Login with:

Facebook

Twitter

Tumblr

Google

Yahoo

Aol.

Mibba

Your info will not be visible on the site. After logging in for the first time you'll be able to choose your display name.

Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

'What did I do?'

Jeanne’s POV

After more than half an hour of driving in absolute silence––no music playing, not a single sigh, not a stolen glance––, could the night go any worse?

Annoyance had left room to the most unbearable tension, that kind of tension you are able to feel in the air, a tension that makes your lungs burn. My body was in complete stress. I dreaded what could be coming, so my hopes were set on Pat being already there waiting for us. Maybe Harry had sent him home in advance when he spotted me at the bookshop. How could one know with him? Even being drunk as a skunk he must have realised the scenario couldn’t possibly be more wrong. Maybe he was just on a quest to piss me off, with no real intentions of having a proper conversation. How naïve of me.

I was aware that if the issue were to come up addressing the past would be inevitable. That’s why I didn’t want to talk at all. I pulled up and kept it shut. I didn’t even want to listen to his voice, the voice I avoided as hell for four long years. I might have continued researching what his fans were writing about him, but I worked hard to keep it to the bare minimum. I never watched a single new interview or listened to one of his albums again, much less the last couple of ones. Just the thought of it hurt too much. I tried to stick to fiction. I tried to stick to dreaming. There were times when it was impossible to ignore the cover of a magazine or his picture on the Internet. I couldn't give up on finding out about his link to Unicef when it came across, but the rest was virtually over. The somehow still corporeal him, the “real” him, I escaped it like wildfire. I learnt to live under the pretence that he hadn't showed up at Shakespeare & Co., or at least that’s what I thought, until the day the novel succeeded and I dragged myself into this.

“You wear the brooch I gave you…” When he finally spoke, he couldn’t choose a less fortunate topic. Harry unbuckled his seatbelt, staring into space, and I mimicked him, then moved my hand to hold onto the steering wheel to prevent myself from touching the jewel pinned across my blouse. I had forgotten I had it on. That brooch carried many memories, but with time I had managed to disassociate it because it simply meant a lot to me. I should have spoken first. Maybe doing so would have stopped everything. Maybe it still wasn’t too late.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you–––I talked as casually as I could, glimpsing at him with the corner of my eye–––but I loved it.” I wanted to tell him when he called after the first terrorist attack, but I was too numb to react. My Paris has been under siege since then.

“You loved…" Harry quietly turned to look right into my eyes, his movements even slower than his speech. “It…” My stomach churned. What was he doing?

“I did–––I nodded. I loved it… I love…” I choked. For some reason having to use that word was like a torture. I averted my eyes. The way he stares when he’s drunk was not something I could manage under those specific circumstances. I knew I had to speak again. I coughed lightly. “It.”

“I thought you would…” He looked away, adjusting his body to the seat. How much had he drunk? Was he fully aware of the situation? “Athena with her owl is the symbol of Humanists,” he continued, glancing down. I sensed some bitterness in his voice, and it killed me. The day of my defence had been pure madness. It wasn't a mystery. Even if it’s one of the most important days of my life, part of me hates it. “It was my idea, but your mother found it for me…” Well, that last part was unexpected.

“She never told me,” I managed to respond quickly. Glimpsing away I clung with both hands to the steering wheel in frustration. Anne…

“It doesn’t surprise me one bit,” he said as disappointed, slurring, as he leant his head sideways. What were we doing? I glanced around, trying to find a sign of Pat or the car outside his house. Harry breathed in deeply and exhaled, leaving a trail of vapour on the window. I always found the shade of his lips unreal. “Do you still have that flat in Paris?” One of his long fingers moved to draw random figures on the crystal.

“Yes–––I said not paying too much attention. It’s rented.” My body relaxed a bit. Small talk until Pat arrived was everything I could have hoped for. It would have been perfect if he just kept looking ahead. His mouth is too inviting. How it moves when he speaks is distracting.

“How’s Mme. Poulbot?” Somehow it surprised that he thought of her, because I did too, and a lot.

“Her husband died a couple of years ago, so her son took her away–––I murmured, glancing down. I haven’t learnt anything about her since then.” Neither Paris nor Mme. Poulbot were topics I wanted to bring to the conversation. They open wounds in me I cannot face, because there are things I cannot change. I didn’t want for him to know.

“I was quite fond of her…” Harry spoke almost to himself, stunning me. But it only lasted a second. “And Lolo?” I looked at him in disconcert.

“He got married like a year ago,” I claimed, trying to lift up the mood.

“To a nice lad?”

“To Éloïse,” I practically cheered, smiling.

“That’s a girls’ name…–––he smirked, scrunching his face. Wasn’t he gay?” I couldn’t help but twist my mouth. Was it necessary to go there? I shrugged.

“They met around the time I moved to Moscow, and fell in love–––I explained. They came to visit and we travelled off to Saint Petersburg together that summer.” When everything happened I was puzzled as Harry was, but as soon as I met her I adored her, so if Lolo was happy it was enough for me. I keep a great memory of that trip.

“That’s… unusual–––Harry mumbled, looking rather confused. We only learn when it happens all the way around.”

“I guess stepping back from gay is not political enough,” I ironised to keep the morale up. Something tinkled in his eye, and I knew it couldn’t be good.

“And how did it feel… not to be you?” He inquired. I frowned at him. What was he trying to do? “Come on, you know what I mean–––he joked. You told me you kissed…” Did he remember that?

“Those were silly games at parties,” I said nonchalantly, because that’s what it was, but then I noticed Harry’s attitude had become pretty intense. “It was pleasant because a kiss is a kiss, but it didn’t mean he fancied girls or that I fancied him…–––I carried on, unsure of what I was doing, or why. I never got to crush on him because he didn’t identify neither as bi nor pansexual, but as strictly gay.” As I finished my sentence Harry’s eyes were piercing into mine. But it was the truth. Lolo and I had been friends since infancy, and we knew each other too much to do anything beside innocent flirting. I mean, it was strange that he fell in love with her, but who was I to meddle? It was… It was surprising, and of course his mother called me to discuss it. Why did suddenly Lolo’s sexuality have anything to do with me? And why was Harry implying the same thing that Julie did? “Maybe if he’d fall for a woman–––I muttered–––one would have thought…” It baffled me to be even pronouncing those words.

“That he would fall for you, as everyone does…” Harry took advantage of my reluctance to cut me off. That smug face.

“Not everyone.” I glared. I could have slapped myself across the face. I knew I had fell on his trap, so I was condemned to endure him.

“Lolo is the exception that proves the rule. Don’t worry…–––he shrugged, back at it with the little attitude from the bookshop. The rest will continue to fall for you so you can control them by their feelings.” I felt my chest burning with rage.

“That is so…” I turned to face him, trying to calm down.

“Real.” There was my slap. But I had brought it to myself. I pushed my back against the car’s door, fighting the tears that were pricking at my eyes. I swallowed hard.

“Is that what you think of me?” I managed to pull myself together and glance at him, hoping he would at least tone himself down. Quite the opposite.

“Do you see this mermaid over here?” Harry abruptly moved towards me, holding is arm up. His physical attitude was nothing I could recall, so I understood we had hit rock bottom. All was lost. “It is you,” he claimed through gritted teeth. I watched him backing off as I opened my eyes. “Well, not the boobies–––his voice softened a little–––but it is you. You are a mermaid.” Mermaids are deceitful. My heart shattered, because it was my fault. I did this to myself. “This is what you do. You drive men mad.” I had played the “Blue Angel” for him, and I was going to pay the price. But I didn’t want to go through it. I was as mad as he was, and I couldn't let things escalate further.

“You are too drunk. Goodn…” I stretched across the car to open his door, ready to pull him out.

“No, not goodnight,” he grumbled, holding the door closed to prevent me from completing my task. It was useless to wrestle. “You don’t want for us to talk about what happened.”

“Not now.” I fell back against the seat. “Not like this…” I covered my face, not even trying to pretend I wasn’t upset. He was on full-mad speech-mode. That meant, barely listening to me.

“But I need to talk about it…” His voice cracked, and I turned to look back at him. When his voice does that I struggle. His expression had transmuted into sorrow. “Before I was scared of talking, but not anymore.” He shook his head slowly. “I want to talk about it–––his tone hardened again, the gesture of his finger down accentuating the whole effect. You don’t control me.”

“I never intended to control you,” I murmured. I didn’t. I didn't do it for him to fall in love with me, but the exact opposite. It was to push him away. But of course he would take it the wrong way. I played with fire, and it was my turn to get burnt.

“But you did–––he stated, half-shutting his eyes. You had me wrapped around your finger, flying around the world to get to see you.” In that moment he didn’t sound drunk.

“I didn’t ask for any of it…” I defended myself, supposing he would continue to attack me as he had been doing all night. But there was something even worse that he could use with me than direct fire.

“I loved you…” I wasn’t expecting him to drop his guard like this. His honesty hit me right through the heart. No more poems to mediate between us. Just the purest, unaltered truth. I convulsed as if I were going to burst into tears, but managed to control myself. “There were days when I could barely breathe. And I had to keep going, and hide it from the fans because they didn’t want a grieving Harry–––he said. I couldn’t let go, you know?” But that question wasn’t for me. It seemed more as if he were speaking to his old self, as if he were trying to understand. “You told me you didn’t love me… It was there, in my mind, spinning 24/7… Why didn’t you love me?” He suddenly turned towards me, looking torn, but he needed this. He did need to let it go. And I was going to shut up and let him conjure me in my very presence, if that was what was necessary. “What was wrong with me?–––he snapped, startling me a bit. Wasn’t I good enough for you? Wasn’t I in love enough with you to deserve you?” His voice cracked again, and it was like another dagger to my heart. How did I manage to convince him to such extent? A terror began to overtake me. What did I do to him? “There were days when I had to fight myself not to call you and reassure you that it was real, because maybe you didn’t believe me, but I loved you. It was real…” I had almost destroyed him, and I was confronting it just now.

“There was nothing wrong with you, Harry…” I mumbled, refraining myself from moving. But he wasn’t listening anymore.

“Then I met Abigail…” Abigail. “And she was nice…” He never talked about her with me. I remembered that one time I found him on the cover of that magazine in my hotel room in India, the day I learnt he had moved on with her. I tried not to be ambivalent, I always tried, but it wasn’t simple. Part of me was hoping he did, because I sort of had. But the other part of me just mourned, and made decisions. “I knew right away she had fallen for this guy, you know, the one in the media. But I needed a narcotic so badly… I needed to stop thinking about you, to stop dreaming of you.” My heart almost stopped beating. What was he implying? Did he dream of me or was it the hyperbolic effect of alcohol? “And I jumped in, and it must have been the most stupid mistake I ever made after falling in love with you, because it was a torment.” His eyes were wide shut, head hanging forward. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know those words were hurting me as nothing he had said before. Being the stupidest mistake of his life… That was some serious achievement. I averted my gaze, dejected. “But it was my fault…–––he beat his chest. I was so in love with you it was impossible for me not to picture you all the fucking time… So that one time when we were fucking and I called your name instead of hers she exploded…” I couldn’t help but glance down. “She told me that I named you in my dreams almost every night…” Some sort of nervousness began to rise on his voice, as if he were there re living it. “She went crazy and cut the slip I had stolen from your house in strips with a pair of scissors.” I looked at him in confusion. “It was on a drawer, so she found it when she went through my stuff trying to learn something about you. I shouldn’t have gone serious with her…” How did I manage to drive crazy someone I didn’t even know in person? I shook my head. It was just too much. “If I had suspected she knew about you I wouldn’t have, but she didn't tell me until it was too late. She was expecting too much from me… because I was madly in love with you…” I fought back the tears. The shadow I had cast upon him had nothing of positive. I had passed through his life leaving a trail of sorrow behind me, and I couldn’t forgive myself. I was lost in his grief. “No one has ever loved you as much as I did…” The desperation of his voice made me bounce back to reality. I glanced at him, and his nose and eyes were red from crying. “No one… No one… Maybe your father, but let me tell you, not this guy… Not this guy…” He shook his head, heartbroken. Hans-Peter… What did I do? “I would have never left you alone in a delivery room. I would have never left your side under any circumstance, but I suppose it doesn’t matter because he’s the father…” Harry pronounced each of those words as if they were inflicting real physical pain. Lara… In what world did I have imagined he would be OK with me having a daughter? My mind was spinning around. He gazed away, and I could have thrown my hand at him to try to comfort him, but I recalled those words from the poem he read earlier. If you touch me, you will do me irreparable harm. What more proof did I need? “I’m glad Louis didn’t tell me back then because when the band split it would have killed me. I know I’m selfish, but I needed you so much… I needed so much for you to hold me and tell me everything would be fine, but you weren’t there…–––he sobbed, not even looking at me. You are always there for everyone else, except for me. You were there for Louis, but not for me. And I needed you. I needed you, and you weren’t there… You weren’t there… I needed you to hold me…–––Harry howled in despair. Please, Jeanne, hold me…” In a second, he pushed his body towards me and wrapped his arms around my waist, his face colliding with the skin of my cleavage. And for that second I didn’t know how to react, overwhelmed by the feelings and the warmth of his tears and breathing against me, as he cried his heart out.

“I’m sorry…" I held him tightly, bending over to rest my mouth on the top of his head. I knew nothing I could say could mend the damage I had caused. All the more, anything I’d say could only make it worse, because I’m a destructive force in his life. Tears began to stream down, and I pulled him even closer, impotence flooding my heart. Harry nuzzled his face on my chest, sobbing inconsolably. How do you protect someone from yourself? “I’m so sorry…” I repeated again and again, cradling him in my arms to try to calm him down, but it was too late. Everything around us seemed to lose corporeal nature. It felt as if we were floating within a dream, in that region where you don’t know whether you are awake or still sleeping. And I don’t know for how long we’ve been holding each other like this, but I realise he’s not crying anymore. As I pull away I notice he has passed out in my embrace. “Harry…” I murmur to determine his level of consciousness, and tighten my arms around his head again, kissing his damp hair, as he’s submerged in a profound, peaceful slumber. Being so close is at the same time soothing and heartbreaking. His head falls back. I take a look at his face. He’s still the beautiful boy I woke up to that first morning in Paris, that glorious, distant summer morning. Mornings have been bittersweet since then, but if there's something I’ve learnt in this life is that you can’t have it all. You have to sacrifice some things to get others. My heart narrows inside my chest, and I can’t help myself and bend forward. His brow frowns a little. I can’t hurt him anymore. With my hand I cover his parted lips, to be swarmed by all the sensations he never ceases to give me, and closing my eyes I kiss the back of it. “If you knew how it feels like when we touch you’d have never believed me,” I mutter, and lean his head against my chest. Some more tears roll down my face, as I stare into space.

A knock on the window makes me jump. Pat… I unlock the door for him, trying not to disturb Harry.

“Hey, Jeanne…” He whispers as he slides half of his body inside.

“He fell asleep…” I say and turn away to dry my tears, a quick hand to my hair to fix it a bit. I must be a mess.

“Are you OK, doll?” There’s concern in his voice. Yeah, this situation looks odd enough to worry. How much has he witnessed?

“I’m just tired,” I make an effort to speak with a smile. He’s the most discreet person I’ve met in a long time, but I don’t want him to wonder. “Do I wake him up, or will you carry him this way?”

“Let me handle it–––he says without hesitation, pulling from Harry’s arm until his head rests on his shoulder. It’s not the first time…” I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. This is not something I needed to know. “He had a hard time when you stopped seeing each other…”

“I realise that,” I murmur, glancing down, both hands clinging to the steering wheel. Pat exists the car and gestures two fingers at me, turning around. Harry responds just enough to walk. A sudden feeling of emptiness creeps into my heart, and it aches. It aches. I move a hand to clutch my brooch, catching a glimpse of the time on my watch. “Happy birthday, Jeanne.”

–.–.–

Notes

If you were wondering if I could manage to postpone everything one more time, here's your answer. To me it's the natural progression of their stances. Harry is too hurt. Jeanne still believes she did what was best for him, though her perception might have been challenged. Their bond, and what they feel for each other, has to be tested a bit more before he learns her secrets. You know the bomb will drop at the most unexpected time, in the most unexpected way. Will these two fools learn to be friends in the process?

Niall and Erica's wedding is on the way. If you want to get a glimpse of the madness it will be, check the amazing one-shot KAOT has written HERE. Don't lose faith in me. The bigger the expectation, the bigger the impact. Love you all <3

Comments

miss you a lot friend,
message me sometime if you have the chance ❤️

You promised you would never make us wait for an update that long again... *cries*

Hello,

I hope your life is everything that you want it to be. It seems like the past couple of months have really changed my perspective of the world, and how much you need to appreciate the little things in life. You never know when life will snatch them away from you.

I have really appreciated all that you have done for me. I miss your constantly developing plot, and your infinitesimal points of detail. In other words, I miss this story so much.

I feel like so much has happened since the last time you updated. I hope you know that I am always eagerly awaiting your next chapter. Even if it's 5 years from now, and I am a fully licensed Speech Language Pathologist, I will try my best to keep up my support. Maybe next year while I am studying abroad in Italy you will find the motivation to continue. Who knows what's going to happen. Maybe I should take the quote from the t-shirt I am currently wearing. "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know you're gonna get."

Thanks,
Morgan

Morgan__Who Morgan__Who
2/13/18

Oh no, and then the moment came there's no next chapter anymore! What do I have to do with my spare time now?!
On a serious note: I loved loved looooooved your story so far. I loved the way the sequel wasn't the same as 'Dreaming of you'. Another timeset, other places, other people getting involved, and the tension being build up from the beginning till now. Their 'relationship' didn't went back to the way things were in France 4 years ago, it needed time to get together again and in a different way (happy about their love right now, but after 111 chapters I know things can change...). I really loved the way you wrote about Mark Owen as being Jeanne's 'Boyband crush'. I've been such a big fan of Take That and Mark was my first true love when I was 11 or so. His picture was hanging above my bed, wich I kissed goodnight every night. (I guess I've just spilled my age, haven't I? ;-) )
When I read the last comments, I think your last update was from 2 months ago. I really hope you can find the time, the energy and the inspiration to finish this story, because I'm hooked! Give me a warning when you'll write a book, I will be in front of the bookstore, waiting!

Love, Leah



leah leah
7/17/17

Dear You,

I've started reading this story two days ago. From the very first chapter I'm hooked and I can't stop reading. I don't want to go out, I don't want to sleep, I just want to read. Not to know how it will end actually, because I don't want it to end! So I try to find a balance between reading fast en making it last a little bit longer. I'm a fan of Harry from the day Sign of the times has released, so I have a lot of catching up to do. When you mention a song or a situation with One Direction, I look for it on Google or YouTube. So you're helping me to get to know the world of Harry and 1D, thank you for that! I've been to Paris a couple of times, It's such a beautiful city. I have good, romantic, memories of the times I've been there. You're writing about the city is so accurate and lively, it feels I'm there again by reading. My heart nearly broke for Harry and Jeanne when I read the last chapter of Dreaming of you. Happy to know there's a sequel, I going to start reading that now. I just wanted to write you this, because in the notes below the chapters you seem like a very nice, caring person. Thank you for writing such a beautiful story! (I hope my writing makes sence, English isn't my native language so I know I make a lot of mistakes. I'm sorry!)
Love, Leah

leah leah
7/15/17