remember" – He tells her.

Once again she plays the role of a hopeless romantic, wandering around a beautiful and alive city to find her muse, with a handsome stranger (oh no, no, he could never be a stranger) and perhaps, this will end in a perfectly dramatic novel way, where the two make love at the end of the day and bid each other goodbye as the sun comes up. Then she'll live the rest of her life in peace; with dreams sometimes will lead her back to him.

She remembers that day in Paris. She's been wanting to talk about it ever since he got here, but she's afraid. Afraid that if she mentions it, he'll hate her. And as strange as it may sound – with regards to her peculiar actions in the past – she never wants him to hate her. Yes, she's that selfish.

"You said you wrote your book about us. Can you be more specific?" – She asks him as he's observing and apparently amazed by how much New York has changed.

"That day in Paris, do you remember?"

"No" – She adjusts her gaze to the ground, tucks a strand of hair back – "Not really."

"Well" – He sighs and shoves both of his hands in his pockets as they walk – "There are two people, a man and a woman, they used to love each other. They had one last day together in Paris, and just like what we did, they walked around and discovered their past and present, and the guy, well, he was falling for her again. She got on the boat with him and they promised each other they'd see each other again 3 months later, at the same time, in Paris. They didn't exchange phone number or address – maybe because they were stupid".

"Sounds familiar" – She chuckles bitterly – "Did they see each other again?"

"I wrote two versions. One, as published, they did see each other again, and lived happily ever after. The other, well, he saw her again 3 years later, she's married, but he convinced her he was the one and they also lived happily ever after".

"Why didn't you choose the second one?"

"It's just so cruel, you know? In the end, someone gets hurt. I don't like it."

"Well, it's love, isn't it? It's supposed to hurt".

"Then why didn't you leave him?"

She stops in her tracks and stares at him in disbelief. She thinks he may be joking, but it's not the case. He's also stopped, turned to stare back at her. She sees so many things in his smooth brown eyes – anger, foremost; sadness; disappointment.

"Finn…"

"Why didn't you come to Paris as you promised me?"

"Finn, it's not that easy" – She continues walking, avoids his gaze.

"You always make things sound so damn complicated. You said you wished he had been someone else; you got on the fucking boat with me and what? You're still with him now?"

"Stop acting like this" – She raises her voice and stops to glare at him – "You said you wouldn't make me feel uncomfortable."

He closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath before looking back at her, "I'm sorry. I crossed the line".

She bites her bottom lip and avoids his gaze for a moment before sighing and says:

"Why do we always do this?"

"It's who we are, R."

"And what exactly are we?" - She whispers, her voice lost among the joyful noise of New York afternoon.

v.

The drive back to her studio is filled with solid silence. He keeps looking at everything but her, she keeps looking at nothing but him. He has his hand next to her thigh - she wants to touch it. Just touch it - her fingers'd dance on his rough skin, drawing patterns with the soft tips. He'd intertwine their fingers together, caressing hers and make her skin crawls with goosebumps. She'd close her eyes and feel her body heating up, there'd be this familiar hunger for sex with him, for wanting to feel his skin on hers.

He holds her in his arms - pale but strong arms - as they lie together, fully clothed though, bathing in the tranquility of the soundless evening. She's ready - ready to tell him she loves him. Of course it's not true - but it's not a total lie either. She doesn't know anything but how good it feels whenever he holds her like this, not sex - no, she can't sleep with him now. She sighs - her back against his front, his arms around her waist, the hair on his arm turns gold under the streak of light. He's humming an old Russian folk song - and asks her again if she loves him.

"Meet me again, here, when you're ready for me." - He says.

"Here?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Whenever you're ready for me, for us."

"How does it work then?" - She plays with the hair on his arm.

"I will come here every 3 month at exactly this time and wait for you."

"You're not afraid that I'll not be here?"

"I love you" - He kisses her nose and strokes her hair - "That's what I believe in".

She sighs again, he asks her why,she doesn't say anything but inches closer to him if possible, closes her eyes and lets him serenade her to sleep with his whispers of I love you, Je t'aime mon cheri...

Carmen, voulez-vous venir avec moi?(1)

He follows her up to her studio - they are the only people left. She feels his eyes on her again - the hair on the back of her neck stands up. The sound of their shoes touching the floor echoes through the room - smashing on silence and reflects.

"Did you take this?" - He asks.

"Yes" - She walks to where he's standing and looks at the photo in his hands. It's a really young girl smoking, with her skin all pale, distant eyes, leaning on a wooden door, behind her is an old house with its chimney breathing smoke.

"It reminds me of Lolita, as Dolly Schiller".(2)

"It's beautiful".

She turns to look at him and immediately is taken back by how mesmerizing he looks. The sunlight barely lights up all of his features - he's standing in a graceful dance of shadow and light.

She takes his photo and doesn't realize she's moving closer to him - shots after shots - until he's only a breath away.

"Carmen, voulez-vous venir avec moi?" -He says.

tbc

A/N:

You guys! OMG It's been too long! I'm really sorry for the wait! Now that I kinda settled down in Melbourne, I'll find the way to finish "August", but bear with me on this, okay? :(

This chapter is a result of much discontinuous work :( I'm afraid it'll fall short to your expectations and I'm really sorry. No, I won't make any excuse, bad writing is bad.

Please, please leave me reviews and tell me what you think, I'll try my best not to let you down again.

Thank you for your support and lovely, LOVELY reviews!

(1): Carmen, voulez - vous venir avec moi? Carmen,do you want to come to me?( from "Carmen" by Prosper Merimee)

(2): Dolly Schiller: Lolita