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chapter eight . . . ! W E L C O M E H O M E
IT HAD BEEN a week into the Christmas holiday break and Marié hadn't seen Descamps since the last day of school. She wanted to keep it that way for a while longer and avoided any confrontation with him. Marié knew he wouldn't dare come by her house, especially at her uncle's home. But that didn't mean she was safe walking the streets and getting by without bumping into him.
Marié couldn't explain her feelings for Descamps, they were complex. She was frustrated that they were so confusing and scattered in her mind. There were many attempts at denying herself the acknowledgment that there was something there for Descamps. But she couldn't deny it any further, it was simply impossible.
The feelings she felt were different from the ones with Jean-Pierre. Jean-Pierre admitted to loving her and wanting a future together, making her feel a sinking pit in her stomach. When Descamps stated that he wanted her and inched toward her like an animal circling its prey, she felt a craving thrill she didn't want to end. When hands touched her skin, shivers and an emerging intoxicating heat were left lingering in his path up and down her body. His lips danced with hers with the same reciprocated fever.
She found herself craving his presence and she despised the feeling deeply. Marié thought ignoring it would work but that didn't help each time she saw him in her line of sight. Even after not seeing him for a week, she still thinks of his hot touch on her lower back and what it would feel like to have his fingertips tease up her sides. She wanted him to look at her and only her once more.
She hated it deeply.
Marié wouldn't dare give in to a boy like Descamps, she knew what kind of boy he was and she refused to let him use her for his enjoyment. Marié hoped that the Christmas break would go by slowly and she wouldn't have to see Descamps until the start of school. She wished to the Gods above that those unwanted feelings would go away in the meantime, drifting off into the winter sky as if they were never there.
Marié knew that it wouldn't be a problem when her mother finally arrived from Italy to live with her and Claude. She hadn't seen her mother in four years, she was only thirteen when she left Italy to be with her uncle, and each day Marié missed her dearly. Each day she thought about her mother and how she was coping with Marié's father's death, she was sure that many spots in Italy reminded her of him.
Marié knew her mother missed her dearly as well. But not so dearly once she had come home to witness all her daughter's beautiful long hair chopped off.
Céline Badeaux's scream of horror cut through the room followed by the loud sound of her bags dropping to the ground in complete shock. Marié was at least generous enough to wait until her mother was inside the house and Claude had shut the door before breaking the news to her. Marié contemplated wearing a scarf on her head in a fashionable way to distract from it but that would've made her mother more suspicious. It was easier to rip the bandaid off.
