-- something in the way ., darren

[ainsley harris]

Everything had changed. Ainsley could feel it with each shallow breath, each hollow conversation. She had wanted to believe his excuses at first, willingly accepting that it was the combination of school and work that kept him from her. But she was unable to escape the nagging at the back of her mind—the truth. Darren Michaels was nothing more than a dream. Intangible, he had slipped through her fingers like breath. In his absence she found herself seeking for something to grab hold of once more.

His subtle scent still lingered within the woolen scarf round her neck. He had dropped it the night he left without a backward glance. She had watched him go, frozen in place. Words had fallen mute upon her lips. “I just need time.” As the door closed behind him, the solitary click reverberating against the silence, she had wondered how long he would need. It was the one thing they never seemed to have enough of—their clock was always running out.

Absence was something weighted with proximity. In the four years they had not talked, not a day had passed where Ainsley hadn’t found herself searching for Darren in every face, every conversation. She longed to hear him whisper an aside to her during class or laugh at a joke of hers she knew wasn’t that funny. The void had been impossible to fill, growing with each languid day until it had consumed her. She had fallen asleep, drifting and aimless. Deep within herself, Ainsley had curled within the comforting embrace the nothingness had provided her with. She longed to do the same now, but she had been awakened, and try as she might, Ainsley could not fall back asleep.

The door chimed in greeting as it closed behind her, sheltering her from the cold. Faces, familiar and foreign filled the small café. Heads bowed over textbooks, hands wrapped around steaming mugs. Conversations hummed low around her. All this fell upon deaf ears as she watched transfixed. The girl’s short, platinum hair had been pulled back into a tight ponytail, wisps of it framing her angelic face. Her hand playfully brushed against the arm of the male barista’s as she giggled over something he’d said. His fingers pushed back a thick piece of hair as he turned, shaking his head. But the girl persisted with whatever she was saying, gesturing as she worked to emphasize her point. With his head still down, he shook his head once more, his low, throaty laugh filling Ainsley completely. “Excuse me,” the annoyed voice of another of the café’s patrons broke through her reverie, time starting anew.

With a murmured apology, Ainsley moved away from the door. She had longed to hear that laugh, see his smile. Before her stood the Darren she had always loved, not the one plagued with all of her ghosts. He had returned because of another.

“Bonjour!” the blonde chirped merrily as Ainsley approached the counter, reciting the specials of the day. Shaking her head, Ainsley could not tear her eyes from Darren. His eyes slowly rising to meet hers, the lightness shuttering away as they connected. “Oh! You must not be French!” the blonde continued, reciting the list of sale coffees once more in English. Still, Ainsley did not look from Darren to acknowledge his co-worker. Betrayal seared beneath her skin. Was she so easily replaced, forgotten? “So what can I get you?”

Blinking, Ainsley forced a smile. “No. Thank you. I think I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Everything had changed.
And Ainsley Harris no longer knew if she wanted it back.

[darren michaels]

Insomnia stained his eyes. Hunger ravaged his bones. There was a weakness that persisted, deteriorating him. He was exceedingly exhausted; it dragged him down with unknown weight. He lived in a fog. In classes, he couldn’t pay attention. His world was a monotone of gray. He didn’t know when to turn, or where. He couldn’t think, couldn’t react. He thought he’d be able to understand now; all he had needed was a couple of days. But as time pulled at his flesh, nothing came. Surmounting frustration continued to rise as each day passed without a conclusion. This wasn’t about Ainsley, it was about him; making this all the more difficult. He understood Ainsley, he knew her. He, was a stranger to himself.

He had taken the café job around a month or so ago. Despite appearances of wealth, the Michaels family had no money. The only reason he was able to attend Académie d'Ouvrard was the combination of a small scholarship and his excellent test scores. He didn’t mind working at the café, although his French needed some work. However, in the past weeks, the café had become more of a haven than a job. With his mind fixated on the ratio of syrup to milk, the types of coffee beans, how hot to steam it at, and cup sizes, there wasn’t room for anything else. Maríe was nice company as well. Although quite French, she spoke fluent English to his relief. They made each other laugh. She had a boyfriend, a decent guy who owned a Ducati. He never spoke about Ainsley around her, he didn’t know why.

Recently, upon seeing Maríe, thoughts would wander. Of what ifs, and maybes – of possiblies, and perhapses. All of it conflicting and contradicting with one another. She wasn’t Ainsley and yet - he enjoyed being with Maríe. She was far too blonde for his taste but if he didn’t mind being with her, who was there to say there couldn’t be someone else. He didn’t know, he didn’t know. He didn’t want to think those things, and yet they kept pulling on the scruff of his neck.

“You must come with Laurent and I to Rhône-Alpes!” Maríe exclaimed, whirling around. “Darren, you must!” She always said his name with such a thick accent, it never failed to give him a chuckle. “No, Dar-uhn will not be riding sidesies for a honeymoon getaway.” She laughed and gently slapped his arm. “No ‘sidesies’ as you say. Rhône-Alpes is too far for the motorcycle. We will take train. You need to learn your French geography. It will be fun! Our friends are coming; I can introduce you to some.” He laughed and shook his head. “Only some? I see how it is – the American will scare away all your delicate French girls.” “No,” she said with a knowing smile. “They very much want to see you.”

A customer came up and interrupted their conversation. ”Bonjour!” Maríe greeted in her typical warm fashion. He slid another two cups into their respective shelves before looking up to prepare the customer’s order. Maríe prattled on in French, but he knew the customer wouldn’t understand. She was hardly better than him at the language; he had always teased her for it. His mouth fell slightly agape as his brow wrinkled with surprise. He was surprised by how forceful everything came at him. How much their past had interwoven. “No. Thank you. I think I’ve found what I was looking for.” She stared intently at him as a broken smile cracked her lips. Maríe stared at her perplexed and pointed feebly at the sign of daily specials before looking back at Darren. He asked Maríe to cover for him as he deftly leapt over the counter-door. ”Ainsley…” She had left the café counter; another customer was now ordering from Maríe. He instinctively reached for her, but she turned away. ”Don’t do this,” he told her in a hurried whisper. ”I told you I needed time. Everything will work out in the end.” A cold sweat rushed along his skin at these words. He was frightened. He didn’t know if anything would.

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[ainsley harris]

Time was fluid, ebbing and flowing like the tide. It had the ability to leave a person stranding and waiting, and it had the ability to engulf. As Ainsley Harris had come to realize, time also had the ability to preserve a single moment. Until now she had remained in the dream of what she and Darren could be, ignoring hollow smiles and placating words. She had tried to fill the spaces their silences had left behind. She had refused to admit that time had continued in spite of her. It had taken five minutes to destroy them the first time; one night to bring them back together; and now it took an instant to shatter all she had believed they had rebuilt.

.ONE.

Darren’s eyes had met hers, a spark of recognition filling the void between them. But there was more and the realization had left her hollowed. In that second she had found him once more. Gone were the pretenses and assurances she had clung to with desperate fingers. Beneath the warm glow of truth, Ainsley couldn’t pretend that the laughs she had heard fall from his lips had been genuine or that the smiles had been without care. More than that, she couldn’t pretend to be the girl he had fallen in love with a lifetime ago. She hadn’t merely found Darren, but herself as well.

.TWO.

There was nothing to say, silence speaking for them. She knew, he knew, and nothing else mattered. Without a word, Ainsley turned from Darren for the second time in her life.

.THREE. FOUR. FIVE.

Each step felt weighted, as though she were attempting to move through sand. Tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision, but she would not cry. Not here in front of him and the girl who could make him laugh – the girl that was nothing like him. Ainsley wondered idly if that was what the girl was like the night she had called him . The night she had heard him call out from another room, chuckling at the giggling response. It didn’t matter in retrospect, all that did was that this girl was not her. This girl could give him something she could not. Marcel had been right all along – she would never be enough.

.SIX. SEVEN. EIGHT. NINE. TEN.

She could hear the commotion behind her – his soft but urgent murmur to his coworker and the sound of the counter door banging into place. She could feel the curious stares of the other patrons as she slipped silently past them. Their unspoken questions pressed upon her consciousness. Who was she? Who was he? What were they? And, most importantly of all, how would this all end?

.ELEVEN. TWELVE. THIRTEEN.

Darren’s sneakered feet squeaked against the linoleum flooring in his haste to reach her. The air felt humid and thick as she struggled to breathe against the weight of knowledge. Ainsley wanted to turn, wanted to look into his eyes and believe that this had all been a misunderstanding, but she couldn’t afford to believe in a lie any more. She didn’t have the strength. If she could just reach the door and step outside she could breathe once more. She needed space and time to make sense of everything. She couldn’t with blonde-and-giggly staring at them wondering who Ainsley was and why Darren was chasing after her.

.FOURTEEN.

But he was chasing after her rather than remaining at the counter and making up excuses to her identity. No matter how desperately Ainsley wanted to ignore that fact she could not keep herself from clinging to the hope that it presented her with. Hope, no matter how fragile, was all she had left.

.FIFTEEN. SIXTEEN. SEVENTEEN.

“Ainsley…” His voice rasped low and urgent as he reached her. If she allowed herself to, Ainsley knew that she could lose herself in his tone. It had been her home, her solace and she wanted to believe that it could be indestructible. But homes could be lost and destroyed so that nothing remained but bittersweet memories and regret. As she continued away from him, Ainsley knew that she would never be able to regret Darren.

.EIGHTEEN.

Her hand reached for the door.

.NINETEEN. TWENTY. TWENTY-ONE. TWENTY-TWO.

“Don’t do this,” he said in a hurried whisper. The urgent plea in his tone was enough to make her turn to face him. “I told you I needed time. Everything will work out in the end.” His gaze flitted to the counter before resting on her, pleading and afraid.

That look was all Ainsley needed.

It didn’t matter that it had taken them a lifetime to reach this point – the moment where she would slip her hand into his and marvel at the way it fit or the split-second of anticipation before their lips met. It didn’t matter the hopes and dreams she had allowed herself to feel toward him. It didn’t matter because in twenty-two seconds the world was able to fall out from beneath her feet and she knew that she wasn’t the one that he wanted and somehow, with him standing there, she knew he was realizing this as well.

“I’m not doing anything,” she hissed. “This is all about you. Take all the time you need, because this-” Ainsley took another step back, gesturing around them-“this is the end.” With those words, Ainsely Harris somehow found the strength to walk away without a backward glance.

[darren michaels]

”Because this – this is the end.” There was a shift in the air – a deadening, a falling. It was as if silence had become dense and thickened the expanse of the courtyard around them. Something lurched inside Darren for a moment and then was replaced with a searing exasperation. ”Ainsley! C’mon…” he yelled as he watched her walk away from him. He jogged a step or so and placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her as he turned in front of her.

”You can’t keep doing this,” he said in a tired but sharp tone. ”I saw how you looked at me. I know you Ainsley, nothing is going on between me and Maíre – we just work together.” He sighed, frustrated. He combed his hair back with his fingers, and stared at her as the moments stretched thin between them. He was surprised to see that she looked as worn out as he did.

He thought about all they had gone through. All the time they had spent apart. Should he really be doing this? He had had all that time to think, to know if Ainsley was whom he wanted. But now it all was too real, too fast. For once, he wanted to worry about himself, rather than Ainsley. Maybe he was simply the guy to rescue her, not the one to keep.

He reached out, and softly held her slender fingers in his. She stiffened, but he kept his grasp. ”My life has been defined by you. I just need to know who I am. What I want.” He remembered all the nights with girls he hardly knew. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted – and that was the whole problem. He looked into Ainsley’s rigid gaze and instantly was reminded of their fight along the Seine. It had never been resolved, the imminent danger of Marcel bringing them together. But he remembered her words, ”And now…now it’s too late. You’re beside me and I don’t know how to get back.” He had left her after that, that had been his decision and yet here he was again, back trying to understand what Ainsely and him were.

“Do you even know what you want?” he asked, trying to rid a familiar voice from his thoughts. But it crept in and he was beginning to agree.

”She doesn’t need you Darren. Stop trying.”

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[ainsley harris]

Ainsley wished she could back to the time where she believed Darren had hated her. When wrapped within apathy it was easier to ignore the spark that flitted through her veins at the sound of his voice. It felt as though the odds were forever against them. First they had weathered her mother dying, then Marcel’s destructive course. The whole time Darren had been there, lingering in a ghosted memory of happiness, waiting for her. She had made so many mistakes; who was she to ask him to stay now? If it wasn’t the girl in the café, it should be someone else. He deserved the carefree ease that should accompany a new relationship. But Ainsley was selfish. After all this time she still craved the sound of his voice as it wrapped around her name; ached for his hand to hold when he was gone. She wasn’t ready to give him up without a fight. She owed him that much. He had already fought so hard for her.

There was a time where she knew his every expression, his thoughts as plain to her as if they were written upon a page. Now as she stared at his familiar features she realized that she had been chasing the ghost that lived in her memories, not the man standing before her. Sleepless nights were etched into the dark smudges beneath his eyes. He dragged his hands through his hair in frustration, and Ainsley felt something give away inside of her. She wanted to run to him and pull him close, tell him that everything would be okay, but her feet were rooted to the ground. Nothing would be okay because it never really had been.

His hand reached for her, and she stiffened instinctively, her gaze dropping to the ground. She hated herself. Hated that even now she reverted to the times when Marcel was near; the passiveness that had enabled her survival. Marcel had left bruises and scars, but she knew that Darren was the one who could take everything from her. “My life has been defined by you. I just need to know who I am. What I want.” Her fingers laced between his as she took a steadying breath. This was Darren. She loved him. He loved her. She was safe. The thoughts had become her mantra, returning her to the present rather than the hell that had held her prisoner for so long. “I never asked for that,” she murmured, “I never asked for any of this. But neither did you. I get it, Darren. Really, I do. You need time and space and who am I to hold you back?”

Darren sighed and glanced at his shoes. For the first time Ainsley realized that he was just as tired of all the fighting as she was. Perhaps a break is what they needed. She had run out of fresh starts but Darren hadn’t. Leaving was the only thing she could give him now. “Do you even know what you want?”

You. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, needed. I love you. I miss you. I don’t want to be like this anymore. The words teased her lips as she met his determined gaze, searing her as they yearned to be spoken. But she couldn’t.

“Do you?”