Chapter One - Judgment
Crysta looked out from the balcony window of her bedroom, sighing at the blinding sun in her eyes. The weather was such a contradiction to how she was feeling, and she wished she could block the sun out. Nothing made her more miserable than when the sun was shining and she was feeling blue. It was like it was doing it to spite her. "Crysta, are you sure you're ok?" came Jean voice suddenly, coming through the door. Although Jean had lived in France for a good few years, her natural English accent was as strong as ever. Crysta span around to face her, a little shocked at first, but then nodded, giving a little smile.
Jean had stayed the night after taking Crysta, the trembling wreck she was, back home. They had been best friends since they had met in Lyon, a couple of years earlier, and Crysta didn't know what she'd do without her. Now she lived in Cannes, in a picturesque little house, surrounded by nature. It was everything she'd wanted her home to be, a little old fashioned on the outside, but modern in the interior. The front lawn was well kept, and bushes grew all around, flowers dotting along the flowerbeds. The windows were large, Crysta being a lover of natural light, and there was a red brick chimneystack that showed on the front.
"Oui, I'm fine," Crysta replied, walking away from window and retreating to her bed. Her room was a plain white colour, light and airy. Her bed was made up from lots of white sheets, but then red satin cushions dotted all around and a red quilt that went over the top. White drapes hung from the windows, and a large mirror was hung opposite the bed on the far wall, so if Crysta sat up, she could see herself in it. The walls were just as the rest of the room, white, but there were black and white photographs all over the walls, showing little happy faces of children and smiling lovers. Her room, if you were asked to describe it, would be simple, yet stunning.
Crysta slid into bed, sitting up still, the sheets tucked up around her. Her hair golden fell loosely around her shoulders, and the sun shined on it, making her seem to glow in a light of her own, no matter how bad she felt. She wore a simple white night dress, just perfect for summer. Jean, on the other hand, was dark haired, and dark eyed and stunningly beautiful in her own individual way. Her hair was always in tight curls around her face, making the perfect frame for her somewhat chubby cheeks. She would often tease Jean, calling her hamster cheeks, but then she would just retaliate with blondie, which Crysta despised. Jean's eyes were a beautiful hazel colour, and they were big and wide, seeming to search your very soul. Right now Crysta wished Jean's eyes were any other way, for at the moment, they seemed intent on eyeing her sceptically.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jean asked her after a moment, perching on the side of the bed, still in her tartan pyjamas. Crysta played with her hands for a moment, before looking up, her eyes somewhat cold. "Non," she said quickly, turning her head to the side to avoid Jean's pitying eyes. She didn't want her pity, and she didn't need it. "What is there to say? We all know what happened." She folded her arms across her chest, refusing her eyes that were trying desperately to cry. She still had her pride. Jean shuffled up the bed gently and took one of Crysta's hands. "It's not your fault you know," she told her quietly, tilting Crysta's head to face her. "Who else's could it be? Eh?" she asked, her green eyes beginning to water, "I. I wasn't good enough for him."
Jean shook her head sadly. She knew this would happen, that Crysta would start to blame herself. She had a kind of self-destruct button that could be pressed all to easily, and it was always up to Jean to sort her out. "Look, you don't need that bastard. What kind of man is he to suddenly announce he's been having an affair an hour before the wedding?" Crysta looked at her sadly, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "He doesn't deserve a wonderful, beautiful, sweet woman like you." Jean leant forward and wiped off the tears that were rolling down her porcelain cheeks. Crysta sniffed, feeling foolish for crying. Surely all her tears were spent the night before, when she had hardly gotten any sleep from crying so hard.
"I loved him." Crysta said softly under her breath, feeling fresh tears burrow through her ducts. Her body began to shake lightly, and she could slowly feel herself becoming a shuddering wreck. She wiped away her tears with her still finally manicured nails, and gave a weak and shaky smile. "Just, I don't wish to talk about it," she said, and Jean nodded slowly, accepting that her friend just couldn't bear it at the moment.
She had met her fiancé, Stephan, only a year ago. Crysta's parents had warned her about Stephan. They had despised him instantly upon meeting him and told Crysta to stay away from him. When they first began to see each other she was still living with her parents. She would have to sneak out of her window in the evenings to see him, making her parents believe she was asleep. Her older sister, Marie, would cover her, understanding that her parents were often harsh and too strict, a proper Catholic French family. To Crysta, having to sneak around made it all the more exciting, and she and Stephan would laugh at the thought of what her parents would say if they found out. She was a headstrong twenty four year old, and he was a rebellious thirty old, too caught up in each other to notice what went on around them. Of course, the age difference didn't bother Crysta, but it bothered her parents greatly. Eventually though, her parents did find out, and they were furious. They cast her off, disowned her and left Crysta and Stephan to stand on their own two feet, to get a home for themselves. Luckily, Stephan's parents approved of their match, and were very well off. They bought Crysta a home, and Stephan continued to live in his own. He said he didn't want to move in with her, that he needed his freedom, and Crysta accepted that, but now she saw it as her downfall. It gave him the chance to be unfaithful.
She leant over to her dressing table and plucked up the handkerchief, beginning to dab her eyes lightly, still sniffing. Jean watched her carefully. Crysta never usually used handkerchiefs. In fact, Crysta had always seemed to hate them. She'd even given her a lecture about how unhygienic they were. But now it seemed as if she didn't care and she wiped her eyes freely, clutching the handkerchief for dear life. "Where did you get that?" Jean asked, gesturing to the handkerchief in question. Crysta stopped her gentle dabbing and looked at it. "L'ange, he gave it to me," The angel she told her, smiling properly for the first time that day at the thought of him. Jean raised a well-sculpted eyebrow, looking very confused. "The angel?" "Oui." Jean shook her head, wandering if her friend had been traumatised. Crysta hardly believed in God, let alone angels. "What.angel?" she asked, not wanting to say the world. "The one on the road last night, the man." Crysta made her eyes wide, trying to make Jean see that she was telling the truth. It was no use though, and she looked as blank as ever. "At the wedding.?" "Non! Just before you found me, a man, he came and gave me his handkerchief." Jean looked at her incredulously as Crysta waved the hanky in front of her face. Crysta sighed loudly, and folded it up neatly, holding it like a parcel in her hands. "He told me not to cry, that I was safe, and then." she trailed off, feeling very foolish. She knew how ridiculous this all sounded, but she was sure it had happened. She had the handkerchief to prove it. "He disappeared."
"What?" Jean leant forward and placed her hand on Crysta's temple, much to her annoyance. She pulled away, seemingly puzzled that she didn't have a fever, and Crysta gave her a withering look. "Are you sure you are not imagining things?" "No! I saw him, and he gave me this!" Crysta handed the handkerchief to Jean, and she unfolded it carefully. It was a plain white in colour, but when inspecting it, Jean found three rectangles stitched at the bottom in black, all overlapping slightly. Jean ran her hand over the neat stitching and then handed it back to Crysta who clutched it to her chest protectively. "What do those symbols mean?" Jean asked, referring to the three rectangles. Crysta looked at them carefully, her delicate brow ruffled in a frown. "Je ne sais pas." I don't know. Jean raised her eyebrow again, and then sighed, patting Crysta's covered legs through the bed sheet.
"Well, we've both got time off, what do you say we go to Lyon for the weekend?" Jean asked, beginning to stand up. Crysta's face cracked into a wide smile at the thought of visiting her hometown, and she nodded briskly. "We're gonna have a good time, and we'll forget all about Stephan eh?" "Right." Crysta nodded again, mentally setting herself the task of having a good time. It would be difficult, but Crysta was never one to back down from a challenge. "Pack your stuff, I'll be in the shower," Jean told her as she came to the door. Crysta swung her legs out of bed and looked up to Jean, smiling lightly. Jean returned the smile and then went out of the room, shutting the white door behind her quietly.
Crysta stood up out of bed, flexing her arms in front of her and yawning lightly. She took a few steps over to her mirror and gazed into it at her reflection. Her eyes looked a little more puffy than usual, but apart from that, she didn't look to bad, considering the tough night she'd had. She ran her hand through her hair, and immediately decided that she needed a shower. It was still slightly kinky from having it put it up in plait for the wedding, and seeing it made all the pain come flooding back. She looked into her eyes and saw tears welling again before she blinked them away. She went away from the mirror, knowing it would only make herself worse, and began to make her bed. She turned it back, rearranging all the pillows carefully, and then placed the handkerchief on top of them, making a mental note to take it to Lyon with her.
She turned and made her way into the beautiful en suite bathroom, deciding she would take a shower. Her bathroom was as impressive as the rest of the house. One wall was a complete mirror with a thin shelf about three inches from the floor. All along it were toiletries and blue towels to match the colour of the walls, and there were light blue tiles on the floor. A bathtub was the main feature of the room, sunken into the floor and big enough for two. The toilet was right in a corner and on either side was a sink and a shower. If nothing good had come from her and Stephan's relationship, she still had this wonderful home.
She stripped out of her nightdress, folding it carefully and placing it next to the sink on a little stool. It was no secret that Crysta was a neat freak, and she couldn't stand seeing things out of place. She started the shower and waited until it was the exact right temperature before stepping in, letting the water engulf her body. She shut the glass doors behind her and let the water do its magic, easing her aching muscles and soothing her completely. She opened her eyes as the water poured over her face and she looked at the steamed up windows. Slowly, she reached out and began to draw. When she withdrew her hand, she had drawn an eye, staring back at her. The moon was its pupil, and it was disturbingly lifelike. Crysta had taken A level art and studied art at college for two years, and it showed in her drawing. She stared at it a moment longer, and then wiped it away briskly, shaking her head. She had to stop thinking about this 'angel, otherwise some people would think her a raving lunatic. She pulled out her shampoo and began to lather up her hair, silently promising herself that this angel would leave her thoughts for the entire weekend.
Crysta looked out from the balcony window of her bedroom, sighing at the blinding sun in her eyes. The weather was such a contradiction to how she was feeling, and she wished she could block the sun out. Nothing made her more miserable than when the sun was shining and she was feeling blue. It was like it was doing it to spite her. "Crysta, are you sure you're ok?" came Jean voice suddenly, coming through the door. Although Jean had lived in France for a good few years, her natural English accent was as strong as ever. Crysta span around to face her, a little shocked at first, but then nodded, giving a little smile.
Jean had stayed the night after taking Crysta, the trembling wreck she was, back home. They had been best friends since they had met in Lyon, a couple of years earlier, and Crysta didn't know what she'd do without her. Now she lived in Cannes, in a picturesque little house, surrounded by nature. It was everything she'd wanted her home to be, a little old fashioned on the outside, but modern in the interior. The front lawn was well kept, and bushes grew all around, flowers dotting along the flowerbeds. The windows were large, Crysta being a lover of natural light, and there was a red brick chimneystack that showed on the front.
"Oui, I'm fine," Crysta replied, walking away from window and retreating to her bed. Her room was a plain white colour, light and airy. Her bed was made up from lots of white sheets, but then red satin cushions dotted all around and a red quilt that went over the top. White drapes hung from the windows, and a large mirror was hung opposite the bed on the far wall, so if Crysta sat up, she could see herself in it. The walls were just as the rest of the room, white, but there were black and white photographs all over the walls, showing little happy faces of children and smiling lovers. Her room, if you were asked to describe it, would be simple, yet stunning.
Crysta slid into bed, sitting up still, the sheets tucked up around her. Her hair golden fell loosely around her shoulders, and the sun shined on it, making her seem to glow in a light of her own, no matter how bad she felt. She wore a simple white night dress, just perfect for summer. Jean, on the other hand, was dark haired, and dark eyed and stunningly beautiful in her own individual way. Her hair was always in tight curls around her face, making the perfect frame for her somewhat chubby cheeks. She would often tease Jean, calling her hamster cheeks, but then she would just retaliate with blondie, which Crysta despised. Jean's eyes were a beautiful hazel colour, and they were big and wide, seeming to search your very soul. Right now Crysta wished Jean's eyes were any other way, for at the moment, they seemed intent on eyeing her sceptically.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jean asked her after a moment, perching on the side of the bed, still in her tartan pyjamas. Crysta played with her hands for a moment, before looking up, her eyes somewhat cold. "Non," she said quickly, turning her head to the side to avoid Jean's pitying eyes. She didn't want her pity, and she didn't need it. "What is there to say? We all know what happened." She folded her arms across her chest, refusing her eyes that were trying desperately to cry. She still had her pride. Jean shuffled up the bed gently and took one of Crysta's hands. "It's not your fault you know," she told her quietly, tilting Crysta's head to face her. "Who else's could it be? Eh?" she asked, her green eyes beginning to water, "I. I wasn't good enough for him."
Jean shook her head sadly. She knew this would happen, that Crysta would start to blame herself. She had a kind of self-destruct button that could be pressed all to easily, and it was always up to Jean to sort her out. "Look, you don't need that bastard. What kind of man is he to suddenly announce he's been having an affair an hour before the wedding?" Crysta looked at her sadly, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "He doesn't deserve a wonderful, beautiful, sweet woman like you." Jean leant forward and wiped off the tears that were rolling down her porcelain cheeks. Crysta sniffed, feeling foolish for crying. Surely all her tears were spent the night before, when she had hardly gotten any sleep from crying so hard.
"I loved him." Crysta said softly under her breath, feeling fresh tears burrow through her ducts. Her body began to shake lightly, and she could slowly feel herself becoming a shuddering wreck. She wiped away her tears with her still finally manicured nails, and gave a weak and shaky smile. "Just, I don't wish to talk about it," she said, and Jean nodded slowly, accepting that her friend just couldn't bear it at the moment.
She had met her fiancé, Stephan, only a year ago. Crysta's parents had warned her about Stephan. They had despised him instantly upon meeting him and told Crysta to stay away from him. When they first began to see each other she was still living with her parents. She would have to sneak out of her window in the evenings to see him, making her parents believe she was asleep. Her older sister, Marie, would cover her, understanding that her parents were often harsh and too strict, a proper Catholic French family. To Crysta, having to sneak around made it all the more exciting, and she and Stephan would laugh at the thought of what her parents would say if they found out. She was a headstrong twenty four year old, and he was a rebellious thirty old, too caught up in each other to notice what went on around them. Of course, the age difference didn't bother Crysta, but it bothered her parents greatly. Eventually though, her parents did find out, and they were furious. They cast her off, disowned her and left Crysta and Stephan to stand on their own two feet, to get a home for themselves. Luckily, Stephan's parents approved of their match, and were very well off. They bought Crysta a home, and Stephan continued to live in his own. He said he didn't want to move in with her, that he needed his freedom, and Crysta accepted that, but now she saw it as her downfall. It gave him the chance to be unfaithful.
She leant over to her dressing table and plucked up the handkerchief, beginning to dab her eyes lightly, still sniffing. Jean watched her carefully. Crysta never usually used handkerchiefs. In fact, Crysta had always seemed to hate them. She'd even given her a lecture about how unhygienic they were. But now it seemed as if she didn't care and she wiped her eyes freely, clutching the handkerchief for dear life. "Where did you get that?" Jean asked, gesturing to the handkerchief in question. Crysta stopped her gentle dabbing and looked at it. "L'ange, he gave it to me," The angel she told her, smiling properly for the first time that day at the thought of him. Jean raised a well-sculpted eyebrow, looking very confused. "The angel?" "Oui." Jean shook her head, wandering if her friend had been traumatised. Crysta hardly believed in God, let alone angels. "What.angel?" she asked, not wanting to say the world. "The one on the road last night, the man." Crysta made her eyes wide, trying to make Jean see that she was telling the truth. It was no use though, and she looked as blank as ever. "At the wedding.?" "Non! Just before you found me, a man, he came and gave me his handkerchief." Jean looked at her incredulously as Crysta waved the hanky in front of her face. Crysta sighed loudly, and folded it up neatly, holding it like a parcel in her hands. "He told me not to cry, that I was safe, and then." she trailed off, feeling very foolish. She knew how ridiculous this all sounded, but she was sure it had happened. She had the handkerchief to prove it. "He disappeared."
"What?" Jean leant forward and placed her hand on Crysta's temple, much to her annoyance. She pulled away, seemingly puzzled that she didn't have a fever, and Crysta gave her a withering look. "Are you sure you are not imagining things?" "No! I saw him, and he gave me this!" Crysta handed the handkerchief to Jean, and she unfolded it carefully. It was a plain white in colour, but when inspecting it, Jean found three rectangles stitched at the bottom in black, all overlapping slightly. Jean ran her hand over the neat stitching and then handed it back to Crysta who clutched it to her chest protectively. "What do those symbols mean?" Jean asked, referring to the three rectangles. Crysta looked at them carefully, her delicate brow ruffled in a frown. "Je ne sais pas." I don't know. Jean raised her eyebrow again, and then sighed, patting Crysta's covered legs through the bed sheet.
"Well, we've both got time off, what do you say we go to Lyon for the weekend?" Jean asked, beginning to stand up. Crysta's face cracked into a wide smile at the thought of visiting her hometown, and she nodded briskly. "We're gonna have a good time, and we'll forget all about Stephan eh?" "Right." Crysta nodded again, mentally setting herself the task of having a good time. It would be difficult, but Crysta was never one to back down from a challenge. "Pack your stuff, I'll be in the shower," Jean told her as she came to the door. Crysta swung her legs out of bed and looked up to Jean, smiling lightly. Jean returned the smile and then went out of the room, shutting the white door behind her quietly.
Crysta stood up out of bed, flexing her arms in front of her and yawning lightly. She took a few steps over to her mirror and gazed into it at her reflection. Her eyes looked a little more puffy than usual, but apart from that, she didn't look to bad, considering the tough night she'd had. She ran her hand through her hair, and immediately decided that she needed a shower. It was still slightly kinky from having it put it up in plait for the wedding, and seeing it made all the pain come flooding back. She looked into her eyes and saw tears welling again before she blinked them away. She went away from the mirror, knowing it would only make herself worse, and began to make her bed. She turned it back, rearranging all the pillows carefully, and then placed the handkerchief on top of them, making a mental note to take it to Lyon with her.
She turned and made her way into the beautiful en suite bathroom, deciding she would take a shower. Her bathroom was as impressive as the rest of the house. One wall was a complete mirror with a thin shelf about three inches from the floor. All along it were toiletries and blue towels to match the colour of the walls, and there were light blue tiles on the floor. A bathtub was the main feature of the room, sunken into the floor and big enough for two. The toilet was right in a corner and on either side was a sink and a shower. If nothing good had come from her and Stephan's relationship, she still had this wonderful home.
She stripped out of her nightdress, folding it carefully and placing it next to the sink on a little stool. It was no secret that Crysta was a neat freak, and she couldn't stand seeing things out of place. She started the shower and waited until it was the exact right temperature before stepping in, letting the water engulf her body. She shut the glass doors behind her and let the water do its magic, easing her aching muscles and soothing her completely. She opened her eyes as the water poured over her face and she looked at the steamed up windows. Slowly, she reached out and began to draw. When she withdrew her hand, she had drawn an eye, staring back at her. The moon was its pupil, and it was disturbingly lifelike. Crysta had taken A level art and studied art at college for two years, and it showed in her drawing. She stared at it a moment longer, and then wiped it away briskly, shaking her head. She had to stop thinking about this 'angel, otherwise some people would think her a raving lunatic. She pulled out her shampoo and began to lather up her hair, silently promising herself that this angel would leave her thoughts for the entire weekend.