Amaranth (2 page)

“I’m from the States but I live in London right now. Love
Paris, though. Might get the guts to move here someday.”

“Well, moving here from London is a lot different than
moving from Seattle. I’m not that brave.”

“You should consider it. Especially if things aren’t going
so hot back home.”

I stuck my hands deep in the coat’s pockets, shivering, considering
this. His eyes communicated soft secrets as he spoke, but I couldn’t penetrate
his realm, couldn’t decode them. He was careful with his words, but honest. I
felt like a giddy child, my reaction to him almost naïve: something I surely
wasn’t. I said, “I could never do that.”

“Why not? You said you wanted to come here since you were a
kid, right? You seem to have a passion for it.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t fix anything. I’d just be running
from my problems.”

“Well ... isn’t that what you’re doing here right now?”

“You
are
psychoanalyzing me,
I knew it!” I bantered, pushing his shoulder. “That’s
not
what this is, thank you very much. Like I said, I’m here to clear my head. So
when I go home I can actually
do
something about
my not-so-hot situation. To make things better.” I looked at him, smug.

“And all
I’m
saying is, it
sounds like you have more motives to move here than you’re acknowledging. You
wouldn’t just be copping out. There’s something invigorating about packing up
and moving thousands of miles away. It changes you. Trust me on that.” Winking,
he tossed his empty cup into a trashcan and led me across a busy street.
“What’s so bad back at home, anyway? You’re clearly not just here for your
birthday.”

No way I’d tell a complete stranger, even if he did have
smoldering eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve put myself in a bad situation, and it’s
up to me to get out of it.” He waited. “I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to
leave him yet.”

He shook his head. “I get the feeling you are. Not that you
need some stranger’s opinion, but I’m good at reading people.” He let his eyes
wander downward, glancing up every few seconds as we continued to walk, as if
to make sure he knew where we were. “I say stay away from him. Whoever he is.
Anyone with that much power over you is dangerous.”

My ears perked up at his unintentional perceptiveness, and I
wondered if I should tell him more. “Thanks ... for the vote of confidence.
Guess I’ll find out when I get home.”

“It must be nice to be comfortable with silence like you
are.” He glanced at a bundled-up elderly man dozing on an icy bench as we
passed by him. “I need a crowd. Being alone makes my ears hurt.” He exhaled
quietly.

“I’ve never been one to be around a lot of people. I don’t
think I’ve ever felt that need. I just--”

“Trust yourself.” His eyes searched mine again, and I
blushed like the child I felt I was and turned my head to watch an old woman
cross the street, a bag of groceries in her arms. She caught me watching her so
I looked back at him.

“What about you?” I said. “I mean, you don’t strike me as
the type to need a crowd. You seem the quiet type.”
And
charming, and insanely handsome.
I reeled in my thoughts and tried to
maintain a cool façade. As if I even knew what one looked like.

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a recluse myself,” he said. “I just
prefer to be around people, to observe them. Helps me cope. Too much isolation
messes with my head.”

“It’s funny how loners seem to find one another.” I bit my
lower lip, looking back to the street to avoid his deep gaze. The Louvre came
into view, and I felt a tinge of disappointment. The more I spoke to him, the
more I felt a gravitational pull toward him.

He saw the museum too. Speaking quickly, he rattled off more
questions about my favorite movie --
Edward
Scissorhands
-- favorite author -- Flannery O’Connor
-- and when he got to my favorite music, I stopped and said, “Why are you
asking me all this?”

“Does there have to be a reason? Can’t I just make
conversation?” He smirked, challenging me.

I rolled my eyes, giving in. “Rock and classical.”

“Time of year?”

“Fall.”

“Yeah.” He turned his attention toward the museum’s
entrance. “I can completely see that.”

I studied him as he admired the museum. Something about him
felt comfortable, almost familiar.

“Welcome to the Louvre.” He broke through my trance,
gesturing to the beautiful piece of history in front of us.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” I gawked at the sight,
taking it all in. “Thanks for the walk.”

“Anytime.”

“There is one other thing I’m here for, by the way.” I
turned, ready to bid him farewell.

“What’s that?”

“To have an experience like this one.”

“Well, in that case I’m glad I bumped into you.”

We stared at each other until he blinked first, and smiled a
breathtaking, crooked smile that should have been illegal.

“Listen, I’m in town for a few weeks.” He slipped a business
card to me from his pocket. “If you want, give me a call. Show you around some
more, maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“Think about the big move. Leave him.” He ran his fingers
through his hair, turned to head toward the street. “Let me know what you
decide.”

“Believe me, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I never did get your name....”

“Camille. Camille Hart.”

“I’m Gavin. Gavin
Devereaux
. It
was great knocking you over.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” I shook my head, laughing.

“I just wanted to know you!” he shouted as he began walking
backward, drifting away.

Waving goodbye, I watched him head back toward the
chocolaterie
, back toward the scene that would become the
most cryptic memory of my trip to the city that had stolen my heart. I saw him
stop to slip some money and a handshake to the older man we passed by earlier.
I lingered at the sight and smiled to myself, realizing my mission was now
underway.

I wrapped my dream coat tighter around my waist and
readjusted my scarf while I stared at his name on the plain black business
card. Maybe Gavin was right. In that moment, it felt like heaven to catch a
glimpse of an alternate me, in the new life he suggested.

His body faded into the city’s sea and I stood there with only
his crisp-edged business card and a vision of an improbable but appealing
future. Apparently, Paris was an unstoppable force, a very skilled and thorough
thief. Because now, it had ownership of my soul.

The warm breeze washed over me when I stepped outside to get
in my mud-smeared jet-black Jeep Wrangler to head to work. I welcomed the heat,
inhaled deeply to let it move down my nose and throat. It felt like blazing
fire at first, awakening the long-dormant life hidden away in my haven of a
body. I was more than thrilled that it was summertime, had missed the
uncomfortable hot weather and all its humid glory. My tank top already damp
with perspiration, I stuck to the leather seat, my moist hair blowing
effortlessly in the wind. It felt raw. Real.
Alive
.

I jumped on the highway heading for Lafayette, enjoying the
sunshine as I drove, though after a year and a half, I was tiring of the trip
to the city every day. I lived in the Breaux Bridge area, but was majoring in
Literature at Louisiana State University, and worked in Lafayette too. There
wasn’t much around my home except wide-open land, sparse neighbors, and a few
family-owned restaurants and shops. I needed privacy though, and the rich
French culture and history. A short commute to the city was a fair trade for my
new life. Besides, I didn’t have classes this summer, so I wasn’t driving to
and from Lafayette nearly as often.

In the bookstore parking lot, I put the car into park,
lifted up my aviator shades and took a last drag off my cigarette, scanning the
lot for any sign of his car. I hadn’t seen him in over a week, and I was hoping
he took me seriously this time.

His dark blue Ford pickup wasn’t here. I threw an oversized
oxford work shirt over my tank top, always thankful that it covered a multitude
of sins, and popped a piece of gum in my mouth, gave a final glance around
before I headed inside.

“The new release table’s looking kind of barren, Camille
dear,” an annoyingly pleasant voice chimed as I stepped behind the front counter
to clock in. Carol, my supervisor, specialized in the completely unnecessary.
She watched me walk in the door every day for the past year and a half and do
everything she ever asked me to, and then some. She knew I was reliable, that I
loved my job, yet she made at least one condescending comment a day to me.

“I’ll be right on it,” I sang back just as pleasant,
grabbing a stack of books to take to the new release table.

“Don’t be too long now. I have other things for you to do
this morning.” She tilted her gaudy,
librarianesque
eyeglasses down for a second to look at me and gave me her signature mother hen
stare. Rolling my eyes as soon as I had my head turned away from her, I
shuffled on over to the table to appease her.

When she was out of sight, I snuck off to the most important
section for my weekly ritual. I skimmed through the Hoodoo
spellbooks
to find some new protection spells, then slipped into the back room to make
copies. None of them had worked yet, but I was new to the whole conjure thing,
so I was optimistic.

I tucked the new spells into my pocket while I headed back
to the new release table, pondering when would be a good time to swing by the
conjure shop.

“So what’s it going to be this weekend, dinner and a movie?”

The question came from behind me. My body tensed, my
shoulders instantly feeling the greatest effect. I clenched my jaw and swiveled
around to peer up at a poisonous, yet undeniably angelic-looking face.

“You know I hate it when you do this,” I said. “And this is
hardly the place.”

Times like this, I was grateful I looked so serious all the
time. That helped when I needed to appear angrier. But I couldn’t maintain my
stare. I swallowed and looked down first, then back up.

“Well maybe if you didn’t hide away from me all the time and
actually
answered
my phone calls, a visit to
your place of employment wouldn’t be necessary,” he said. He smirked, stepped a
foot closer to me. “I don’t know why you fight it
darlin
’,
you know you’re all talk.” His whisper trailed off as his sinister smile
widened. “We both know you’ll never be strong enough.”

Nausea overwhelmed me when he rubbed his hand on my arm,
giving me goose bumps. My body flinched with disgust.

His prisoner, I fought the impending paralysis and blinked
my eyes, stretched my fingers outward, reminding them of their function. There
were people all around who could see this. I was safe. He wouldn’t be so
stupid. Not here. A thousand creeping anxieties scattered through my
consciousness.

“Nothing is going on this weekend, Andrew. And we both know
that you are going to stay away from me.” I gritted my teeth, glancing left and
right to make sure we weren’t making a scene. “I
am
strong enough. I’ve changed, and I don’t care if you believe that or not--”

He grasped my arm, leaning in to speak directly in my ear.
His smoky green eyes bored into mine, appraising me. “Oh, I
do
believe you’ve changed
darlin
’.
I believe you’re more afraid now than you have ever been. And that fear
inhibits your ability to be strong, sweetheart. Whether you believe
that
or not.”

He let my arm go abruptly and kissed my forehead before he
turned to walk away. I shuddered at the touch of his lips on my skin.

“I’ll pick you up at six on Sunday, then.” He didn’t bother
turning back to look at me. “Oh -- not
this
weekend, though.
Next
weekend. This weekend I’ll
be out of town, have some things to take care of.” He pivoted his head around,
winking at me. “You be good while I’m gone, now.”

Strolling out the front door, he left me like wounded prey
to awaiting predators, hungry and ready to pounce. Shaken, I darted for the
back of the store, hoping my coworkers wouldn’t notice. I had to get outside
and breathe. I needed to be alone before I started breaking down, before my
mind went to war with the intrusive, unwelcome hunters in my head.

I stepped out the back door from the inventory room and
leaned
up against the sun-heated concrete wall, tilting my
head back, closing my eyes while I slid down the wall and landed with my knees
up, sobbing. He would never let me go from this personal hell I created for
myself. He would never let me free from the guilt and shame that consumed me
for letting him into my life. He was the first person to befriend me when I
moved here, someone I felt genuinely comfortable with.

I exhaled, shaking my head at my ridiculous, contradictory
thoughts. How could I have had such poor judgment? The answer was clear despite
my fragmented feelings. I asked myself this same question every single day, and
after the spectacle he just pulled, I had to be honest with myself. A year and
a half ago, he helped fill a void. But now my weakness was returning to haunt
me in the very place I ran to, the place I came to give myself a new beginning.

I sat on the concrete, fighting the war raging inside my
head, knowing Carol could come barging out here any second to fire me. But I
couldn’t think about her or my job right now. The only thoughts I had were of
my trip to Paris, how invigorated I felt there. And how free. How liberated I’d
felt by myself, halfway across the world in a different country, a different
culture, fully separate from everything back home that bound me to my past. No
one knew me, and there was nothing in the city to remind me of anything
familiar. I remembered imagining it must be what being reborn felt like, being
able to assign new memories to the places and faces I encountered.