I looked up to the fourth floor, to the corner apartment where Claire and I had lived, where Claire had brought countless men and women over the years, and I wondered who lived there now, in complete oblivion of the moral decadence that had taken place between those walls. The windows were dark and everybody was asleep. I strolled to the next corner, to the brightly lit café that was always open, day and night, the pink neon lights above the door drawing me in. I ordered a beer at the bar and searched Juliette’s face for a sign of recognition. Claire and I had often stopped here for a night cap on our way home. Maybe Juliette couldn’t separate me from Claire, or maybe she had seen Claire with too many different people to pay any special attention to me. To her, I was one of many. I concluded it was probably a good thing she didn’t strike up a conversation with me because I hadn’t spoken French in over a year. I had never been particularly good at it and once back in London any knowledge I had of the language just seemed to slip out of me, like a nasty cold I needed to sweat out.

I should have done this on my own, I thought, as I left some money on the counter and exited the bar. I should have faced Paris and its memories months ago, alone. Being back here for the first time with Claire was too much. I wanted to roam the streets for days, discover new restaurants and cafés, get lost in backstreets I never knew existed. We would probably end up at Trésor tomorrow − it was where we always went − if we didn’t order room service. Claire would be perfectly capable of wasting a train ticket to Paris on holing up in a hotel room all weekend − and there was no question she was in charge. I walked along the Avenue des Ternes when my phone rang. It was Claire.
“Where are you?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“I was worried. When will you be back?”
Never, I thought. I will never be back with you, Claire Burns. “Soon, just go back to sleep.”

Then, as the rain grew heavier, a sadness settled in my gut. I was always at my weakest when I was with Claire. I bet she could even make me say I still loved her. In fact, I almost had, earlier, when she was on top of me, her fingers buried deep inside of me, her eyes glued to mine. She was someone I would never grow tired of. She was someone who would always hurt me. I was wiser now. I would resist. But not before giving in for two more days.

“I missed you,” she said and pulled me down on the bed, her skin warm and welcoming. “You smell like spring.” She kissed me then and I wanted to say it again.
“It’s the rain.”
“You’re soaked. Let me get these clothes off you.” She tore at my wet jeans, they resisted her pull. “What were you doing outside, baby?”
Getting away from you and what you make me feel.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“My poor little insomniac,” she whispered in my ear as she slipped her hand under my t-shirt. “Let me see what I can do about that.” Her lips were all over me. I had to hold my breath to not surrender to the hot scent of her skin − it would have made me cry. As she pulled my t-shirt over my head, her mouth stopped at my ear and she murmured, “I could easily fall in love with you again, Lee Harlem Robinson.” Then she turned my head so her lips faced my other ear. “If I’m not already.” A tear rolled from my defenceless eye into her dyed hair.

To be continued…