Author’s Note: And so my period of experimentation continues! This time I decided to play around with a bilingual story. (I have to practise my French, anyway).I thought it’d be fun to write something where the two characters speak different languages, but still understand each other. There aren’t any translations, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t needed. The stuff in English kind of explains what the French is...I hope. Consider this a stylistic experiment! O.o Enjoy!

I Love You, Laissez-Moi
By: BlackCat

“I want to break up.”

He looks up at you, blinking confused green eyes. Corrections litter the paper in front of him, an article in progress.

“Quoi?”

Your fingers tangle with each other, blood leaving knuckles as they tighten.

“This relationship.” You glance away. “It’s not working.”

He straightens, abandoning the counter he was leaning over. Eyes are wide, stunned.

“Pourquoi?”

Why? A simple question, a complicated answer. You don’t know how to answer it. You’re fumbling for an explanation.

“I’m not good for you,” you finally say, gaze pleading. “I’m not someone you can stay with.”

He steps forward, brow furrowed.

“Mais…je t’aime.”

You scoff, eyes shutting briefly. He doesn’t love you. You may have borrowed his heart for awhile, but it was never yours to keep.

“How can you love me?” you demand, voice hoarse. “I’m a mess. A dangerous, unstable mess.”

His head shakes as a slender hand reaches for you.

“Non, tu es parfait. Et je t’aime plus que tu peux savoir.”

“You can’t love me!” You step back, anger and fear ripping through your heart. “I’m horrible!”

He’s not giving in, grabbing your hand, pulling you closer. Green eyes are fierce, burning into your blue.

“Non. Tu n’es pas horrible. Tu es une belle personne. C’est pourquoi je t’aime.”

You laugh, harsh, grating. You wish you could believe him. But you’re not beautiful; you’re ugly. You’re vile, disgusting, poisonous.

Why can’t he see that?

“Please, stop. Just…just listen to me. This relationship is over. It just can’t work.”

He tugs your hand, shaking his head wildly. His eyes are suddenly frantic, begging.

“S’il te plaît, m'écouter! C’est tout dans ta tête! Tu es magnifique!”

You’re angrier, throwing off his hand.

“It is not all in my head and I am not magnificent! Stop lying to me!”

His fair face falls into a scowl, opposing his gentle, easy-going nature.

“Alors, c’est ça? Je suis un menteur?”

You don’t answer, hating the hurt in his soft voice.

“You’re not a liar,” you whisper, looking away. “You’re just mistaken.”

He watches you, silently, waiting. For what, you don’t know. Your eyes flick to the birds on the porch, studying the small animals to distract yourself. You hate yourself for the way you’re hurting him. But it’s the only way to protect him.

“Me regarder.”

The order’s quiet, but firm. You reluctantly look at him, waiting nervously. You can’t read his face, something that’s never happened before. His eyes tell you nothing.

“Le monde ne tourne pas autour toi,” he murmurs, voice dark and shaking slightly. “J’en ai assez de ton égocentrisme!”

You stare at him, offended. “I am not egocentric!”

A derisive snort, a scathing glare.

“Il y a deux dans cette rapport! Tu ne peux pas faire tout les décisions!”

You’re angry, limbs shaking like leaves, blood pumping through thrumming veins.

“This is a decision I had to make on my own! You would never have agreed if we’d just sat down and talked about it!”

He throws his hands in the air, eyes rolling.

“Le Ciel défend, nous en parlons! Qu'un concept!”

He’s pressing your nerve, pushing all the little buttons he can find. You know you’re a coward, and so does he. You just don’t want to admit it.

His sarcasm biting into your defences, you quickly leave the kitchen, heading for the hall. Quick footsteps tell you he’s following, but you refuse to look back. Hand quickly reaching into one of the storage compartments lining the umber wall, you snatch your keys, stuffing your feet into beat up shoes at the same time. By the time he’s reached you, the door is open and you’re halfway through.

“Arrêt!” he pleads, reaching for your arm. “Ne laissez pas!”

Your eyes turn to him sadly, a broken smile tilting your dry lips.

“I have to.”

The door closes with a decisive click, shutting in the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

What have you done?