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visndcaitswhore · 9 months

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Amavi || Ch.2

That day Gabrielle conveniently lost her cigarettes, and she acted like the entire time she was supposed to be studying, she wasn't throwing glances at the closed window across from her every 2 minutes while tapping her leg nervously. To the point where her mom had to shout at her from downstairs because they could hear her heel thumbing on the wooden floor through the ceiling to the living room.

Her mind was racing about how to approach this when she just decided to wing it and go with the flow. She locked her door, buttoned up her shirt, which she usually had a bit too open when in the comfort of her room, and grabbed a matchbox on one hand and a tiny rock on the other before making her way to the window.

Gabrielle noticed the lights were on. Then again, she would wake him up even if they weren't. When the peddle hit the window, it made a sound. Not too loud, not too quiet to go unnoticed by the boy inside the room. Still, he took his sweet time to answer, and Gabrielle was left glaring at his curtains, head propped up on her fist, till he finally opened them.

He must have been sleeping or was simply tired. Those were her first thoughts and the first thing she noticed about him. Aside from the white patch over his left eye, It wasn't that bad, but it was different. Kind of made her sad. Not that it changed his face that much; it could've been worse.

"Finally. I thought you died," she remarked, opting to ignore the subject for now. There is no need to be soft and make things weird.

He flipped her off, and she smiled, knowing her decision was the correct one. "Toss a few."

He fished a few out of his pocket. "Two?"

"Four." He paused and gave her a look, making her shrug. "I run out."

"You never give me more than three," he pointed out, still focused on the cigaretes in his hand. Gabrielle watched him, remembering that her father used to have a friend who had lost his eye, and he couldn't really focus on objects for a while. He would try to grab something, but he could only grab air. It was something he got used to after adjusting.

"Next time, I'll give you five." She looked at the matchbox in her hand, reading the words she had written on it: "Plus, I have a gift for you."

She was aware it wouldn't do Michele any good, but something about him not being confident, even when he is being an asshole, and locking himself in his room made her uncomfortable. Maybe because he was never meant to be quiet, even when they were younger, he was full of life. It may not seem like it at first, but he was one of the few people she knew who was unafraid to live the way he wanted. Maybe she admired him for it, or maybe she craved that quality of his to stay in her life.

His quietness unnerved her. She was the quiet one; her quiet was familiar. That's why they had been friends, she thinks. She was quiet, and he never misunderstood that. He didn't misunderstand her loudness, either. She returned the favor, knowing that's just how Joseph was—he could bite.

Biting was something they both knew how to do. Heck, she was worse than him, blowing up and lashing out like a second language. Bruised knuckles and bloody noses brought her comfort, in a way.

So, late-night smoke breaks were needed. For both of them. And for him to go back to how he was, he didn't need just a gift or one of those magazines boys liked so much. Gabrielle was going to make him remember how to be spiteful.

He tied four cigarettes together, as she had requested, and threw them at her. They were a bit off the mark, yet Gabrielle caught them and made a show of counting them, checking to see if they were unsmoked, and one of them was a bit burned at the end of it. The girl held it up, showing him "Cheap."

He smirked unapologetically, resting his arms on the stone service of the window sill. "Still waiting for my gift." His words trailed off as he watched her place that one cigarette he had tried to smoke about an hour ago but decided against it between her lips, which made him unconsciously lick his.

"My mom is going to bring you cake one of these days."

Gabrielle lit it, taking a drag and letting the sounds around them fill the quiet. Just from the floor below she could hear her sisters laughing, talmking and running around. A few houses away there was a store, that sold the best pastries Gabrielle had ever tasted. even now, she could smell the croquembouche in the air.

He scoffed, "That's not your gift."

"I can't bake."

"I know, Cheri," he joked.

Gabrille laughed, remembering how she had created chaos in her kitchen a few years ago, to which the boy was a witness and was never planning on letting her live it down. Finally, she showed him the matchbox; he squinted at it in confusion, then looked back at her face.

Joseph didn't see how a matchbox was a gift, which made him curious in a way only Gabrielle could make him, but before he could question her, the matchbox landed on his chest, and he looked at it, pushing his hair back. He had been in the process of growing it out just at the beginning of summer, maybe because British girls liked it or because he had heard Gabrielle say she liked longer hair.

Whichever it was, the admission would only be heard by the wind alone in the privacy of his room as he lay awake in the middle of the night, his thoughts eating at him, wondering if the light in her room would shine and if he would seem too pathetically obvious if he went out to smoke.

There were words on the matchbox, written in black.

"You didn't find out from me." And he nodded, for his tongue was covered in something bitter as he remembered the older Magnan sibling. At the same time, an almost warm feeling spread through him as he looked at her. His missing eye made it harder for him to adjust to any distance or change in light for a while; therefore, this was the first time since they started their conversation that he could take her in.

Her dark curls, her olive skin tone, and her brown eyes with hints of green and flecks of gold. Her relaxed posture, leaning her cheek on her hand, the cigarette hanging from her lips—fuck, her lips—lazily .And he remembered the last time they hung out, and the bitterness spread from his tongue to the rest of his body.

Could the bitterness drown her away? Cover him completely so he can be free.

She smiled and said, "It looks good, by the way." motion towards her own eye.

No, probably not.

"I look like a pirate."

"Poor, pretty Joseph. Your handsome face scarred. How will you get through with all the girls checking you out?"

At least she did not mention Vincent Auriol.

The blonde laughed; his face was scarred; his head was a mess; his mom was distraught; and he had the audacity to laugh.

Gabrielle could never have guessed that the laugh wasn't because he was looking forward to all the girls being interested in him. But because he was cursing his luck for the one he wanted, he wouldn't be one of them.

The next day, when Gabrielle saw him walk on the school grounds, she gave Michele a look, and since Michele did not know any better, she thought it was simply because the brunette felt for her situation. It didn't even cross her mind; the look was an apologizing one.

At the end of the day, he lost an eye; it's permanent damage. Her consolation thoughts made her push away all guilt as she chatted with Simone.

Simone was definitely the easiest person to have a casual conversation with, though sometimes she took Gabrielle by surprise with her words. In her defense, being asked if you are a runaway princess from some dynasty would probably take anyone by surprise. "Since you are wearing pants so much, I thought it was because of horse riding." Simone explained, her cheeks heating up when the tall girl threw her head back with a loud laugh.

"And your first thought was that I was a princess?"

"Well, you wear them a lot." The Algerian made a motion towards her pants, with a smile that turned shy when Gabrielle leaned forward, whispering a secret:

"They make my ass look good."

The short-haired girl put a hand in front of her face, certainly not expecting her to say something like that. She had heard many boys comment on her ass, that's for sure, but it did not cross her mind that she cared about that. Gabrielle adding that 'it's not like my boobs on the big side' made her hit her shoulder, laughing.

After a while, she remembered she had to go put her gym attire on, which she was not going to do in the boys toilet, so she had Annick stand guard in case Giraud passed by. The blonde took her role seriously, insisting Gabrielle go change first so they could avoid any suspicion if she was spotted out of the girls toilets.

"We match." Gabrielle noted with a big smile as she put her hair in a high ponytail when Annick took notice of the muscles in her arms. Her mom had muscles too, but they were the type of muscles one got from working a lot, which were nothing like Gabrielle's.

"Do you work out?"

"My dad teaches me savate," she explained, walking next to her with a shrug. "I like it."

"That's kinda cool." Annick said, looking around, avoiding her gaze even when she could tell from her peripheral vision that Gabrielle had turned her head to get a look at her. She let her, mostly because a part of her was used to being starred at; she had faced worse gazes. Keeping her cool, her eyes landed on her, only to find the girl looking at her much differently than when men or spiteful girls looked at her.

Gabrielle threw her hand around Annick's shoulders; it seemed foreign for someone to do so, but her body refused to pull away. "I'll teach you if you want."

"I'll just have you do the dirty work for me."

The fact that Gabrielle nodded with clear self-assurance and no hesitation made it seem that she would in fact do something like that for her. Maybe she would do it for fun, even.

Walking inside the gym with Gabrielle holding her close gave them a strange sense of deja vu when all eyes landed on them.

"I think they are jealous of me." Gabrielle whispered in the blonde's ear, "I got the best girl in France."

"France?" Annick found it excessive to make her out to be the best out of every girl in the entire country, even when the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

"Definitely."

Well, the gym turned out to be a disappointment since the boys were clearly having fun while they were stuck climbing a fucking rope, which can only be fun when you are 10 years old and don't know how to do so. Some stuff is fun till you find out how to do it; then they are just chores, a way for a teacher to give them something to do so he won't have to think about them too much.

Gabrielle was just keeping herself occupied by zoning out or listening to Simone's insane scenarios about Annick being some secret Hollywood star child. Though she had to admit she had thought about that one herself, she came to the realization that kids born to famous, rich, and accomplished parents probably wouldn't be good at anything; in fact, she doubted they would even care to try. The only time she felt like butting in was when Simone complained about a bruise that had formed on her thigh by absentmindedly adding:

"The love of your life won't give a shit about a bruise or a scar, Simone."

"What if he does?" She sounded absolutely horrified by the idea.

"Then he is not the love of your life."

At some point, the four girls had gotten tired of doing the same thing over and over again, so they just sat side by side on the blue mat, with Simone and Gabriele usually starting a conversation. Which didn't go great since Annick was her usual closed-off self and Michele looked like she was sitting on hot coals the entire time, clearly anxious.

Gabrielle kept an eye on her the entire time, mostly because she was used to it from keeping her younger sisters in line when her parents told her to. Well, and even if they didn't, it was her job to help them out with anything. It could get frustrating at times; that was the role of the oldest, though her elders would say. It was a role, and everyone has roles in their families, friend groups, and society in general.

Then Michele decided to start climbing the rope again to keep herself busy, and all that was left to do was watch the boys play. Gabrielle narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her nose as if a foul smell had entered her nostrils, knowing full well she could do much better than any of them. Applebaum proved her point when a ball hit him on the side of his head, which made her scoff and look to the side.

Coincidentally to her right, where her gaze diverted, was Descamps, whom she noticed had a smirk on his face and a certain, familiar spark lighting up his face. Nothing good, she knew. But at the end of the day, none of her business exists. Still, she watched him make a sign to Dupin, his partner in crime, and they snickered together.

A thought passed through her mind at that moment. Leaning her weight to her left, she whispered to Annick. "Is Dupin pretty, or am I crazy?" Who, mostly because this was the second weirdest comment she received in the past 15 minutes, rolled her eyes. "It was just a comment. Not like I would give him the role of class president in a silver platter!" Gabrielle exclaimed, offended.

Maybe it was also a dig at the fact she thought that Annick had every right to keep the date to herself, become class president and put Giraud in her place. She deserved to be at that position, she studied the hardest, got the best scores but Annick decided that keeping a low profile would be better.

"I don't know about Dupin, but his friend has been checking you out the entire time. Maybe keep your focus there."

A beat of silence. Annick looked at her straight in the eyes, while Gabrielle wondered if she could get away with getting physical with her like she did with her younger sisters.

Annick might be a proper lady but she was sure she would bite her if she even tried.

Gabrielle raised her hands in surrender with a laugh "Okay, I'm shutting up."

#joseph descamps #mixte #mixte1963 #annick mixte1963 #michele magnan #simone mixte #jean-pierre #fanfic

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