Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

“Jeanne…” The voice at my back spoke softly, surprising me. I managed to open my eyes as I lifted my face, spying at my company through the reflexion on the mirror. “I’m Harry’s mum.” I frowned. Of all the people in the world it had to be her with whom I was sharing those empty toilets… I turned over my shoulder to face her without taking my hand from my mouth, suspended in a never-ending gasp. “Oh, dear,” she let out in a concerned tone. I shook nervously, unable to articulate a single word. “Just cry, dear…” She sighed, holding her arms out to me, and stepping forward she threw them around my torso. The instant my head touched her shoulder my chest couldn’t bear the contact and I burst into tears. “There, there…” She whispered, brushing her hand down my hair, embracing me tightly until I exhaled my last sobs, and the convulsions finally seemed to quieten down.

“Thank you,” I muttered, wiping the corner of my eyes with my forefinger, hardly remembering in which language I had to speak. It happened with Niall, but he didn’t realise it meant I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Whatever he said, I ask you to forgive him,” she claimed, letting go of me. I leant back against the washbasin, glancing down. “I know I’m biased because he’s my son and I love him more than life itself, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to.” I almost couldn’t look at her, and somehow she sensed it. She led her palm to my cheek, making me face her. “He’s probably as hurt as you are. He’s a peach…” Yes, and she tasted just like him. My body shuddered completely. “But sometimes when he’s too affected he tends to snap. Please, accept my apologies.”

“I have no apologies to accept,” I spoke sternly. I wanted her to know she had nothing to regret on his behaviour. “He said nothing but the truth…–––my voice cracked a little. I told him I wasn’t coming, but here I am.” Her hand returned to her side as she lightly tilted her head left, seeming grateful.

“You can talk to me if you need to speak–––she said. I promise it’d remain between us.” I knew I shouldn’t… She was his mother after all. But the surprise of meeting him in such unexpected circumstances had made something explode into my heart, so I opened my mouth unthinkingly.

“I was certain he’d get angry if he’d known I was coming to Philadelphia, even if it was because of my work…” I tried to explain.

“I’m his mother, and I can tell you there wouldn’t have been a way to prevent it–––she observed in sympathy. Sadly, he found out the hard way. These last few days he has been missing you so much, so maybe this was meant to happen.” At her words I closed my eyes and slightly shook my head.

“No–––I moaned. We weren’t supposed to meet again…” I always knew that what I told him about seeing each other after the end of the tour was a foolish attempt to skirt the issue. “This wasn’t supposed to happen…” I mumbled, unable to look her in the eye anymore.

“It comes a moment in a mother’s life when you get to stand in front of the woman who holds the heart of your boy in her hand. And to me that moment has arrived…–––she said solemnly, lifting my chin up. This is never part of the plan, Jeanne, but the more you run away from love the more it pursues you. May I ask you something?” I nodded, mentally bracing myself, because I simply knew what was coming. “Are you in love with him?–––she spoke hesitantly. I won’t tell him, but I need to know…” There wasn’t an earthly way to be prepared, and her question struck me to my bones.

“I am…” I glanced down. “I am in love with him,” I gasped, the weep returning out of control. I took my hand to my mouth. It was the first time since my father’s death I wasn’t able to collect myself. “I tried so hard to fight it but I couldn’t–––I shook my head–––and I’m turning him into a neurotic…” I sobbed, closing my eyes tightly, in the hopes it could make it all disappear.

“You are turning him into a man, Jeanne, and he needs to go through this to become who he really is,” she stated, coming to grab my wrist firmly, as if she wanted to make me react. Her assertion abruptly interrupted my crying, and I glanced up at her. “I knew this wasn’t a mere infatuation the day he turned down the conversation about you just like he did last night. His entire life Harry and I have been almost the same person, and it was the first time I felt I was actually losing him…–––she admitted in the most generous act I had witnessed in a long time–––not due to the fame, neither his lifestyle, but simply for a woman.” Nature in its purest form, the ultimate reason I hadn’t been able to stop myself about him either. It was so simple, yet so complicated. “You two need to talk…”

“I can’t get his hopes up when I know I will turn him down in the end,” I spoke faithfully, trying to correspond her honesty. Because I might be feeling the force that made me go after him the first time pulling from me again, but I couldn’t allow myself to carry on with this. I knew I shouldn’t do this to him, to any of us, even though I ended up doing the complete opposite of what I originally intended.

“You shouldn’t stay in these terms, Jeanne…” Her worries were becoming obvious. “It’ll bring unnecessary pain, and you’ll end up resenting each other…” I knew that, so I swallowed hard. I didn’t want it by any means. From the beginning I sensed this urge in him, this hunger for sensuality I tried to feed harmlessly. I did intend to inspire him as I’ve done so many times with other guys, mainly because he wanted it, but I didn’t manage to do it without involving ourselves in the process. Something unplanned got in the way. “Where once you had love it’s almost a sin to bring resentment. You can fall out of love, but not like this.”

“I don’t expect you to understand me…” He would never understand me either, and that was the reason why it was impossible to disclose my feelings to him.

“I won’t deny it breaks my heart–––she said. But you have the right to make your own decisions. I wish you could be together, but I respect whatever your reasons are, even if it means I’ll have to pick up the pieces…” I couldn’t help but glimpse down. “You are a self-made, strong woman, Jeanne. I understand why he feels the way he does about you… In my life I’ve learnt too late that you need much more than love to build a relationship.” Somehow her words didn’t surprise me. Only a great, generous woman could have raised a person like him.

“He’s too young to understand,” I muttered.

“I know, dear–––she caressed my cheek again. That’s why I’ll keep my promise. It’s sad, that’s all.”

“It is–––I whispered, my heart shattering. I miss him…” I felt the tears starting to prick and burn.

“Then don’t be so hard on you…–––she murmured, looking me straight into the eye, and smiled lovingly. Life is full of surprises, and you are allowed to make beautiful mistakes…” I lightly smiled her back. I indulged myself with quite a few of them, always thinking it would be the last time, but I never seemed to be ready to let him go for good. “Come here, let me hold you–––she came to encircle me with her arms. You’ll be fine, and he’ll be fine too. You’ll always be fine…”

Philadelphia was the only time I absolutely lost control. I managed to remain calm when I met him at the art gallery, as always turning to all my training to seem unaltered, but what had been the point if after reading his text messages I literally melted? When I scanned my phone to reply Anne’s call I couldn’t help but read them. I was so mad about him I honestly didn’t think what I would do afterwards. I went to the hotel not because of the guilt or any sort of angriness. As I said to Lolo over the phone once, I couldn’t resist him. What I felt for him was too intense, and it wasn’t so simple to shut it down, especially if we continued running into each other. When I woke up next to him I panicked, but just then. I returned to my usual distant self quite quickly, as soon as I noticed he was still unaware. Part of me loved the fact that he purchased the entire exhibition. I banned Anne from speaking because the other part of me didn’t want him to get closer. I suppose his Anne kept my secret better than my own.

My attraction towards him was strange, and not nearly close to normal. When I watched him at the Olympics I thought it was impossible for me to fancy someone like him. Oh, the way I ranted to my friends. How could a brat in the middle of his adolescence affect me like that? Poor them, they didn’t even have the slightest idea of who he was, but I recognised him instantly. The grin… I would have punched that adorable grin. And once I turned around at the bookstore and found him there, staring at me when I was expecting a British girl I should have punched him and run. But instead we swayed that courtship dance all across my neighbourhood. It was madness… His eyes kept pulling from me exactly the same way they did the day in London. It surprised me that he felt up to the challenge, because I acted like a psychopath, although he didn’t seem to care. Not only he didn’t seem to care but, on the contrary, for some reason he felt thrilled. It startled me how easily he handed me over the lead. That was the moment I knew about his hunger and the power I had over him.

To hurt his ego in our way to my house was a bit rough, but I was testing his limits, and also trying to buy time. I still hadn’t figured out if I wanted to sleep with him or not, or if pushing him away was a better idea. It was uncommon, but I didn’t manage to intimidate him then, and amongst the fascination towards me he was showing through, his genuineness, those clumsy, boyish manners and his unconscious boldness he dropped my guard down. I was inwardly hoping for him to do so, as I wanted to fuck him so badly. I didn’t lie to him when I told him later on this raw attraction was the ultimate responsible for me to keep the receipt from London. My body was screaming for him, though I thought I could keep my mind–– and especially, my heart––away from the equation. I was wrong.

As for the time we spent together, I adored to have him around… I’ve always been a friendly person, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy to be constantly surrounded by people. With him intimacy just clicked naturally. I felt comfortable to be myself, probably as never before. There was something endearing and, somewhat, irresistible in his everlasting curiosity. He wanted to learn the world and he had the best attitude with his unpretentious ways. Who could have thought it would seduce me? I’m so used to deal with snobbish people, and so tired of it, but surprisingly the straightforward quality came from the person I least expected. I don’t like to be judged, but I can’t deny I might have had a certain prejudice towards him. It didn’t last two hours though. The more time I spent with him the more his eagerness justified his choice as the centre of my academic life. I had been right to feel so drawn towards him. There was something about him… What had forced me to write Martial’s epigraph on his picture? My intuition? Did I need to remind to myself it was impossible to fall for someone I didn’t know? Because I can’t really place the moment I started to fall for him, but when I finally acknowledged it, the morning we made love at my parent’s bedroom and he cried, touching my heart as anyone has ever touched it, I felt as if I had been falling for him all my life, and I was just suddenly realising it. I told him in Russian to be sure he wouldn’t get it, as some previous times I had mumbled other things to him in another languages amidst the rapture. Because some things are meant to be said, but not understood.

Since the first day at the bookstore, each time we met I tried to set an expiration date. But while things worked perfectly in my mind, he arrived as a furious toddler to break my arguments down to pieces. Each time… I can’t help but laugh tenderly at his displays of energy… I should have known he would be like this, never taking a ‘no’ for an answer, until I tried radical measures. I really thought he would get bored or mad enough to send me straight to hell so, at a certain point, when he didn’t, I simply understood we had fallen in love with each other… I move my hand to grab the picture he made me took with him at ‘La biguine.’ He was so absurdly boyish and handsome… I probably shouldn’t have gone on holiday with him, as I was already suspecting what was going to happen. But I wanted to enjoy the house with someone who could really appreciate it before selling it… I let go of so many things the past few years.

Two whole years have passed since he showed up at my place in Paris. Shuddering at the memory I put the picture inside my wooden box, next to the scarf he forgot and the dried sunflower I kept from the first time we spent together. I wasn’t expecting him. The book just slipped off from my hand. I should have known Louis would tell him I was leaving, but even in that case… By the way he left the last time we made love I thought he would never come back. Part of me hated to let him think I was sleeping with Guillaume. My heart breaks every time I remember his despair, but I needed to keep his attention away from my defence. Neither him nor Louis can ever learn such things. I don’t think their sanity could resist it, or whatever that’s left of their friendship. That night ended horribly, but then, as the very last time, I managed not to spill a single tear. It was so long ago, but I still can’t let go of the strength of his arms around my waist, his stare, the way he kissed me with those lips, how we were constantly kissing, his mind-blowing orgasms and, especially, the way we were that night… My stomach lurches. I lead my hand to rub on it, as I prop my head on the other, bending over the desk. I shouldn’t be pushing myself this much, but I have several deadlines, both the novel and my postdoctoral research, and then the moving.

Sometimes I wonder if I keep writing about him to dream of him, or as in the beginning I write about him because I can’t stop dreaming of him. Because I admitted to him I had dreamt all kinds of dreams, but as he barely used to listen, it was always easy to divert his attention afterwards. Yes, he was rather self-centred, and I was sort of expecting to get disappointed on him. He certainly was exhausting, even exasperating, and childishly jealous, but he never pretended to be otherwise. Each time I tried to shock him with facts about me, and even exaggerating some aspects, as the language learning, he freaked out, but he showed his true colours, when most of the men I know pretend to be cool about me being the way I am. They are all about supporting feminism and women’s liberation but then, when they think they have me, suddenly they change the speech and turn possessive, as Guillaume did, though luckily I didn’t fall for his ruse. Harry might have been a mess, as all of us are, but he was honest about whom he was, and never played to be somebody he was not. This genuineness is something I greatly treasure from him… I force myself to return my attention to the screen of my laptop.

ChangeMyMind: I write about Harry because I think there’s so much more to him than people think. He’s someone people may misunderstand a lot. Sometimes when I read about him in other people’s stories, it’s almost as if they forget he’s human and just another person in the world. That’s why I try to picture him in my story with his issues and struggles. I can imagine him being genuine and a nice guy, but he’s also a human being who feels just as much as anyone else.

I smile, suddenly moved, as I try to take some sort of notes. To escape from things that mean too much runs in my family. I tried to convince him that we didn’t love each other because sometimes we can’t give people exactly what they want. These are the kinds of decisions you carry with you for the whole of your life. In that moment in time, the possibility of us was completely off. We could allow ourselves some madness, a stolen season, but nothing else. He had a dream he was born for. He needed his fans more than he wanted me. I couldn’t get in the way. Not me… I simply knew too much. I know these girls, their dreams, their hopes, how much he inspires them. Some of these girls are even my friends. He could have the idea of them but I know the individuals behind his numbers on Twitter. They are real people to me. I felt responsible for them because I deceived them to be able to study them, and because I was older and in control. The world they created together was too powerful. It was their time, not mine, though he would never understand. I didn’t want to hurt any of them as I cared for them, his fans and him, but I chose to hurt him because I honestly thought he could move on as his words promised in our last talk. I don’t know if he has. Louis tries to make me talk about him as he’s always been suspicious, but I’m hard to crack. I hope he has…

The last time, after he left I felt so absolutely lost I put on some shoes, and throwing a trench coat over my body I rushed down the stairs. I wasn’t following him, but I will never know what would have happened if I got to find him again. Maybe I wouldn’t have been able to control myself anymore… But he wasn’t there, nor in the street. I just needed to run away, to leave it all behind. I turned left and started to walk as a madwoman, but soon I realised where I was heading… My old neighbourhood, my parents’ flat, my childhood in Paris… Parisians hated the Tour Eiffel so much at the time they built it, even Proust, but we have learnt to love it. It rises as a symbol of endurance… When I arrived to the Champ de Mars I couldn’t help but remember the wonder I felt as a child to share my name with something so beautiful. April in Paris… Chestnuts in blossom…

I would have never been able to tell him I didn’t love him if I hadn’t spoken in a language I feel emotionally detached with… A friendly feeling came to soothe my mind. I had done right changing the ending of my story. Maybe like this there was a place for us. Maybe if we had been other persons we could have been together… Because I loved him, even if I gave up on him. Until I met him I used to think love was a weakness, but then I learnt it is a good kind of weakness, because it allows us to let go of ourselves. I glanced up to the Tour Eiffel. It would always be there… Like in the aria by Puccini, the dream I would always want to dream…

It’s been so long, and even if life has changed so much, sometimes it feels like a dream I just woke up from.

–.–.–

Notes

You wanted answers.

This was the best way I thought to deliver them to you.

Breathe.

Yes, she loved him, and she fooled him.

Yes, Harry's Anne knew it since Philadelphia.

Yes, the very last day they ended up at the same place. Harry looking down to the Champ de Mars and Jeanne looking up to the Eiffel Tower.

No, I don't necessarily believe in fate, but I do believe in magic.

Yes, there will be a sequel :)

And in the sequel I will carry on with their magic but also, for those who read KAOT's 'Just As Much,' I will carry on with Niall and Erica's love story, and also Softballchick's stories. Thank you, my dear friends, for the privilege of doing so. So I guess I'll meet you here again. Soon. Don't unsubscribe. :)

Thank you so much for reading and everything else. I've learnt so much writing this and from all of you. I love you all.

P.s.: How are the feels? ;)