In less than an hour, Willow had managed to get herself "completely
presentable!" as her mother would put it. She had gotten her maid to help
her lace up her corset, who in turn made "tsk tsk" noises at the fact that,
even laced up as tight as it could be, seemed loose on Willow. Willow then
donned her favorite dress, a dress that fit her mood. It was a deep
charcoal grey, and somehow managed to fit tightly around her skinny form.
In full view, the dress managed to make Willow look even paler and thinner
that she was already.
"Perfect!" she thought to herself as she looked in the mirror. "Don't let him feel how much he has hurt me, but let him see what I have become!" With this state of mind, she spent a large sum of time on making her eye makeup just dramatic enough for her taste, which, to a conservative, would seem outlandish. But she dropped the stick of eyeliner the second she heard the door bell's chime sound through the house.
As she walked to the door, she had to stop herself from hyperventilating. After she managed to compose herself, she slowly opened the door and almost fainted right then and there.
"Good morning Willow, um, I mean, Ms. Cohen." Christian said as gently as he had always spoken to her, but with a hint of sadness in his voice that had not been there before.
She had made herself forget how much she loved him, but having him stand in her doorway brought all of her feelings back in a flood that ripped through her mind. He enveloped her senses like nothing she had ever experienced before. The sound of his voice to her ears was like the sweetest symphony ever played. Is smell that wafted in through the door way, like soap and warm brace, caught in her mind and she felt as though she were drifting through the wind. And the site of him. One small glance at him was enough to make Willow weak in the knees and she had to grab onto the door handle for support. And then the painful memories her mind had repressed for a split second came rushing back to her and ran over all of her pleasant feelings. Christian had hurt her terribly. And she would not let herself forget it again, no matter what his simple presence did to her senses.
With a slight haughtiness in her voice, she replies, "Why good morning Mr. James. You certainly are.... looking well," and with that she turned from him and walked into the house, noting to herself that he quickly followed her inside.
"Thank you Willow," he replied sheepishly, "though I do not feel it...you look so, so...different."
This aggravated Willow. She wanted to scream at him, "Of course I look different you idiot! Look what you have done to me!" But instead, she calmed herself and stated, "Well, I thought it was time for a change..." and with that said, she carefully sat down upon the cream colored sofa in the main room.
Christian quickly scurried over to the sofa and sat down directly next to her and grasped her hand in his. "Willow," he said, "I came back to see you, because, because I feel like you are my only friend in the world right now, and I just need someone to talk to again."
After the initial shock had subsided, Willow managed to rip her hand from Christian's pleading grasp. "How dare he touch me?!" she though, and then turned to him and said, "That's surprising, since the entire time you were in Montmartre you never wrote me on word!" Willow reveled in the fact that she could visibly see Christian flinch from her words, and to further her pint she turned away from him on the sofa.
"Willow," Christian pleaded with pain in his voice, "I am so very sorry I never wrote, its just that, I, I, I became....preoccupied and its just slipped my ind, I truly am sorry."
Willow reeled back around at this, and in a voice thick with sarcasm said, "Oh of course Christian...my LOVE," and she spat out the words "my love," "it makes perfect sense that you could forget someone like me! For heaven's sake! You don't even love me! Why bother remembering me? Why bother coming into my house after you've been on some year long escapade at all? Willow had to stop herself from saying more, and she noticed that Christian's sullen expression, had grown even sadder.
"Willow," he said in barely a whisper, "I could try to explain to you what has happened to me in the last year, but I couldn't do it justice. That's why, I would like you to read this." At that, he pulled out a book, bound in a deep red leather from under his coat. Willow read the words from the cover, "The Moulin Rouge" and she peered at Christian through skeptical eyes as he handed it to her.
"I wrote it Willow, I always told you I was going to write a book, and I finally did. Its all rue, it al really happened. I think this can help you understand a little better. Will you please read it?"
The pleading in his voice made Willow consent, and she silently cursed herself as she led him out the door after she had told him that she promised to "read it all tonight" and that he could come back tomorrow and speak to her more after the had read it.
As she shut the door, she looked back at the book that she had left on the table. Something about it pained her even to look at is, and with a shuddering breath, she grasped it between her hands, and headed for her room, to spend the rest of the day finding out what Christian really HAD done in Montmartre.
"Perfect!" she thought to herself as she looked in the mirror. "Don't let him feel how much he has hurt me, but let him see what I have become!" With this state of mind, she spent a large sum of time on making her eye makeup just dramatic enough for her taste, which, to a conservative, would seem outlandish. But she dropped the stick of eyeliner the second she heard the door bell's chime sound through the house.
As she walked to the door, she had to stop herself from hyperventilating. After she managed to compose herself, she slowly opened the door and almost fainted right then and there.
"Good morning Willow, um, I mean, Ms. Cohen." Christian said as gently as he had always spoken to her, but with a hint of sadness in his voice that had not been there before.
She had made herself forget how much she loved him, but having him stand in her doorway brought all of her feelings back in a flood that ripped through her mind. He enveloped her senses like nothing she had ever experienced before. The sound of his voice to her ears was like the sweetest symphony ever played. Is smell that wafted in through the door way, like soap and warm brace, caught in her mind and she felt as though she were drifting through the wind. And the site of him. One small glance at him was enough to make Willow weak in the knees and she had to grab onto the door handle for support. And then the painful memories her mind had repressed for a split second came rushing back to her and ran over all of her pleasant feelings. Christian had hurt her terribly. And she would not let herself forget it again, no matter what his simple presence did to her senses.
With a slight haughtiness in her voice, she replies, "Why good morning Mr. James. You certainly are.... looking well," and with that she turned from him and walked into the house, noting to herself that he quickly followed her inside.
"Thank you Willow," he replied sheepishly, "though I do not feel it...you look so, so...different."
This aggravated Willow. She wanted to scream at him, "Of course I look different you idiot! Look what you have done to me!" But instead, she calmed herself and stated, "Well, I thought it was time for a change..." and with that said, she carefully sat down upon the cream colored sofa in the main room.
Christian quickly scurried over to the sofa and sat down directly next to her and grasped her hand in his. "Willow," he said, "I came back to see you, because, because I feel like you are my only friend in the world right now, and I just need someone to talk to again."
After the initial shock had subsided, Willow managed to rip her hand from Christian's pleading grasp. "How dare he touch me?!" she though, and then turned to him and said, "That's surprising, since the entire time you were in Montmartre you never wrote me on word!" Willow reveled in the fact that she could visibly see Christian flinch from her words, and to further her pint she turned away from him on the sofa.
"Willow," Christian pleaded with pain in his voice, "I am so very sorry I never wrote, its just that, I, I, I became....preoccupied and its just slipped my ind, I truly am sorry."
Willow reeled back around at this, and in a voice thick with sarcasm said, "Oh of course Christian...my LOVE," and she spat out the words "my love," "it makes perfect sense that you could forget someone like me! For heaven's sake! You don't even love me! Why bother remembering me? Why bother coming into my house after you've been on some year long escapade at all? Willow had to stop herself from saying more, and she noticed that Christian's sullen expression, had grown even sadder.
"Willow," he said in barely a whisper, "I could try to explain to you what has happened to me in the last year, but I couldn't do it justice. That's why, I would like you to read this." At that, he pulled out a book, bound in a deep red leather from under his coat. Willow read the words from the cover, "The Moulin Rouge" and she peered at Christian through skeptical eyes as he handed it to her.
"I wrote it Willow, I always told you I was going to write a book, and I finally did. Its all rue, it al really happened. I think this can help you understand a little better. Will you please read it?"
The pleading in his voice made Willow consent, and she silently cursed herself as she led him out the door after she had told him that she promised to "read it all tonight" and that he could come back tomorrow and speak to her more after the had read it.
As she shut the door, she looked back at the book that she had left on the table. Something about it pained her even to look at is, and with a shuddering breath, she grasped it between her hands, and headed for her room, to spend the rest of the day finding out what Christian really HAD done in Montmartre.