OPPOSITES ➢Timothée Chalamet

➢ C͖͎h͓̺̻a̡̟͓p̢͎͜t͙͚̦e͙̻r̡̡̙ 5

PAINFUL MEMORIES AND NONEXISTENT PEACE

~JOHNSON~

I WAS WOKEN by the sound of someone showering.
The water drops hitting the marble floor of the shower. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands and then slowly swung my feet off the couch before lifting myself onto my feet with my hands. I stretched myself and let out a tired yawn. My back was killing me because I had insisted on sleeping on the couch so Timothée took the bed.
I sighed because the bed hadn't been made so I shuffled to the bed and slowly positioned the covers and shook the pillows to make them softer before placing them on the bed carefully.

"What are you doing?" I heard a deep and raspy voice behind me, making me flinch slightly. I hadn't heard the shower turn off.
I turned around, facing Mr. Chalamet who was smirking.
He was wearing joggers but was shirtless, a few droplets falling from his wet hair onto the wooden floor and his shoulders.

"Making your bed because you haven't and it's been triggering me." I said and gave him a fake smile.
"And one thing that's triggering me is the fact that you're not wearing a shirt." I added and pushed him onto the bed before walking into the bathroom.
I took two towels, a silky navy blue blouse that was similar to the black one I'd been wearing the day before and black skinny jeans.
I took my clothes off and started the water, holding my left hand under the shower head that was fastened on the wall.
As soon as the water was the perfect temperature, I got in and let the warmth of the water warm my body because I'd been shivering due to the autumn temperatures in France. I let out a quiet sigh as thoughts started flooding my mind. I learned to block the thoughts and memories out and focus on one important one at the time because that's what mattered the most when you're on a deadly mission and need to focus on nothing other than your victim and not dying.
But sometimes even I can't control them.
No one can.
Sometimes they flood into my mind without a warning, making me lose my ability to think.
Making me weak.
My mind was thinking of random moments from my past, memories, that were confusing me.

I quickly rubbed shampoo in and rinsed it out before putting conditioner in and rinsing it out too.
I washed my body with different washes and soaps before stumbling out of the shower.
I dried myself off while my head was spinning. I saw black dots dance across my vision, making me stand even more unstable than I already was.
I put my clothes on with the last strength and will that I still had in my body before collapsing with the ground. I could feel my wet hair soak my blouse and jeans but I didn't care.
I couldn't care because I was sitting on the floor while staring at the ground, trying my best to force the thoughts about my past into the back of my head again.
But I failed.
And then one memory entered my thoughts. The memory that I'd feared.
The memory that used to haunt me in my dreams.

*FLASHBACK*

"Goodnight, my love." My mother said with the kind and beautiful smile on her face, the smile that everyone adored.

"Goodnight mommy!" My nine-year-old self answered while beaming in excitement because the next day would be my birthday.

"Sleep well." She added and gave me a kiss on the forehead before turning off the big lights and plugging in my sheep formed nightlight that was standing on my nightstand because my younger self had been afraid of the dark and the mysteries and monsters that could be waiting in it.
She then walked out of my room, quietly and carefully shutting the door behind her.
I gripped my duck plushie tightly while closing my eyes shut, desperate to fall asleep quickly so I could celebrate my birthday with my friends the next day.
But I was too excited. After half an hour, I decided that I should look for mommy and daddy so they'd help me sleep.
I slightly shivered as my bare feet touched the cold wooden floor but I still got up and quietly opened the door, making sure I wouldn't step on any squeaky boards before I tiptoed through the hallways and stopped in front of the leaned on bedroom door of my parents because I could hear their voices coming out of it. I got ready to run inside and yell to scare my parents because that's what I liked to do as a kid.
Until something caught my attention.

"Mary, I'm so close to being able to candidate as the prime minister! I can't let anyone take that from me!" I could hear my father say loudly, almost yelling.

"I know, Henry. Why don't we take him out if he's spreading rumors about you and ruining your career?" I heard my mother ask but something was off. Her voice was cold, heartless.
Completely different to her voice when she talked to me.

"Y'know, I wanted to give them a fair competition. I wanted to win this fairly but he's leaving me no choice. We will have to kill him." I heard my father say. I expected them break out in laughter about the funny joke they'd just made but there wasn't anything.
Because it hadn't been a joke.
They were dead serious and my nine-year-old self had been mortified.

*FLASHBACK OVER*

I erupted in quiet cries and sobs on the bathroom floor as I remembered the time after I had found out their secrets. I tiptoed back to my room, freaking out every time I made a little noise, scared that they'd kill me too. That night I didn't sleep a little bit so I was exhausted the next day but I didn't show it.
In fear that they'd hurt me.
And I kept living like that. My ten year old me lying and having to act like nothing happened. For a whole week. A whole week of me crying at night and having to lie in the day.
Until they had died. I was told that it was a car crash but I knew it wasn't. That day they went to talk to the man that they'd been talking about the night before my birthday. I knew that something had gone wrong. They'd been killed.
But my younger self didn't know how to deal with it.
A part of me loved them after all, they were my parents but the other one felt disgust and hate. Feelings that a ten year old shouldn't experience.
But they only grew overtime. So I became an agent. I wanted myself to be as different from my parents as possible.
A part of me even thought that I'd be able to fix what my parents had done by catching assassins, people like them.
I thought that It'd bring me peace.

„Chérie, are you alright?" I heard Mr. Chalamet's concerned voice from behind the bathroom door. He must've heard my sobs.

„Yeah, I'm fine." I quickly answered, slightly stuttering.
I took a deep breath and wiped my tears before getting up and splashing my face with cold water.
I wrapped my hair into a towel before quickly walking out of the bathroom.

„Have you been crying?" he asked with raised eyebrows.

„No." I said coldly.
„Do you have a cigarette?" I asked.

„I thought that you don't smoke?" he asked with a confused undertone in his voice.

„I don't but I need it." I answered and he shrugged before handing me one and a lighter.
I quickly walked outside, onto the balcony before lighting the cigarette and inhaling the smoke while staring at the city in front of me.
Becoming an agent hadn't brought me peace. In fact, it only reminded me of them even more.

——————
Word count: 1.3k words

This chapter is kinda short and only a little ‚filler' but I felt like Y/n's backstory is and will be important for this book so I thought it deserved a own chapter!

~Sophie