I had recently been seeing this woman named Veronica. Beautiful girl, really; she knows just the thing to make me smile and laugh. She also has a way of moving between the sheets that sends chills up my spine just thinking about her. Gods, have I been reverted back to a pre-pubescent boy where even the thought of all the nasty things she can do reduces me to puddy in her hands? I'd like to think I have some restraint in the matters of sex, but recently…
I'm at my wits end with myself. Compared to other countries I'm considered well off; I have some grasp of the popular culture, but I often find myself conversing with the old or dying about the days when I had been one with the people of my land. I know I'm not the only one who is feeling this way. Francis is worse off than I am, even if he's reluctant as ever to admit it. But now, with Veronica, I'm feeling disjointed from her. Her, who has such a great taste in classical music, whom I had met at an orchestra performance last year, was suddenly a stranger to me in such a short period of time?
Why was that? Why couldn't I even answer this question to myself?
There was a sudden knock on the hotel room door that jostled me out of my thoughts. "Come in." I call out weakly, noticing the strain in my own voice. When was the last time I had slept? Or more importantly, when was the last time I slept when Veronica wasn't bedding me?
Francis closes the door behind him with a soft click, and makes no waste of time as he strides from the entrance to where I sit on the bed. He sits beside, and I'm almost tempted to ask him why he's here, or how he got in. But instead, we sit in silence. Francis Bonnefoy, who fifty years previous would have been spouting strings upon strings of loving words to me not because he meant them, but out of principle, was silent and still with eyes downcast and lidded.
Time passed slowly, and I couldn't help but look from under my drooping eyelids at his face. Perhaps he had forgotten to shave, but his scruff seemed longer than usual and… were those gray strands of hair I spy just above his ear? That's impossible. Countries age so slowly, so maybe… Oh no.
Oh fucking hell, he couldn't have—
"You're a coward, you know that?" I spit immediately without thinking. Francis visibly winces, but a sad smile tweaks the corners of his mouth upwards. Why was he smiling? Did I say something funny? He's looking at me now like I'm the one who's crazy, who's half out of his mind despite the fact I'm fully aware of what he'd done previous to coming to me.
"Forgive me, Arthur. I cannot bear it any longer." Francis says this in barely a whisper, but I barely hear the last bit before I bellow:
"And leave us all for a chance at peace? You bloody coward! Do you think you're the only one who's dieing inside?!" I cry out, my voice cracking as reality begins to seep in. My fists and shoulders are shaking, and my throat is seizing up the longer I look at his pathetic, slouched over figure. The bloody git doesn't even have the courage to look at my face.
I take a deep breath, trying to settle my voice. "How long?" I force out with barely a whisper, "How long have you—"
"Since last night." Francis finally looks at me from underneath his unwashed mop of blond hair. He looks close to tears, but I know he wouldn't dare cry in front of me—"I thought you wouldn't be this angry, Arthur."
I was wrong, perhaps, to come down on him so hard. But he shed tears, and one by one they dripped down his face. He didn't sob or try to wipe his face clean, and I didn't feel kind enough to do it for him. I bore holes into his lifeless eyes, trying to find some reasoning behind his actions.
But before I can figure him out, he stands up. Only now do I see how tightly clenched his fists are as they begin swaying at his sides. He's walking away from me, and he thinks he can just tell me he's—
"Get back her."
"Do you even want to look at me?"
"I want to know why." I barely whisper this to him, and he stops and turns around. My eyes are watering up, and almost immediately he sees this and backtracks to where I stand. The arms around my shoulders feel like dead weight as his body becomes aligned with mine in his pitiful throw against me. My voice cracks out in the silent sobs he's making on my shoulder.
"Why, Francis? Why did you relinquish your status as a country?"
lolcliffhanger! \( ' 3 ')/