You and I will end up here together

Another freezing winter night, and I’m having to spend it alone. In the midst of the London fog I stare from my windowsill out into the dark, dreary night, the chill reaching through my skin to grip my bones. I wrap my arms around myself and sit on the old green garden chair I keep on the balcony. It isn’t a particularly windy night and the air is stale due to the lack of movement across the city. I don’t live in the kind of area that attracts tourists or thrill seekers or people on their nights out, so the evenings aren’t populated by the sounds of groups of excited pub goers like it would be elsewhere in London. It's quiet. It’s so quiet that sometimes, late at night, you can hear the buzzing of the electric lights from the ceiling or the conversations of other people in the flats next to yours. It used to be off-putting when I first moved in but it isn’t hard to get used to, however unpleasant.

I can never get comfortable here. ‘Here’, as in out on the balcony, and ‘here’, as in this flat. Half the time I'm expecting Emile to come bursting up the ladder to the balcony and through my window, and the rest I'm restless for one reason or another, jumping between problem after problem in my mind until I exhaust myself. Yet I still blame the environment when I should be blaming myself. It’s not the fault of my flat that I can’t sleep, or the fault of the quiet that I can’t think, it’s my fault for enabling those tendencies in myself in the first place. If I didn’t get so dependent on Emile’s presence maybe I would be fine right now. Maybe I would be able to do my fucking job. Maybe I wouldn’t be so disgustingly into all of the danger he gets himself and me into, and maybe, just maybe, I’d be a tiny bit more normal. Fantasising wasn’t something I even did before I met Emile, but now whenever he’s gone, I can’t help but imagine all of these stupid things about him and me. It makes me feel sick afterwards how I could ever enjoy thinking about it, but I come back to it time after time like an addict chasing some fucked up high.

Chasing a distraction, I take a cigarette from the packet I keep in my coat pocket for nights like these and my lighter, and I let the flame burn away at the ends of the rolled up paper. I’m not a regular smoker by any means, but it’s something to keep your hands occupied and your mind steady. And if nothing else, it helps me breathe a bit less shallowly. As I take a drag I watch the smoke pool into the air in wisps of foul smelling smoke and I immediately regret my decision to do this. I really don’t enjoy it. If it weren’t so late maybe I would go and do something else, something more productive, but sleepless nights like these don’t have much of a remedy besides distraction, even if said distraction makes me feel sick.

I sluggishly put out the disgusting nicotine stick and breathe out a big, long sigh trying to return some fresh air to my lungs. Suddenly, as I do this, I hear the clink,clink, clink of bootsteps coming up the service ladder connecting to the balcony. Doing a double take I peek over the railing to see a mass of blonde hair and the scarlet red of a loose shirt flapping in the gentle breeze, whipping softly around who could only realistically be… No, he’s all the way over in Lincolnshire. He couldn’t have made it back already, could he?

“Hey!” I call in a whispery shout, straining my eyes in an effort to confirm what's being hidden by the dark.. “You’re, um. Not really meant to be climbing up that!”

“Oh, come on, Frances. Since when did you actually care about me droppin’ in like this?” His smug, chesty voice, carried up by the wind, finally registers. Emile clambers over the railing and sits himself in my other deck chair, one I set up for when he decided to make his surprise visits via a needlessly dramatic entrance. I can’t suppress a slight grin-grimace making its way onto my face.

“Hello.” I breathe through slightly gritted teeth. Smiling wide and proud, Emile adjusts himself in his seat and half-whispers,

“Hey, darling.”

Leading Emile inside I head directly for the kitchen to turn the heating on, listening as he rambles about whatever interesting things he saw on his tourist trip.

“They ‘ave the most beautiful cathedral, Y’know,” He called through the room. “That’s one of the few places I didn’t steal anything from. Not worth the money.”

I chuckle as I finish with the heating and go to turn the kettle on, making us both some coffee.

“You, feeling too in awe to steal? Who are you and where’s the real Emile, hm?”

Warm laughter fills the room as I bring our coffee to the sofa. Emile takes his mug and inhales deeply, taking in the rich scent; I’ve always bought the more expensive brand between us so he always takes his time to appreciate that it’s significantly better than the cheap shit he buys. I take a slow sip before putting the mug down. I immediately notice Emile’s hand on my thigh.

“Not gonna ask why you’re up this late,” He sympathised, gaze locked on my eyes. “But if you need anything, I'm here.”

As much as I hate to admit to needing the help, I’m not going to complain at such a generous offer. Company would be nice…

“Well, a distraction would be… helpful.” I mumble back, half embarrassed despite the many years of needing said distractions, but the embarrassment all but dissipates when I see Emile’s eyes light up. I can practically see all the ideas going through his head as he inches closer to me. In the build-up to these evenings any disgust I might feel at myself for the kinds of things we’ve done disappears.

“So,” he whispers deeply and softly in my ear. “What were you thinking?” Suppressing a shiver I know would be telling, thread my fingers through his hair and lean back into the sofa to make up for how weak my legs go. God, how am I meant to speak when just the lowering of this man’s voice sends me speechless?

“I… don’t know. Do you have any ideas?”

I feel his laugh against the side of my face, making my hairs stand on end.

“Tons. Maybe I could go through ‘em. See what you’re… in the mood for.”

Christ.

“Well…” I stutter out, feeling the heat creeping into my cheeks. “I wouldn’t exactly, um. Protest that.”

Emile smiles, amused.

“Alright. Well, there’s always me doin’ all the work, since you’re oh so tired.” He teases, making me immediately sober from the blushing mess I was becoming. I laugh despite myself. Emile jokingly glares at me and gently pats me on the cheek, then snugly wraps his arms around me.

“Okay then, you lazy bones, you do all the work and we’ll see where it goes.”

Trying to wriggle out of his aggressively affectionate grasp, I can’t help but cackle a bit at the absurdity of being called a lazy bones by a known murderer. I don’t have much time to dwell on it before he starts softly pressing kisses to my neck. I laugh even more at how his lips tickle. That lovely bastard.

“Oh, is that funny, Frances?” He manages through his own giggling, chasing my lips until I’m on my back and struggling to catch my breath.

“Hah, Emile - this is so unfair-” I begin, but it’s seconds between the words leaving my mouth and his fingers interlocking with mine, pinning me. He pants softly with a prideful grin on his face as he watches my cheeks and ears turn scarlet red.

I watch as his eyes scan over my face searching for any hint of hesitation, and when he finds none he leans down and presses his lips to mine. It doesn’t take long for me to reciprocate. He’s gentle, careful and slow and it makes my head spin and my whole body relax as his grip on my hands loosens in favour of knotting them delicately through my hair instead. It feels like someone’s replaced Emile and taken over his body, kissing me with his lips but with a softness he’s never possessed. As soon as I start to believe I could stay here forever, Emile abruptly stops, and he looks conflictedly at me with his auburn eyes. His gaze and the sudden ending to that moment send me into a bit of a daze.

“You sure…?” He whispers, barely audible above the buzzing of the fluorescent lightbulbs. Whatever TV show we were going to watch plays on forgotten in the background. Breathlessly I blink myself back to reality and the world slowly fades into existence again. I whisper back, willing myself to remember the English language, “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

As Emile nods silently I tilt my head.

“Are you sure?” I whisper and cup one side of his face with my hand, tracing his rough skin with my thumb.

“Yeah, you just… you weren’t feelin’ great, I don’t wanna rush-“

I feel myself go rigid at the reminder, limbs tensing involuntarily. After such a lovely moment I desperately do not want to go back to that again. I need this to last. Before he can do anything, say anything, ruin this with his concerns, I lunge forward and roughly kiss him, dragging his face down to my level harshly. Just the way I know he likes it. Our lips clash, all tongue and teeth, and it takes a moment for Emile to reciprocate. He bites after my lips for a couple of seconds before forcing himself to pull away in shock at himself and in awe of me.

“Ah.” He mouths as best he can with wide eyes and gaping lips, any thoughts he may have been having entirely forgotten. Blush spreading over his face, Emile tries very hard not to let his eyes, or his hands, wander. With a newfound confidence I let my hands manoeuvre up the back of his shirt and I watch smugly his expression shift, eyes slipping closed seemingly involuntarily. He closes his mouth and refuses to open it as I slowly run my fingers up to his shoulders, briefly digging my nails in gently.

“You’re awful…” Emile murmurs through gritted teeth and a terribly suppressed smile.

“If I’m so awful, then what does that make you?”

My hands reach his chest and this makes his legs give, and he sinks down to my level, his weight pressing into me and his head resting right by mine. I go in for another kiss, ready to spend the rest of the night like this, and-

Bzzt bzzt.

The sound of my phone ringing, set to the noise of an old rotary phone like the one in my childhood home, brings me completely out of the moment. Emile all but launches up like he’s been caught on a heist, muttering a disappointed “Seriously…?” Under his breath. Sighing I sit up as well and let it ring on and go to voicemail. I check who it is, just for it to be a ‘friend’ from work. Why the hell is he calling me so late?

Emile slumps down to rest his head on my shoulder.

“You know some weird people, y’know.”

I nod, picking up my phone to check the time.

“Well, we have been here longer than I thought. I need to be up in… an hour, give or take.”

Emile glances towards my window, registering the sound of the early morning traffic. A faint light shines in from the many cars driving past.

“That was Jason, by the way.” I stand up, stretching my arms to ward off the ache I’ve accumulated over the last few hours. “You met him last time you came in for a…” I trail off, not entirely sure how to soften my language around someone being brought into custody for being a repeat offender.

“Visit?” He helpfully finishes for me. Looking far too smug, he leaps off the sofa and struts towards the balcony. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Use the door. Seriously, getting in and out like that is really suspicious.”

Chuckling, he walks back over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before his departure.

“Too ‘Romeo and Juliet’ for you?”

I huff, swatting him away with my hand and smiling softly as he blows me a kiss from the door.

“No, you’ll get arrested. Again. Now get out of here before I turn you in.”

“Fine, fine.” Emile opens the door, flashing me a wink which just makes him look a bit stupid. For all of his charms, Emile can’t wink for the life of him. “See you later?” He asks as more of a statement than a question, and before I can even answer he gently shuts the door, the sound of his boots echoing back down the hallway.

My smile fades as I’m left alone again in my flat, only the quiet noise of the TV and the roaring of the traffic outside keeping me company. The cold doesn’t return, though. Instead, it’s replaced by a calming warmth as I look at the discarded mugs of coffee on the table, signs of more life than just me having been here. It’s a lovely thought to know that, unconventional as it is between us, I’m not completely alone, and I won’t be for a very, very long time.