She Changed Me

[I don't speak french]

[W: Some degree of violence]

The roof presented a stunning view of the streets below. It was calming. Just sitting here. Cars drove beneath me. I wonder where they're going. The lights shone brightly from the buildings. I looked at the lit windows of an apartment complex nearby. I closed my eyes and pictured those inside. A family of four sitting for dinner? A college student bent over her next project? A group of friends cheering their favorite soccer player on the tv? Maybe.

And me? I carefully stood up and walked back into the complex. Fumbling with my keys, I balanced the most recent bills and postal junk under my arm. The door clicked and gently swung open. "Home sweet home," I thought to myself. "Hi, Honey." my ginger cat purred as she rolled over my shoes. The radio played the newest hits. With a quick flick, the music stopped, and I plopped onto the bed. Honey was quick to jump next to me. 

I surveyed the room that has been home to me for the past two years. I picked up my wallet from the nightstand and pulled out my driver's license. The same face- brown eyes and black crew-cut hair- stared back at me. The name on it matched my apartment contract, identification papers, bills, and coffee orders, but it simply reminded me of the fraud I was. 

Nobody knew me. I got up and reached under my bed, groping around till I felt it. I pulled the long case from under my bed and opened it. I grabbed the rifle carefully, taking it out and setting it on the desk. The barrel was spotless. The scope is perfectly centered. I couldn’t get rid of it. This was me. Emphasize on ‘was.’ 

How much blood was on my hands? I killed for the money and thrill. An assassin for hire. But that changed. It changed when I met her. She was beautiful. Her eyes were a captivating blue. Her hair was gold. Her voice was like honey. I ran into her. Literally.

…

An overseas mission: France, one target, half a million dollars. Apparently, the CEO of an underground monopoly died, and his son was his appointed heir. It was practically a vacation. 

I sat in front of a quaint french café sipping a cappuccino in an attempt to ease the jetlag. The sun is barely visible. Enough people were about that there was some cover, but not too many people to risk a scene. My watch beeped as a well-dressed man walked past. "Idiot," I thought to myself. His whole attire screamed, "I'm rich!" from his Gucci shoes to his custom-made suit. Fancy sunglasses too?! Louis Vuitton, I think. Sure, I make a ton of money, but I'm definitely not a flashy guy. He yelled to whoever was on the other end of the phone while typing something on his watch. 

I quickly got up, leaving a couple of euros on the table. My heart rate quickened in anticipation. The small handgun hidden beneath my jacket itched. And then it stopped. I usually would have kept walking, but I stopped. In front of me knelt a young girl, quickly gathering her dropped belongings. I just stood there. "Espèce d'idiot ! Tu ne vas même pas m'aider." she exclaimed. I was shaken out of my shock. My mother was from France and had taught me a decent amount. In my profession, not many people could call me a fool and get away with it. 

Kneeling down, I helped grab the last of her items, "Je suis désolé, madame." Her eyes looked at me in shock. "Thank you, I did not know you spoke french." I couldn't help but chuckle and look at my attire. "I guess my jacket does give off that impression," I referred to the British Flag on my jacket. I had picked it up on a different mission. She laughed. "Wow," I thought. "What is your name?" she inquired. Sirens started to go off in my head as I realized what happened. I just let my target get away. Panicking, I handed her the items and started to rush off, "I'm sorry, madame. I have to go." 

Sitting back in my hotel, I swore at myself. How did this happen? I never get distracted, especially by a girl. I paced around the room. I was still tracking him, and I didn't have to leave France just yet. I quickly got changed and laid in bed. She was still on my mind. 

I was able to get some info on him and decided that Friday will be the day. Seeing how it’s only Wednesday, might as well take some time to explore the area. Being in France brought back memories of my mother. She was a wonderful woman, so passionate and kind. I miss her. 

A small bookstore caught my eye. “Eh, why not.” I walked in, the simple chimes singing as the door closed. “Bonjour!” An older gentleman at the cash register called out. “Bonjour, monsieur.” I replied, “Do you have cookbooks?” The man nodded, “Oui, look at the shelf closest to the window.” “Merci.” I walked over and looked over the shelves. I can cook; I don’t cook much. “Le fils à maman,” I chuckled to myself. 

“If it isn’t the British stranger.” came a familiar french accent. I quickly turned around, “Bonjour, madame,” I rubbed the back of my head, “I’m sorry for yesterday, I had a work thing.” She looked at me intently, almost mischievously, “Oui, bien sûr.” Standing at 183cm (6’0ft), I was not easily intimidated, yet I found myself nervous around this strange girl. Her eyes drifted to the cookbook in my hand, “Ah, you like to cook?” “My mother loved to cook. She was proud of her patrimoine français; I guess I miss her.” Why did I say that?! “Ah, I am not a cook. But I love the food,” she laughed as we walked to the cash register. 

After paying, we walked out of the bookstore. I couldn't help but notice how blue her eyes were. “Ugh, stop! You can’t!” I silently scolded myself. “Shall we go to the cafe?” “What?” I asked. “Shall we go to the cafe?” she repeated, “You owe me from yesterday.” “I do?” “Oui.” Just this once. “Lead the way, madame!” 

If I only knew what I had gotten myself into. I learned so much about her. Her name is Emma. She loves coffee and chocolate eclairs. Hates oranges. She’s lived in France her whole life but would love to travel the world. “I could take you?” I whispered. Her eyes sparkled; no amount of money could buy that. She has a pet cat. Just finished university; she studied marketing and business. And I trust her.

We spent the next couple of days together, she showed me her favorite places, and I became more entranced with her. But soon enough, Friday came around. I sat in my hotel room, my gear laid out in front of me. But the thrill didn’t come. I cleaned my rifle and reloaded my magazines. But I didn’t understand. I walked into the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. Facing myself in the mirror, I felt heavy. “What the hell?!” I cried, slamming my fists into the counter. I just stood there. For once in my life, I felt it all. The guilt. The shame. The red. 

A buzzing came from my back pocket. I pulled out my phone and read the caller ID, Emma. Another buzz came from my watch, the target. I clicked the green button. “Bonjour, Adam.” Tears came to my eyes. “Bonjour, ma belle,” I cleared my throat. I could imagine her smile through the screen. “Are you okay?” My brows furrowed, “I’m fine, Emma. Just a little tired.” I could hear a meow in the background, “Ah, Chérie. Tu es curieuse?” “Bonjour, Honey!” I called out. 

There was a small pause, neither of us knew what to say. “Emma?” I started. “Oui?” “W-would you like to go out for dinner tonight?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Oui.” My heart stopped. “What?” “I will go out with you.” She responded, more certain than I was. “Can I pick you up in an hour? Dress comfortably.” I planned. “Ok, A bientôt!” “A bientôt, ma belle. And thank you, Emma.” I ran into my room and hid all my gear, grabbed my wallet, and ran out of the house.

I walked up to her apartment with a bouquet behind my back. I’m surprised my feet didn’t crack the concrete with how heavy they felt. When she answered the door, I felt my heart rise in my throat. She invited me inside. The whole place glowed as she did. I felt a weight on my leg as she put the flowers in a vase. “You must be, Honey.” I bent down and scratched the feline behind the ear. “She seems to love you,” I looked up as Emma walked over. “She does,” I stood and offered my arm, “Shall we go?” She took my arm and smiled. 

The rest of the day was a blur. We took a train to Paris. I hadn’t been before. We got lunch at a little café and walked around the famous city. We had dinner at a restaurant, I made her laugh even more. Then, as the sun was setting, we saw the Eiffel Tower. It was beautiful. I looked over at the pretty girl that held my hand and rambled about the cute dog she saw. It was then that I decided she held my heart. I didn’t want to rush her, but I knew I could never go back.

So I stayed. I got an apartment two blocks away from her. After a month, I asked her to be my girlfriend. She helped me get settled in and find a job. Ironically, at the bookstore. For once in my life, I felt at peace.

One day, we were walking around in a nearby town. I held my girlfriend’s hand in one hand and Honey’s leash in another. I thought the idea of “walking the cat” was strange at first (I still do), but Emma was adamant. We stopped to get ice cream and sat down on a nearby bench. “I don’t know.” I started. “S'il te plaît, mon amour.” She begged. How could I resist? “Fine, tomorrow we can have dinner at my place, and I will cook.” 

Somehow I missed the sedan that had come up the road. A familiar face stepped out, same Gucci shoes and suit. Before I could stop it, another man stepped out of the car. I jumped as he pulled something out of his jacket. Honey’s leash was still tied to my hand. I tried to yank Emma’s hand as the blast went off. The sedan drove off as chaos ensued in the streets. I crawled over to Emma, but she did not respond. I lost her. All I heard were sirens.

…

I wiped the tears off my face and walked to the window. I had to leave France. It took me three months to make it to America. All I could think about when I got here was how much she would have loved it. I’m not the man I was before. I never will be. I can’t forget what happened, nor do I want to. She changed me.