Rosbif and Frog

My hands were buried deep in my pocket. Head down. Chin hidden behind the worn-out scarf. The tittering December cold left my face in bright hues of red.

I shuffled my wrist around in my oversized Christmas jumper enough to hitch up the cloth over my LED watch that I got from my brother

Fat. Get up. Work. Oversized. This will let you keep track of how long you work out. 

but still allowed my hands to remain in the radiating sanctuary: 1:17

Lovely. It has been precisely two hours and nineteen minutes since I stormed out of the house with a dramatic bang to the door and an illogical decision to not slip on my winter coat in fear of losing the chance to make an angry statement.

I held my head up high for the first half-an-hour or so but now I roamed around aimlessly trying to prolong the meeting with my furious parents.

“Idiote,” I cursed at myself.

Unable to withstand the cold any longer, I took longer strides, forgetting the icy pavements beneath me, which led to me land flat on my bottom.

“Auh!” I screamed out into the freezing night with water vapour leaving through my mouth and my goddamn wrists still stuck in my pocket.

That’s why you don’t walk with your hands in your pocket.Disgrâce

I quickly slip my hands out and place them on my waist, applying pressure, not that it made a difference.

“Merde!”I cursed under my breath, propping myself up on my elbow only to slip back down with a plop.

“Merde. Merde! MERDE!Espèce d’idiot! Honteuse!” I yelled at myself in despair. Today/ yesterday had gone so horribly wrong. So, so wrong. I turned around to lay on my belly and pushed myself across the pavement with my hands and toes to reach the wall of Rosa’s Café. I used it to help myself up to a sitting position. My back against the wall and my heels dug under the frost to keep me upright.

There, in front of Rosa’s Café, I covered my face with my pink, swollen hands and sobbed. The abysmal shrieks arising from within my chest. I tried to muffle the sound with my sleeves. Not that there was anyone to listen.

So I sat there and bawled. Rocking back and forth. Not bothering to wipe my tears because my face was cold either way.

“Bonjour.”

“Merde,” I swore, frightened by the sudden appearance of a man not much older than me, sitting there with a slightly smug look on his face.

“What ahre you doing erhe?” my french accent weaving it’s way into my English.

“Ah. Nothing. Just sitting,” he grinned. Those British fools.

 “Go sit somewherhe eldz,” I snapped. I could not believe this. I was here crying and The Fool, how dare he, he came, sat and watched my tears stain my jumper as if it is some sort of circus act. 

Salaud!

“But Madmozelle, I wish to help you,” he placed his hand out for me while I cringed at his mispronunciation.

“Rosbifs,” I  mutter under my breath turning my head away from The Fool.

“Ouch. Roast Beef. How can I possibly live any longer after such an insult comes to my poor, poor ears,” The Fool held his chest, with his wrist against his head and pretended to faint. Legs splayed across the floor while he lay, his hand still fixed on his forehead. I rolled my eyes at his childishness but could not prevent the small smile that graces my face.

He opened one eye to take a peek at my reaction. I quickly replaced my smile into a frown.

“Aww, were you smiling?” he asked rolling off the floor and sitting back up, grinning stupidly.

“No,” I replied swiftly.

“Liar.”

“No.”

“Liaar,” He drags on, rocking side to side ludicrously.

" I am not,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s just say my wonderful acting did not make you smile, which I believe it did. Yet why is a beautiful young lady like yourself sitting here on a dismal, cold night in Honfleur?” he pouted, tilting his head towards me in a questioning fashion.

“Non of your buiznez,” I give him a tight-lipped smile, before pushing myself off the wall and standing up. He called me beautiful. I stride off.

“Wai-”

I slipped backward, fall and close my eyes waiting for the impact. And surely it does come but is much softer than I expected and before a groan can leave my lips he beats me to it.

“If you were going to go, at least make sure…” he paused.

My breath is locked at my throat. I can feel his hard chest against me. His chocolate eyes staring at mine. Oh, Merde! I must be so heavy. With all the recent weight and the chocolate.Goddamn chocolate. I think of every bar of ChocolatBonnat piling on top of his. Drowning him. I quickly push myself off him and apologize profusely. Before getting up, using the wall as support, taking short, steady strides away from him.

“Where are you going?” his warm breath fans my neck causing the hairs on my neck to rise. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I close my eyes, force myself to gulp in a drag of cold air to compose myself and whisper,

“Away.”

“Why?” his voice sounded hurt.

“Because I-I must go.”

“Why must you go?” he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me to him, wobbling a little, before balancing us both. He stared at me, waiting for an answer.

“It is cold,” I whispered. Why? I had no idea.

“Is it?” he asked as if suddenly realising the temperature.

I nod.

“Maybe I could warm you up.” Again with the grin.

“Haha. Iz that what you English call a pick-up line?”I asked rolling my eyes.

“Actually, no. I was being serious,” his face completely neutral.

My eyes widen in surprise. What does that mean? Warm you up. Is that an innuendo? It must be.

Suddenly The Fool starts to laugh in a funnily horrific way. It started high, finished low and had a semi-gasp in the middle. What is that? Is that how they all laugh?

Horrendous or not. It was amazingly contagious and before long we were both left gasping and spluttering and spitting all over the place. After an immeasurable amount of time, we both sat down on the ground, holding out stomachs.

“Why -did you -zstart laughing?”I said between the gasps of breath.

“Your -your-face. That’s -all I remember -your reaction,” with that he started to cackle again, and again, I joined him. Of course, I had no idea what he was talking about but it was nice to be able to laugh.

After a while, we both crouched up from the fetal position on the floor, out faces hurting from laughing so long and just sat there in silence. Not saying anything.

“You know, Rosbif. I had a good time. Thank you,” I said watching him as he gazed at the stars twinkling in the sky.

“Any time. Frog,” he gave his signature grin and gently took my frozen hand in his, warming me up. Inside out.