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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41. The Cell of misery

 

It is just as I remember it. The long, white hallway where you in the distance can skim the view of Parisian skyscrapers through a wide window, people rushing down the linoleum floors so clean you can regard the blurred lines of your own figure's reflection in it. Small rows of chairs is only just visible to your eye if you look closely, as they are almost secretively lined up against the dull walls. The air condition is going on full speed, making goosebumps appear on my body from the chill. It's not just the air conditioning, though: Everything about the place seems cool and vacant to me. It has since the very first day I stepped in here, at that point still only a child.

A message clicks into the phone in my hands. It's words light up the screen, and I have to restrain myself from letting out a sob when I see them.

From: Zaynie-bear

Luv, where are u? Payno told me a sec ago that you left bc you were sad.. You'd tell me if somethin's wrong, right?? xx

Keeping this from the lads is not only tough--it's heart-breaking. Hell, why do they always have to pry in my business? I love them, but can't they see that when I dismiss them, I dismiss them. They can't know about my mom. All she would do is to complicate things.

"She's ready to see you now." My dad's voice is heard as he step back out of the hospital room, or as I like to call it: The Cell. He shuts the door securely behind him. Slowly rising from my position with my back pressed against the wall, I pull myself together. Seeing my mom is not that big a deal to me by now. What matters is if she has started remembering or not.

On my way in, dad comfortingly puts a hand on my shoulder. "Sweetheart, please don't be too rough on her. You know how she is."

I shake his hand off and move past him.

The room is small, with no windows imposed into the grey walls. The only decorations is a plant made of green, unpleasant plastic in the corner of the room and the colorful children's drawings plastered to every single wall. Images of sunbeams, animals and even small handprints is gathered in them, making a resistant smile pop in my dimples momentarily.

It seems like ages ago I had grabbed to the countless amount of pens and colored everything that might have been on my mind down on paper. To me, it had been a painting, but in reality it had been a sucky drawing of a happy family and the blurred lines of their flat and the Eiffel Tower behind their backs. A complete family, where the mother might be a stick figure, but a genuine smile was on her face and her mind was completely present. When I had given it to my mom, she had embraced me and told me that it was the most beautiful painting she had ever seen, that it was extravagant enough to be hung in the Musée D'Orsay. One day, she had told me, you're going to become a wonderful artist.

It was for her I had started writing music in the first place. Maybe I haven't become a painter, but I still managed to fulfill my goals for her. Didn't I?

My eyes fall upon the petite woman in the hospital bed made of cool steel. The bed sheets is almost swallowing up her small body, making her stand out like a fragile chick who isn't just ready to fold her wings out and fly away from the nest. Her hair is the usual black color, her eyes the same old beautiful darkness; the only difference is the drops of sweat on her forehead making a bit of her fringe stick to her skin. When she sees me, she lights up in a smile. 

"Hi, darling."

When I was ten, my mother had started to forget things. Her house keys would suddenly be gone every third day, she would not remember when we were supposed to have guests over for dinner, she would forget to pick me up after school. At first I didn't think it was anything serious, but when my dad started calling a lot of new phone numbers and share conversations with a lot of strange people in secret, I knew things hadn't been the way I thought they were. My mother kept forgetting the simple things. For a time, it just kept on getting worse.

When I turned eleven, she was turned into the hospital with the diagnosis Alzheimer's.

I'd had to grow up faster than the other kids my age at school. If I would tell my mother when I had learned a new piece of music, she would have forgotten it within the next few days. The disease kept on accelerating, like an aggressive sports car's wheel spinning. It was rough on me.

It was rough on my dad, too. He seized into working harder and longer at the office to let his mind of things, and we he finally would get home late in the evening he would be exhausted. The 11-year old Gabrielle quickly learned what loneliness and misery felt like combined, and when her dad realized that he had overlooked her needs of affection, he made sure to spend more time with her, frequently and also when he was knackered. Actually talk to her. At some point, he even hired her a psychologist.

I clearly recall how I after a whole two years of soothing therapy accidentally eavesdropped a conversation in my dad's office between him and my psychological helper. How both of their voices had been shaking with anger, but yet kept on a steady level.

"Gabrielle's façade is shaking," my female psychologist had hissed, "because she since she was eleven has had to bear with her mother’s illness, and obviously that is much to take for a little kid. It is clear that she sooner or later will have to bow down beneath the pressure of the feelings boiling up inside of her and break down."

My dad had been furious with her.

A month later, she had been fired.

I place myself in the seat of a cool chair placed by my mother's bedside. Reaching past the metal gates and into the bed, my hand finds hers. "Hi mom."

She optimistically pops a smile at me. "How are you?"

"I was more wondering about how you are."

"I'm fine, darling. Now tell me what's going on with you at the moment!" she coos.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I reply with the hint of a smirk. "Me and the boys are just doing our usual thing--"

"You and the boys? Which boys?"

I unsuccessfully try to swallow the lump in my throat. Here we go again. "One Direction. Niall, Louis, Liam, Zayn and Harry."

"Oh, where and when did you meet these lads? They sound very nice!"

"They are." By now, this will be the tenth time within the past seven weeks  I've had to retell my mom the whole story. It is a very tiring job and each time I have to restrain myself from letting my heat out on her, but that's how it's going to be. I love my mother. I would never hurt her on purpose. "We met when I got a job as a pianist for them, remember? I'm going to keep on supporting them on the piano the rest of the summer."

"Oh." Her voice had gone quieter now, like she just had realized how many times I had told her this before. How many times she had forgotten. 

I moistened my lips and gave her hot hand another squeeze. "They came to celebrate my birthday last week. Took me to Disneyland."

"How was it, then? Wasn't it your first time there?"

I am so close to saying it: That she had been the one to bring me to the Theme-park for the first time. It had been my dream to go there ever since age five, but first when I had turned eight she had taken me there on my birthday as a surprise. It had been the best day of my life. We had both been so happy. Now, she had forgotten.

I am so close to spilling it all, but I don't. 

I tear my hand abruptly from hers. Leaning my back flat against the chair, I embrace myself and draw in a sharp breath to hold in the tears.

"Do you remember anything at all, mom?"

The corner of her mouth twitches into a weak smile. "Not much, I'm afraid."

 

A/N:

Ok, so as stupid as I am I dropped my iPhone into the toilet and it completely crashed due to water damage. I'll get a new one soon, but unfortunately all my unsaved chapters in Wattpad got lost when I broke it. So I'll have to rewrite these 3-4 chapters and even though it sucks, I will try to update them as soon as possible. They may be crappy, but yeah, whatever - you still get your chapters. I think there's only about 10 left by now. 

OH. And before I forget, please drop a comment about what you think of Gabrielle's secret finally getting revealed. Do you understand her, was it worth reading along to get to know it? Whatever you may think about it all, please tell me! :) xx

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