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 Midnight Flights

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Prentiss Proveaux


Posts : 387
Join date : 2013-10-08

PostSubject: Midnight Flights   Wed Jan 08, 2014 6:31 pm

Never had been so angry in his life.
"What in zhe 'ell iz 'our probleem!? " He turned so quickly to stare Livius down that he felt his neck crack with the force. "'ou 'ave 'urt hem! And now, beecauze of 'ou I 'AVE 'URT HEM!" He lunged at his lover, knocking Livius off his feet and over onto the floor."Hee iz at 'ome alonee! 'He iz probably cryeeng and 'ou did zhiz!" He refrained from hitting Livius, but that was all the restrain he had in him. He left the man on the ground, out the door before he could even open his mouth again.
In his haste to get out, Christophe had managed to leave what little he owned that had not been attached to his body.
Including his shovel.
But remarkably, Christophe had not stopped once to think of going back for it. No he had somewhere he needed to be and he was going to get there, come hell or high water.
Turned out high water came first.
He had forgotten of the storm watch, but as the thunder clapped in the sky and lightening lit up his surroundings, he remembered that it was supposed to rain.
All day.
"Sheet." He was already soaked, but it didn't matter. He checked to make sure the planes had not been stalled at the air port because of the rain, before proceeding to spend every last dollar in his pocket for a trip back to America.
The flight was long. And even when his phone should have been on airplane mode, it wasnt. He had called Eric, over and over again he had called and received no answer.
"Wheere in zhe 'ell eez hee?" The man muttered softly, his eye brows furrowed in concern. He knew Eric was probably at home, watching some soft of movie. He was probably hurting.
The thought sent a pang of anguish rushing through Christophe. He didn't know how to handle this, it had never happened to him before. He had hurt his lover. It was his fault for letting Livius talk him into that. It was all his fault.
He called again.
No answer.
"Merde." He cursed, his head bowed as his stomach churned with guilt. Eric was alone and hurt.
He would deny it all his life, even to himself, but in those moments, he was certain he had felt wetness on his face. "Je suis désolé Eric. Donc désolé." He whispered hoarsly, his eyes lost on the raging clouds outside.
The plane ride lasted an eternity. But as it always did, time wound down and he found himself unboarding in America. He had no luggage to claim, and no one waiting for him. It was almost three in the morning when Christophe had finally made it to Eric's home. He had no money and no other way of transport, so he had been made to run. And run he did, not stopping even when he felt as though he would collapse if he did not. The thought of Eric urged him on, harder and harder through the darkened streets.
And it was just his luck, the f*cking door was locked.
"Mother fucking beetch." He snapped at it, though unable to do any more. He was glad Eric kept it locked, at least trying to be safe. Taking a short moment to breath, he slipped around the back of Eric's home. There was a tree, one that was not far from the house itself.
Jumping distance.
And so it was. He clambered up the tree, his muscles screaming at him to stop. They had been going for hours, over worked and aching. He ignored it though, grunting as he landed himself on the roof. He had much practice in this, and so he did not make noise as he crept along. He reached the window of Eric's bedroom, and then slowly began cracking it open.
He had just barely lifted it enough for him to fit through when he noticed movement on the bed. The room was dark, he had not been able to hear anything from outside. But now he found he could also hear...
"Zhe f*ck?"
Christophe narrowed his eyes, peering determinedly into the darkness of the room. Slowly as his eyes adjusted, he could make out Eric's figure. The man was on his back, with a larger man hovering over him.
And too further prove Christophe's theory, Eric tipped his head back, crying out in pleasure.
"Oh Briley!"
"Sheet!" Christophe jerked back in surprise, the shock causing him to lose balance.
He fell.
Down, down, down.
He landed flat of his back, gasping as all his air had left him. The fall was not near enough to kill, and if done right he could have even escaped unscathed.
But he didn't.
And he was distantly aware that his wrist, the one he was still laying on, was broken.
He was not angry. Not at Eric anyways, but at himself. He shouldnt have come. Eric was fine.
At least, for now.
"Zhiz eez f*cking stupeed." He laid out in Eric's yard for sometime, moving a bit more everytime he assured himself something was not broken. When it came down to it, he suffered mere bruising, a broken wrist, and a shortage of air.
Those were trivial things. What truly pained him was his heart. This was not like Eric. And though his stomach burned with jealousy, he pushed it back. He was not a hypocrite. He cared, of course he cared, but he was not about to disapprove.
He forced himself up, gazing once more at the bedroom window before he made his way back around front, and back down the street.
He walked until he came across a rather long but stirdy stick. Picking it up, he broke it in half over his knee and used the two pieces to made a brace for his wrist. He then ripped off two strips of his shirt, tying it tightly to keep the sticks in place. It was makeshift, and wouldnt last, but it was good enough.
He sat himself down under the pavillion of a small park, pulling his phone out and checking the time.
6:00 A.M.
He considered his situation, deciding he would just wait until noon to go back to the home and see Eric. Not that he cared, but it wouldnt be fair of him to intrude on Eric's time with another man. Eric had always been good with him about Livius.
He owed it to him.
It seemed as though he had fallen asleep there, for the next thing he knew, the sun was high in the sky and the city had come to life around him. Pushing himself up, he began his walk back to Eric's home, cursing as he hoped Briley had gone.


"Hey! Christophe!"
"I know what Livius did and I'm... really sorry."
"What? Oh that. No big deal. He's a prick, I knew that."
"Eric, you don't have to do that shit."
"Do what?"
"Pretend you're okay."
"But I am okay."
"Why weren't you answering my calls?"
"I was out."
"You don't go out."
"Well I did tonight."
"Because I felt like it."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"I... I love you."
"I love you too."
"Don't laugh if it's not real."
"Then what the hell do you want me to do? Do you want me to cry to you? Because if that's what you're hoping for, I'm sorry, but I can't do it."
"I gotta go."


Christophe rolled his eyes, his good hand banging on the door.
Eric had not been expecting him, and so when he answered the door, his face still wet with tears, and he was more than shocked to see his French lover standing on his front step.
"I don't want 'ou to cry for mee. I juzt don't want 'ou to cry alonee." Upon seeing Eric, he had thrown his arms around the man, pressing him close into his chest. "Eeric, Je t'aime." He breathed softly, dropping a kiss into the crown of Eric's head. Continuing to hold him close with his injured arm, he used the other to gently wipe the tears from Eric's eyes. "Je t'aime. Je t'aime.Je t'aime." He whispered it as a mantra, fierce in his proclamation. His hands were the gentlest they had ever been, and he was certain by the time he left that Eric would know of Christophe's love for him.

Translate: "Shit, im sorry Eric. So sorry." "I love you"
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