The Invisible Girl's Parisian Escape

re, trembling under his gaze, unable to speak, unable to move. The world had narrowed

and graceful, and draped it over my shaking shoulders. The wool was heavy, impossibly warm, an

voice, a choked w

closed bookshop. The sudden reprieve from the relentless drizzle was a small mercy. The sounds of th

presence. He wasn't crowding me, just... there. "

say, my own name sound

g my face. "Clara. Can I call you a cab?

ght of his name was a fresh stab of pain. My phone, my keys, my entire life was in that clutch

he realization hitting me with a fresh

hing-anger? frustration?-crossing his features befo

t tighter around myself. The warmth

ice leaving no room for argument.

the skyscraper, his white shirt a stark beacon in the di

hment. It was as if I were watching a movie of someone else's life falling apart. The kindness of this man, Julian Thorne, was a confusing coun

an eternity, he returned. He wa

city, shot up my arm. "The waiter said your... companion was looking for you,"

nausea rolled over me. He was prob

hing the purse to my chest. Ins

ve, Clara? I'll

effortless lift of his hand. He opened the door for me, holding it as I slid onto the coo

window. The storm in his eyes had softened

ing other than pain. It was a strange, unfamiliar spark of connection. "Yes,"

r. I watched through the rain-streaked window as he stood on the curb, a

ully prepared felt like a mockery. A deep, cold resolve began to settle in my bones, displacing the frantic grief. The woun

vements methodical and numb. I packed methodically: underwear, a few sweaters, my design sketchbooks, th

incessantly on the bed. Mark's name flashed on th

where

your purse. I foun

n't you

l me. We ne

rony was bitter. He hadn't noticed my heart breaking, but he had noticed a letter that signaled my

pped the suitcase shut, I heard a key fumbling in the loc

sheveled, his tie was gone, and his eyes were wide with a desperate confusi

s voice rough. "Why are you pac

t time in my life, I looked at him without a trace of adoration, witho

aid, my voice eerily cal

ok the letter at me. "You can't just ru

owards something. I'm taking the scholarship. My path is in Pa

opped at the small entry table and placed the apartment key on its pol

ara, this is insane. You're not thin

ere's nothing to talk about. I wish you and Is

is grip was tight, desperate. I looked down at his fingers wrapped around my arm, t

cracking. "Don't go. Just... just tel

bewilderment, was the final, tragic confi

h the tense silence. The screen lit up the dim entryway, illuminating a bright, happy photograph. It was

n my arm, a physical link between the woman he was about to marry and the woman he was about to lo

gr

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