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@chrisbaudinarchive-blog
Under the tree contains three presents marked from Isabelle, containing a watch, a new pair of cufflinks, and a sketchbook with a set of new pens. A note reads:
Merry Christmas. – Isabelle P.S. Ask for your last present later.
Happy Holidays Chris!
+Georgia
This was the easy part. It was always easy with his lips against hers, unforgiving words mute when their bodies spoke a different language, her own pulling him towards the bed. She meant every word she said; the last thing she wanted was for him to speak, to hear something she didn’t want to know, or worse, something that she had. It was better this way, safer this way; Isabelle would always prefer this to any other, or at least, that’s what she told herself.
They were ruthless when they spoke like this, the truth spilling through the clashing of their lips and greedy fingers. When they connected in this way, they were invincible and inseparable. Turning so that he sat on the edge of the bed, he pulled her on top his lap. Their chests were connected, his fingers digger deeper into her hair and his lips trailing down her exposed neck. Through every single kiss placed on her skin, he apologized for having ran, he professed the real reasons. Only this way they were always honest. He only pulled away to help rid her of her shirt and his, much preferring skin on skin.
“I don’t want you to say anything,” Isabelle answered, her grip on his shirt tightening as she tugged him closer. She knew how this would go, this pattern that they kept repeating, this cycle that she didn’t quite want to stop. She knew even as she set her phone down, with the screen against her desk the moment he sent her a text. Come over. Too quickly did she obey, convinced herself that it was a gain of control, rather than the loss she knew it to be. Yet she kept her gaze, hard eyes focused on his. “I want you to kiss me.”
Words had never come easy to Chris, to him they were meaningless. Words could be manipulated in order to generate a particular outcome, they could be fabricated and sugarcoated. It was why he never knew the right thing to say to her, because while he could be charming, it killed him to lie to Isabelle. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he crashed his lips onto hers. He spoke best through his actions, through the his touches, his kisses. It seemed that only in this way could he ever be honest about what he really felt.
Well, ya punch like a bitch, so it’s probably best if I do the hittin’ ‘round here, aye?
Ouch and here I thought you were coming around. But you do have a better swing, so I’ll stick to the bailing out then.
It’s tough and it does wear me out at times but like I said, it’s a tough job and someone has to do it. I’m just glad I can inspire you, maybe one day you could have a great smile like me. Talk to your dentist, he might help.
I happen to have an amazing smile, so need to work on that. Are you excited for Christmas?
Oh no, I um, I would consider that a con, personally. I have very little self-control when it comes to pastries..so that wouldn’t work for me. I’d have to restock my entire wardrobe constantly to accommodate for bigger sizes..To New York? I um, I’d like that, sure. Would you be opposed to doing all of the touristy type things? Because I might be the wrong companion if that’s the case. Oh goodness, I don’t think my Italian is proficient enough for a novel, but uh..maybe if I do a book of poems, one could be in Italian. I will certainly keep that in mind, maybe I’ll base the character’s features off you—that um..sounded a bit creepier than I’d wanted it to. Grammar I can do, just general opinions would be fine. A supportive rivalry, perhaps? We could attend each other’s events and be kind, while the fan base argues over plots and characters. She’s a friend of mine; I wouldn’t want it getting ugly. It’s especially nice if you are being honest; you’re um, you’re making me smile, thank you. Would you mind if I took a look? Um..yes and no..I’ve started work on my dinner dress for Christmas, but I’m not completely satisfied with how it’s been styled.
All the walking one seems to do in Paris helps with the controlling of the weight, so there is a pro to your con. No I suppose I wouldn’t, what better way to know a city than to be a tourist. But I draw the line at wearing a I heart New York shirt, or a Statue of Liberty crown. That is what google translate is for, to help with all the spelling. Although I think your grammar may have to suffer. I promise it didn’t sound creepy, that’s very flattering of you. But I’d prefer not to be included in anyone’s novel, if that’s alright with you? I would be more than happy to read your story, I’m sure it will be a good one. A supportive rivalry, I can see that. Actually yes, I would love a second opinion. How have you styled it? What literary artwork or character are you basing it off?
Kara was attracted to the same types. Brooding, cocky and posh snobs despite them being against am everything she stood for. There was a thin line between love and hate, one she was always crossing in and out of with Baudin. Not that she loved him or ever would of course. The satisfying expression on his face made her smile and encouraged another hit, this one knocking the mitts out of his hand and sending him aimed straight for the floor under her weight. “How’s that for better?” She breathed, smirking wide.
He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from between his lips as he landed across the mat. Chris had to hand it to her, she definitely knew how to hand it to him. Yet he swung his leg in between hers and yanked causing her to tumble nearly on top of him. “There’s always room for improvement.”
“You don’t get to say that,” she told him, yet her fingers clutched onto the fabric of his shirt, when she meant to push him away. “You don’t get to tell something like that after ignoring me for two weeks,” she said, her voice soft when it meant to be hard. They were a mess and Isabelle was never good at tolerating a mess, yet this one she couldn’t seem to clean or dust aside. “It’s not fair.”
She was right, on so many levels. He had no right to keep giving her the empty excuses yet at that moment they were all he had. “Then tell me what you want me to say.” It really wasn’t fair, to either of them but mostly to Isabelle. She deserved so much better than him yet he wasn’t quite willing to let her go and he wasn’t that willing to fight for her either.
christophebaudin: you know where to find me
Isabelle laughed, the kind of laugh that never met her eyes, without any sort of happiness within it. “I don’t know why I even bothered to come,” she said with a shake of her head, her eyes on the ceiling, as if cursing the gods for leading her towards this boy, where she always inevitably seemed to fall back towards. “I don’t want you to apologize, Christopher,” she told him, moving closer despite the voice that shouted in her head, told her to turn away. Though she did wish, just once, he would miss her as she did him. “I want an explanation.”
He flinched lightly at the sound of her laugh, unsure as to why it caused him a small ounce of pain to hear it without its usual mirth. Pushing himself off the desk, he moved closer to her as they met in the middle of his room. It was spotless, the only chaos was on the desk he had just been leaning on. “You always come.” He whispered softly, more to himself than to her. Clearing his throat, he shrugged once more. “I don’t know what to say Iz. I just had to focus on my studies, I needed you to do the same. And we both know when we’re together nothing else matters.” The last line was the most honest he had ever been. He wanted to tell her the truth but the truth was that it had all become too much, too fast. Meeting her family, spending the holiday’s with her, having to put a label on whatever this was. He just couldn’t do it anymore but he couldn’t quite quit her either.
Pâtisseriegeorgiegantz:
What do you have there that you find lacking here? I um, I can understand that. Have you visited since coming here? It’s not too far a drive. That’s true too; maybe I’ll go into publishing and have international clientele..if at all else, it’ll um, it’ll be a good asset when I start applying for schools or career choices. Maybe I’ll lend you mine to proofread if or when it’s finally finished..Aw, that’s so sweet of you and I do know her! Izzy and I are friends now, I believe, though I haven’t managed to see her work..maybe when we’re older, we’ll have a novel rivalry. You are far too nice, honestly. I’m not at all the model type, but I appreciate the gesture and kind words. Have you um, have you started a new design recently?
Amazing desserts, we have a pâtisserie on almost every corner in France. That is one thing I really miss. No I haven’t, but I may need to. Would you like to come with me? Exactly, maybe you might have to write an Italian novel. If you ever need a cover star, I’m your man. I have amazing cheekbones and almost every heroic character does as well. Well usually. If you’d like? I’m not the best at English grammar, but I can let you know if it’s good or not. A rivalry? How intriguing. It’s not being nice, I would have said honest. I actually have, I finished a dress for Charlotte just a few days ago. And I’ve sketched a few things here and there but nothing too contrite. Do you need help with an outfit?
It’s a tough job being the happy one but someone has to do it. Besides, I could never get that morbid, not planning to live very long? The thought makes me sad already.
I don’t know how you do it Naomi, you are a true inspiration.
“Is that really what you want to ask me?” she questioned, pushing herself off the wall and dropping her bag at the side of his door, shutting it behind her as she moved closer. “After two weeks?”
Running a hand through his hair, he shrugged. There was so much he wanted to say but none that he would dare to. “What do you want me to say Iz?” Watching as she moved closer, his body reclined on his desk. “That I missed you? That I’m sorry? Tell me.” He knew his tone was a mixture of mockery and annoyance, two emotions that were the furthest from what he felt. But in them he hid the truth.
Ya could always try. Might be fun t’ visit ya in prison or detention or wherever they put cheeky fucks like you and me who prefer t’ hit their way out. Well, like me.
Well they can try but I’ve seen you run, we’ll make it out. Plus you know I have your back. So throw the punch, or I will.
“I think I just word puked, but nice try.” The adrenaline she’d craved for weeks now had rushed to her head again, coursing through her veins and giving her that high. Through Easton’s array of assignments, social commitments and cycle of life, Kara had hardly gotten time to hit the gym, something she’d forced herself to do today. But most of her energy came from who she was fighting, and the annoyance was pouring out of her body in waves. She hated it, how just his stupid grin was enough to rile her up. She bit her lip, fists clenched and knuckles white, breathing heavy as her force increased. “I’m just getting started, Baudin.” With another hit, she was pleased to find she’d hit something hard, hopefully even managed to hurt him as she gave him a large smirk, waiting for him to respond.
There had always been something enticing about Kara or maybe it had been the fact that she had never really swooned over him. Regardless he had always found himself in this situation with her throwing jabs at him, only it had never turned physical. Chuckling, “Good.” He lifted the mitt as she aimed once more, only he hadn’t been quick enough as the punch landed on his arm. Wincing he, schooled his expression into a cold one. “Nice throw. But you can do better.”
christophebaudin: smiling on the outside, dying on the inside
