My Gorgeous French Girl

Traveling was on my bucket list. Seeing the giant mountains in Europe, or even the salty breeze in the Caribbean. If I didn't complete my bucket list, I would feel lost. But maybe I would anyway.

“Max!” A familiar voice calls my name. I turn to meet her blue eyes, which sparkle in the sun. She currently has three suitcases, all a matching purple with ripples that line the sides horizontally. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, hugging me tight. Her name is Henriette, and she is my gorgeous French girl. A train blows its whistle beside us, startling me a little. I let go of her and backed up a bit. She grabs her bags, motioning for me to take one of them. “I have no idea why I packed so much,” she wails, “But, I do need it all.” I chuckle, taking the second largest bag from her. I had two bags, both beige and then one duffel bag. She drags her two suitcases to the stairs of the train, hoisting them up. She was fine getting up the gray stairs, until her heel got stuck in one of the ridges. A man with a clean face and kind eyes took her bags from her. He then helped Henriette get unstuck by grabbing her hand and pulling her up. Making my way up the stairs next, I gave the tall man a silent glare. I pulled Henriette with me to our seats, putting the suitcases up in the compartments over the seats. I let her have the window seat, honestly, I’d let her have anything.

Henriette fell asleep quickly, giving me time to listen to various rock and classical music. I brush some spare blond hair out of her face, gazing at her features: her cute little nose, freckles that line her cheeks, and soft lips. I will miss her.

The train intercom goes off, waking me and Henriette from our slumber, “Come on.” I mumble, grabbing her forearm and my bags. We sleepily make our way down the aisle, stumbling over people’s feet that they leave there. We eventually make it outside, but Henriette almost falls down the stairs. Dumbass. We grab our suitcases and head towards the train station exit. The ceiling was very tall, with lights drizzled over its wings. I stood in place, my eyes studying the intricate details. There was also a huge clock on the wall, telling the time of day. The train ride had been six full hours of music and off-and-on slumber. I might’ve spent too long looking at Henriette’s face. 

We spent a week in Rome. A week in the blazing hot sun of Italy, a week of eating croissants from a local bakery, a week of waiting for buses while sweating. Some of the buses also didn’t have air conditioning. I loved travelling, but this was too hot. And there were too many people. Henriette cursed in French every time we had to wait, her heat tolerance low. She was used to the rainy days of France, not the heat strokes of Rome. On our last day of the trip ot Rome, we stopped at a cafe. The cafe was adorable, in a sense. It had tiny Italian flags on the walls and black and white photographs of what this space must’ve been before ecostructure destroyed it. The cafe itself was sparse, except for a few people, like us, who had decided to stop for a sweet treat. We sat down in a booth, Henri taking out her fan, which she bought for only a euro at a flea market, and waved it in her face, “This heat is getting to me,” she groaned, waving the fan a little faster, “It’s been fun and all, just tired of putting on loads of sunscreen. And I’m burnt!” She was right; her face was reddish and her shoulders, especially too. I couldn’t help but smile. 

“Henri, it’s not even that bad.” I snickered as she groaned again.

“You always say that.” With that, I got up from the booth, heading to the counter. I ordered gelato al cioccolato for me and a coffee drink for Henriette. I leaned against the stone counter, staring at Henri’s golden blonde hair. She swears she doesn’t dye it, but I can see the brown roots on the top of her head. I place the ceramic cup on the table in front of her, the cup matching the tiny tray it lays on. I sit back in the same place I was. “Maxienne?”

I look up from my gelato, meeting her gaze. “Yes?”

“We’re going to Morterone next, right?” Her blue eyes weren’t as wide as they usually are, her frown curled down in a slight frown. Hearing that place's name sends an excited shiver down my spine.

“Right.”

After we left the cafe, we started packing. Henriette folded her clothes neatly, one reason I love her, I suppose. I just shoved mine into the bag. She made me sit on her suitcase so she could zip it. I know I said that I liked when she was neat, but sometimes, it was too much. For instance, the whole apartment we stayed at was reorganized by Henriette. She moved the soap to a different place on the sink. The plates were moved to different cabinets. She would stay up late for hours, just so she could sleep peacefully. I was through with this bitch.

The train to Milan was long, but not as long as the train to Rome. After the ride, we took another train to Lake Como. Lake Como was gorgeous. It was more pretty than the pictures. From there, we took a bus to the city of Morterone. It was called a hidden gem, supposedly. Not many people came because of the low population, but that was the reason I chose this place. We chose a resort to stay at; it was right on the lake, giving us a gorgeous view.

The night of her death, I took Henriette out for a walk. 

Henri looked up at me with love in her eyes. We were on top of the mountain in Monterone. “I know what we're here for.” She smiled, her thin hand coming up to cup my face. Henriette and her blue eyes, meeting my own hazel ones.

“You do?” I played dumb. I knew she thought I was going to propose. 

“Baby..” Her teeth, light yellow that matched the moon. She looked away sheepishly. She then quickly shut her mouth, giving me a passionate kiss on the lips. I let her kiss me, her eyes shut. I stared at her again. 

I would miss her. Of course I would. We spent four years together. We traveled together. We were each other's everything.

But when I stabbed her, I didn't feel any remorse.

Her body crumpled in my arms, thick, red blood leaking from her stomach. She coughed it up too, landing right onto my chest. I kept her up in my arms, before laying her down on the ground rather gently. “Goodbye,” I muttered into her ear, “I suppose I'll miss you.”

The train ride back to Germany was normal. The seat next to me was empty, I had bought it for Henriette. I looked out the window. The trees and mountains flowed by like nothing had happened. Like I hadn't just killed the most important person in my life.