April Through September
Disclaimer: Yeah, I'm responsible for creating possibly the most romantic film of all time…Don't think so heh.
A/N: I've been wanting to write something like this for a long time now, but today I actually decided to force myself to sit down and do it. This is something really new for me, so please let me know what you think. It also has some light sexual themes just to warn you, but not enough that I thought it needed to move up another rating.
Anyway, enjoy :)
In April I met…
Let's just call her Amelia.
Confident, mysterious, and seductive…She seemed to be channelling some kind of real life femme fatale.
I had been working.
She smiled up at me from the bar. It was sly, devious, flirtatious.
Is it true what they say about you? She had asked me, her eyes looking up at me in a blatant challenge. They were impossibly dark…Black almost.
That was the only word I could use to describe her.
It wasn't just the colour of her hair and attire.
She had a darkness about her that seemed to be constantly diming.
We had something in common.
Not at all. I told her, pouring us both a drink.
My mind was hazy from the liquor, but not enough to erase the vivid memory of you.
Shining through, clear as daylight, as I lead her back to my office.
I don't even remember her name.
In May I met Maria.
She was beautiful. Soft curls, clean complexion, and a bone structure that could rival Greta Garbo's.
However her meek eyes lacked the sparkle of Greta's.
I could see the entire universe in your eyes.
I recognized the look she gave me when we first met. Longing and desire, born from all the wrong reasons.
There was a naivety about her, an idealistic view of the world.
I had wanted to crush it.
My former self would be rolling in his grave.
But that was before you left. Now I don't even care.
She smells of cinnamon, but my nostrils crave the scent of vanilla.
I wonder if you're still buying the same shampoo.
I didn't allow her to undress me. Only you were allowed to do that.
I did it myself, quickly.
She kept trying to slow me down. She wanted to savor it.
I wanted it over quickly.
I wanted her to try and plug the hole in my heart as quickly as possible.
That way if she failed, I wouldn't have to waste any time before trying the gin.
But so did the gin.
In June I met Gabriella.
She was damaged.
Like a copper vase that had been dropped and dinted so many times, yet was still holding its shape.
Her husband had died. I never asked for the details.
I assume it was the war.
She would come into the café basically every night. I'd watch her. There was something about her miserable and withdrawn presence that reminded me of someone.
Not you…But me.
One night when buying a drink, she stayed at the bar with me. Chatting, laughing…flirting. Something I didn't even know how to do properly.
The rest was history. We had developed the same routine every night.
Her eyes lit up at my sight like yours once did…I reveled in it.
I stayed with her for almost the entire month.
She told me that she was in love with me. I told her that I loved her.
Because to me at least, the two statements hold two entirely different meanings.
I was in love with you.
Was? Who am I kidding?
However I still thought that she might be it.
The cure to the drug that you were…
Yet after a few weeks, your effects began to take over me again. I cursed you then. For breaking me, for breaking her.
The lovemaking became mechanical, cold, boring.
She became angry and distant.
I let her think that it was work.
I never told her about you.
In July I met Elisa.
Jittery, frantic, nervous. She never spoke.
She was constantly looking over her shoulder, like the spirit of her pastime was looming over her.
I didn't know what she was running from.
I didn't really care.
It actually took me longer than it should have to realize that she was a refugee.
Her unruly brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, her lips soft, but demanding, her small yet strong fingers impatient on me.
In me, she found a substitute for something, someone.
At least we had that much in common.
I liked that she never spoke. Although I doubt she would have asked questions anyway.
She knew that I was running from something just as she was.
One night she bit down on my earlobe and whispered something to me her own language.
That's when I realized that she was French.
From Paris perhaps if I really wanted to dwell on thoughts that could destroy me.
The way my name rolled off her tongue sounded so similar to the way it did off yours.
I could have almost closed my eyes and drifted into a lie.
Yes, in many ways she was like you.
It only made me miss you more.
In August I saw Yvonne again.
She didn't seem to care how I'd neglected her before, how disrespectful I'd been to her, how miserable I'd made her.
She was still willing.
She knew exactly what she wanted from me…Revenge.
And I knew what I was after.
It infuriated me, for all I wanted was to forget. To go back and find solace in this woman that I'd realized long ago couldn't possibly live up to you.
That was then though.
And now the only thing on my mind was trying to erase you.
You consumed me.
I wanted to screw her hard and fast, wanted to hear her scream my name in ecstasy, wanted to feel her long, vulgar looking nails dig into my back.
I needed a victory over her.
I got it, but it was a hollow one.
Because all I remember was how empty I felt when it was over.
In September I find myself alone.
Alone in the café. Well, not entirely...
Gin is keeping me company these days.
Shadows and smoke drift around the dark room, like the constant ghosts of your presence.
Do you want to know how I know I'm dying? Because I've already gone through the five stages of loss.
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I'm now at acceptance.
As long as I know that you're safe and happy.
They say that I'd never take a drink from a customer.
Well since you left, I've become famous for it
They say that I'd never stick my neck out for anyone.
Well that was until I met you.
You were the one that opened my mind, but I'm not going to blame you for closing off my heart.
It only took me five months, and five different women to get over you Ilsa.
And here I was thinking that you were the horrible liar.