We'll Always Have Paris - A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Gabrielle Moreau is a 19-year old French girl living in Paris, the “capital of love”. To most people she looks ordinary, but behind her high-built façade hides a girl that suffers. She tries to shut the inferior sides of her life out by doing the things she loves and letting her thoughts circle around something elsewhere—and she succeeds in focusing on the good things in life flawlessly.
When Gabrielle an early morning gets a call from One Direction’s manager, who offers her the opportunity of working with them on their summer tour in Paris, she immediately replies him with a yes. She doesn’t know it just yet, but within the next few months she will get to grow a close bond to each of the boys in the band—and particularly one of them. Before she knows it, Gabrielle has been thrown into something she this time won’t be able to pull herself out of … Will she finally start opening herself up to someone and let them in without any conditions? **Check out the trailer in the right sidebar**

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47. Introducing me

 

>>Harry<<

 

When I told Gabrielle I was sorry, I had meant every singly word. I'd been a douche and pretending that I hadn't would only make me an even bigger one.

But the truth is that now when Gabrielle's secret is out, my mood has seemed to drop alongside hers. Constantly feeling either worried or sad for her, I've spent the past few days wondering what the whole story behind the present one is about...and how terrible this thing with her mother's disease must have affected Gabrielle and shaped her into the person she is today.

Suddenly the things I've gone through in my life doesn't seem to be of a serious matter. I mean, the hardest thing I've ever gone through is my parents not living together or the stupid stories I've heard about me and the boys in the press.

When Gabrielle had taken me back and insisted that she truly had forgiven me, she'd sat down with me in the back seat of a taxa and on my request, told me the whole story of her family's issues. Throughout it all I kept her fingers intertwined in mine, squeezing her hand to comfort her voice back into steadiness every now and then.

Gabrielle told me how her mother when she was still just a little kid had started to become very forgetful of a woman at her age. How her father soon had contacted the mental departments of different hospitals and how'd she'd been removed to one of the places. She told me how the Alzheimer's hadn't only changed her mom, but also her own childish mind, which had made her grow up years before she actually had to. Until just a few weeks ago, you had still been able to call her a teenager--and all the time the weight of her mother's illness had been on her fragile shoulders.

"Are you sure about this?" 

Gabrielle's voice makes me seize back into reality. Her eyes looks stunned at me as my facial expression turn from blank and back into the moment. A sigh escapes her and she loosens her grip around the doorknob, but my hand is placed on top of hers before her fingers slip completely away from it.

"No, no, no. I want to meet her," I hurriedly tell her with a soft smile. "I really do."

I lead her hand to my mouth and kiss it shortly. When I drop it again, her enchantingly dark eyes lock with mine.

"There's only one rule: Always repeat yourself if she forgets something you have just told her," she points earnestly out to me. "If you don't, she may get sad and sometimes, this can cause a seizure." 

I nod. "I will."

The door creaks open when Gabrielle at last pushes down the door handle and we step into the plain hospital room. My eyes doesn't focus on the decorations in the room, as the only expressions I get of the cubicle is a head-clearing smell of clean sheets and too much air conditioning and the iron made hospital bed before me with the black-haired woman tucked up beneath its blankets. 

Gabrielle's mother looks alarmed when she reckons me entering through the door. Her dark eyes that's like an exact reflection of her daughter's glue to my face when I take a step closer to her, my hand still in Gabrielle's as we settle down on the two visitors' chairs by her bedside. 

"Hi mom," Gabrielle weakly smiles at her. She looks at me shortly. "This is Harry."

As soon as she has introduced me, Mrs. Moreau's face lights up in joy. She almost immediately stretches out her hand for me. I shake it, surprised that I'm already smiling.

"I'm Laurine. It's a pleasure meeting you!" she tells me and let go of my hand, now enabling herself to lean back in the bed.

"You, too."

"Oh, I haven't had a visit from any people outside the family in forever! Unless of course I had a child without knowing it and this very handsome young man apparently is him," she speaks after a time of consideration to Gabrielle. 

I sharply turn towards my girlfriend, not believing my own ears. "She hasn't?" I silently exclaim.

"She hasn't," she confirms. I can't help but to notice the way she sends a stern stare at the ground.

"I like your humor, though, Mrs.," I say, now with a smile and turned back towards her mother.

"And I like your selfconfidence," she replies me with a smooth laugh. "Please, call me Laurine."

     Unlike my almost stereotype alike expectations, the visit passes by easily and without any visible bumps in Mrs Moreau's behavior and no mood-swings or moments of a blank memory seem to happen. She seems like a very down-to-earth and normal person. If it hadn't been because I already knew that she has the diagnosis Alzheimer's, I would have thought she's a totally decent person without any flaws. Truly, she's a wonderful person. 

"We should probably leave," Gabrielle speaks after spending half an hour in her mother's company. She puts a hand on my arm. "It's getting late. We still have a gig tonight, remember?"

"Oh." I clumsily seem to raise from my chair, but a weak hand grasps mine and quickly makes me sit back down on the seat. While Gabrielle has grabbed her coat and walked towards the door with a short-cut goodbye, Mrs Moreau has gripped tighter around my hand a pulled me a bit closer to the bed. 

"Look, Harry, I haven't always been there for her," she speaks in a low tone and moistens her dry lips. I can feel the blood pumping through her veins beneath the paper thin, ice-cold skin. "You take good care of her, will you promise me that?"

"I haven't ever done anything else, Mrs More--" I stop myself mid-sentence. Then I send a soft smile in her direction. "Laurine. Sorry." 

I get up from the chair and she lets her fingers slip from my wrist. I pick up my coat, too, and send her a last greeting before turning away. "It was lovely meeting you."

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