Francis sat wide awake in his hospital bed in the room. He sat sedately, staring outside the room in his window. He made no sudden movements. Pristine blue eyes stared immobile at the window, or rather what lay beyond the window.
Fluffy white clouds that seemed softer than cotton floating peacefully in the great expanse of sky. A few pigeons could be seen going about their business on the roofs of the Parisian buildings. Pedestrians walking the streets in flurry, going to school, work, business and pleasure. Not knowing how lucky they are for being able to move their lower limbs about and on the go.
Francis blamed God for this. He wasn't supposed to be paralyzed. He wasn't supposed to lose his job. He wasn't supposed to lose his career that he worked for all his life. He wasn't supposed to be here, unable to move like a vegetable and forced to watch everyone happy with their lives. He couldn't even have the mercy of being able to voice his pain aloud to anyone, to say what ran through his head because God is making him suffer this eternal punishment in silence.
Francis wished for many things…
His voice.
The ability to move his legs.
His friends.
His countless nameless lovers.
But why would that matter? He lost his voice and the ability to move his legs and now everyone pretends he doesn't exist. He was only another famous tragedy in their eyes. A famous tragedy…
Je ne vais pas pleurer
Je ne vais pas pleurer
I will not cry
I will not cry
I will not cry
Even as he told himself in his head, his lovely subconscious voice harshly criticizing himself, the flow of tears released themselves like small streams down his pale cheeks.
He did not cry as rescuers released him from the mangled mess of a car.
He did not cry as the doctor simply explained to him that he was paralyzed,
He did not cry as he watched dozens of faces look at him with pity at the hearing in court
He did not cry when his eldest son had the mercy to submit himself to the rest of his life taking care of his selfish father who was suffering an eternal punishment from God to suffer the rest of his days in silence.
He was Francis Bonnefoy! Devoted Frenchman! Lover of wine and women. Model and fashion designer extraordinaire!
He does not cry!
He does not and will not cry and he will not give God the satisfaction of seeing him cry for all his sins and crimes he has committed on Earth.
Hot teardrops turned to liquid ice as they dripped onto the blanket on his lap.
This was what his life was going to be like the rest of his life then…the rest of his life in silence and bearing the weight of his sins as punishment. Was this going to be like his funeral too?
Hundreds of pairs of eyes pitying the man in the coffin with not a single pair of eyes crying. No one would say anything significant in his name. No one would remember him for the things he has done.
Not that he didn't care or anything…All those people were people he was going to see in hell.
Maybe a few won't but they should!
Arthur…Gilbert….Antonio-maybe! He's not quite sure yet but possibly the Spaniard would be the only one from the trio to go to Heaven.
The doorbell rang.
How pitiful…he couldn't even say "who is it" or "The door's open!" Francis cried more.
"Papa! I brought some cakes from the bakery that's down the street by the printer shops. And I also brought the- Why are you crying?" Mathieu, his eldest son from Canada asked.
Francis didn't know where in Mathieu's heart could he find the love to provide to selfish old man. He felt too constricted. Not by the multiple layers of bandages covering his chest and legs but by the feeling of being trapped in your body.
He is now an eternal prisoner in his body, to be forced into the prison of his skin and to suffer a lifetime punishment.
Mathieu didn't know what to do about his crying father. He used to see him as a strong individual, able to do anything his heart wants. He was the man he admired so many years on the television.
Mathieu grabbed a box of tissues and handed them to his father.
Francis grabbed one and blew his nose.
Where was this depression coming from?
Francis wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. Almost like a child.
Francis gave a fake smile.
Don't worry about it.
He wanted to say that. To be able to tell someone not to worry about him.
Mathieu cleared his throat.
"The hospital sent a wheelchair over so if you want to go outside..." He trailed off, reading his father's face. Francis looked outside some fresh air would do him some good. He nodded, accepting the invitation.
Mathieu grabbed the wheelchair that was placed by the door. He opened it, extendeding the seat before placing a small blanket folded over it to cushion the seat.
Francis wondered how Mathieu was going to be able to put him on te wheelchair before Mathieu picked him up bridal style. Francis, unused to being carried like this, blushed out of embarrassment. Now he had a very good idea that Mathieu was indeed very strong.
He couldn't very well tell since that Mathieu wore were large oversized hoodies and loose jeans. Even at the hearing, he wasn't able to tell with Matheiu wearing that dreadfully horrendous ill-fitting suit that was too large on his frame.
Mathieu kindly wrapped another blanket over Francis' shoulders, incase it was cold outside. Noticing his father's wild bed hair,he grabbed a brush and immediantly brushing his Fathr's long blonde hair.
Francis didn't argue. How could he? There would be no words to come out and no argument to be made. It has been so long since someone would actually brush his hair.
Mathieu tied up the hair with a hairband, a low ponytail. He pushed the wheelchair out the room, Francis could fully examine finally his own living room. It was exactly as he had left a few weeks ago. Vogue, Style and other magazines precariously left on the coffee table.
It felt strangely surreal. As if he merely an outsider in that house. That house is supposed to be filled with laughter and pleasure, attractive men and women speaking and the scent of wine filling the air. Warm rich perfumes on the furniture, telling a story of who's been there.
Matheiu walked them out of the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking the door and heading toward the old elevator. Francis used to take the stairs…he used to run down the stairs in a flurry with coffee threatening to spill and papers by his arms.
He no longer could live that life. No point in brooding about it anymore. The elevator played the soft melody of Edith Piaf. Surely his parents listened to her, Francis wrinkled his nose. He was not that old yet!
Yet, this song made a soft impression in his heart. It was tugging at the heartstrings like a talented harpist, with gentle fingers plucking away.
Alas, an elevator ride could last s long. The doors opened to main lobby, that as usual, had no secretary or watchmen at the door. Matheiu pushed along to the crisp air of Paris in the morning.
There wasn't many people walking around but there were a good amount strolling around.
" Where would you like to go Papa?" Mathieu asked.
Francis shrugged his shoulders like a teenager, casual and uncaring. Matheiu, turned to the left. His father would surely these streets like the back of his hand so he attempted to converse with his father with what's going around.
Francis turned his head and Matheiu leaned to see what his father's face said.
Matheiu. I'm mute not blind nor deaf. I can see with my own eyes what's going around.
Matheiu hid his face in shame. He was only trying to help. Francis let out a silent sigh and observed the people around him. Stores were opening for the morning, coffee shops beginning to brew the first batches of coffee.
School children being walked by parents and along friends, chatting excited for the day. Buisness men and women scurrying to their cars. Still surreal. Sulking in his misery, Francis forgot that the world did not revolve him. It would revolve on its axis as usual, people would go about their business as usual. The economy would still be horrible in the United States, he would still hate Arthur Kirkland, English food would still be horrible and have the similarity of taste like bat droppings.
It shot Francis straight in the chest. It darkened his outlook and mood.
Take me home now Mathieu
Francis would have commanded Matheiu with his strong French accent and pronounce the sharpness of vowels.
Mathieu, sensing his Father's irritableness quickly bought a small bag of warm glazed Almonds.
"mmmmmnn" Mahtieu absolutely loved the food served in Paris.
Francis popped a glazed almond in his mouth. It was warm and the glaze practically melted in his mouth. It was decent…
Still, Matheiu did buy them to soften his sour mood. He wasn't old enough to be senile yet.
Matheiu talked about every random thought that came in his as Francis pateiently listened. He listened to crazy stories of Matheiu and his son, Alfred burning down the kitchen in London, playing random video games, vactions in the states, Mathieu's signed Vancouver Canucks shirt for Andrew Ebbett.
He half wondered about Mathieu's love life. Seeing as he won't be able to have anymore, it would be more interesting to pry into someone elses. Which brought up the next question?
Who taught Mathieu the birds and the bees, how to get some on his first date, how to pick-up a girl? Has he lost his virginity yet?
These were things a worrying father should know. Who was Mathieu's first kiss? Who was his first lay? Is he gay?
He missed out on the first-he didn't even know Mathieu's age yet! What kind of father doesn't know how old his son is?
He vaguely remembers something about his Canadian child being born in Juillet (july for you uncultured people) or was it Decembre?
He'll eventually get to that! Eventually… he has all the time in the world to do something!
Feliks did want him to design the new Spring Fashion line 20XX. He still had till Janvier 17 to turn it in. It's been a while since he's designed for Felik's magazine…
Francis pointed to an art supply shop that was across the street. Matheiu took the hint.
Time to go back to his old passion….
Sup Everybody! how's it hanging? So I updated this thanks to my first two reviewers. I'll also put the warning next time to have a box of tissues in case cuz this will be a tear-jerker (;_:). I'm not kidding. So this a fair warning. Updates shouldn't take so long seeing as how I've got it typed up already. warning-suprise ending you may not enjoy.
Bye!