In mid-July, Caen was liberated. We had hoped, since it was only a two hour drive from Rouen, that we might be next, but it was not to be. I suppose it was hardly surprising, as Le Havre was still held by the Bosche, and the Allies were more worried about that than our little city. Still, it was frustrating. As most of Christophe's men had been killed or simply left town, we were forced to work with Bradley's group, as we had no better alternative. HQ, back in England, sent me and Kenny orders to do so, and I suppose Christophe went along with it because he had no other viable options. However, Bradley's men were disorganised and often reluctant to take action, which made Christophe speak more and more of leaving town to find other Resistance groups in the surrounding countryside.
I knew, deep down, that he never would, and I think he knew it, too. He loved Rouen with all of his heart, and would not abandon it for anything. I also hoped that my presence factored into that decision, but I knew that was foolishly optimistic.
So we worked with Bradley's group, and Christophe grew more infuriated with our situation. Even Kenny, who had once seemed like a bottomless pit of patience, was growing weary of working with the other men, complaining incessantly whenever he went on a mission with them. I feared we were outgrowing our usefulness in Rouen.
Meanwhile, I was rather unsuccessfully trying to distance myself from Christophe. It was an exercise in futility. The more I tried to push him away, the more he wanted me, and I found myself unable to resist him when he touched me in a certain way, or said my name in a certain tone. I tried to convince myself that I didn't love him, by reminding myself of his worst qualities: he was rude, irritable, and acted like a child when things didn't go his way. But then a little voice in my head would whisper that he was also a very good man, who had a kind heart, as much as he tried to hide it. I was utterly doomed.
In the middle of August, he came home from speaking to Bradley with a big grin on his face.
"Paris is having an uprising. The Resistance there is fighting back," he said, kissing me and pulling me into an embrace.
"Really?" I asked, surprised, "Do you think it will be effective?"
"I have no idea," he said, planting kisses on my neck, "but I wish I was there."
"Do you think we could organise something like that here?" I asked, tilting my head back as he went to suck on my throat.
"Mmmph," he mumbled, apparently not wanting to remove his lips from my skin.
"What was that?" I asked, pushing him back.
"No. I don't think so. Not unless there is some major morale boost in the near future. We don't have enough men, for one thing, and the biggest difference is Paris has not been bombed the way we have. They still have it pretty good, compared to us. While the citizens of Rouen are worried about surviving to the next day, the biggest problem a Parisian faces is whether or not they can get cigarettes."
"That seems like a gross oversimplification, Christophe."
"Well, perhaps," he admitted, "But my point is the citizens of Rouen don't have the energy to be angry. And people need to be angry to stage an uprising."
I sighed, knowing he was right. We continued to kiss in the kitchen, but just as things were starting to get interesting, there was a knock at the door. Christophe pulled away from me, sighing. I slapped him on the arse as he walked away, earning me a dirty look.
It turned out to be Craig at the door, and he had big news.
"I've found transport for that American soldier you've been taking care of," he said, lounging upon Christophe's sofa as Christophe and I stood in front of him like vassals, "They'll be shipping him back to England, and then to America, I guess. If you can get him to Renneville tomorrow at 8pm, a plane will be waiting for him. It will be in the first wheat field east of town."
"What about the other man?" I asked, feeling panicked, "Kyle?"
"Is he a soldier?" Craig asked.
"Well, no, but he's Stan's doctor," I said, though Stan's injuries were fairly well healed, and he no longer needed major medical care.
"I don't give a shit. If he's not a British or American soldier than he's not my problem," Craig snapped.
"Wait, Craig, please," I said, "They're... they're friends. Kyle lost his entire family in the war and he has no one else-"
"What is it with you people?" he asked, finally looking annoyed, "I did what you asked! You wanted transport back to England for a wounded American soldier. That's what you're getting. I couldn't care less about this sob story. Have Stan there tomorrow at 8 or he's not going home."
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I couldn't imagine poor Kyle going on without Stan by his side. Since Ike's death he'd become completely reliant on him, and from what I could tell their relationship had become fairly serious. I looked at Christophe, who had said nothing during the exchange, but was looking concerned.
"This will tear Kyle apart," I said to him, getting worked up, "We can't..."
"I know," he said, reaching out for me, "Calm down. Let's think of a plan, ok?"
We spoke to each other for a while, trying to come up with options, before knocking on the back wall of the closet, not wanting to walk in on anything salacious. Stan called us in, and we removed the back wall, climbing through carefully.
"We have something we need to discuss with you," I said to Kyle, who was sitting on the bed reading, with Stan's head in his lap.
"Is this about the shouting I heard earlier?" he asked, setting his book down.
"Yes. What did you hear?" Christophe asked.
"Nothing much, just someone yelling at you guys."
"Ok, well, um," Christophe faltered, looking to me for help.
"We've found a way to get Stan back home," I said in English, so Stan would understand, "But we're not sure if we can send you too, Kyle. We assumed you'd want to go with him."
"I'm not leaving without him," Stan said, looking fierce.
He sat up and scooted closer to Kyle, wrapping an arm around him.
"Me and Kyle have talked about this," he said, "There's nothing left here for him. I want him to come back to Colorado with me."
"Well, be that as it may, we're not sure what exactly we can do about it. Christophe and I both want whatever will make you happy, but there are logistical issues that may prevent that."
"Like what?" Kyle said, looking close to tears.
"The man who arranged Stan's transport said the plane wouldn't take you, Kyle, since you are not a soldier. I argued that you were his doctor, but he didn't care about that. That leaves us with few options," I said.
"Basically, the only thing we could think of was trying to sneak you onto the plane," Christophe said.
"Sneak me onto the plane? You don't think the other people on it would notice?"
"Not necessarily," I said, "You could just lie and say you lost your dog tags and whatever other ID American soldiers carry. I mean, you could even tell a half-truth and say you are a soldier who escaped from one of the German camps."
Kyle shuddered, and looked at Stan.
"What do you think?" he asked, "Would they let me on? And wouldn't they notice my accent? I mean, I can't hide that."
"I think if you're with me, it would be ok. And I've met lots of immigrants who joined the army, so the accent wouldn't give you away, probably. It's just... once we get back to England, I think then it would be pretty hard to hide that you weren't supposed to be there."
"We thought of that," Christophe said.
"Yes, step two, assuming step one works. My parents live in London, and they're quite wealthy. My hope is that if I send a letter to them with you, explaining that you're a refugee, they'd probably take you in."
"Probably?"
"Well, they've always been rather keen on charity, and I think they'd take pity on you. You'd have to hide the fact that you're... you know... like that," I said uneasily.
"They don't know about you?" Stan asked.
"Certainly not! They'd disown me if they did, I'm afraid to say. But anyway," I said, waving my hand in the air, "This was really the best we could come up with. After you're settled in with my parents you can work on a way to immigrate to America. It will probably be some time before Stan is discharged anyway, right?"
"Yeah," Stan said, slowly.
"So you can work on that in the meantime, and if you still haven't gotten it sorted out by the time I go home, I can assist you. And if my parents won't take you in, I can give you the addresses of several acquaintances of mine, hopefully one of which would be welcoming."
Stan and Kyle turned and stared at each other for a minute, as if silently asking what the other thought.
"There's a lot of 'maybes' in this whole plan," Kyle said, finally.
"I know," I said, "and I don't like it much, either. But unless you want to stay behind when Stan goes home, and try to get to him afterwards, this is our only real chance. I know it's a difficult situation, and it may not work out, but we're doing our best here. All we can really do is try."
"Ok," Kyle said, nodding and clinging onto Stan's arm, "Ok, we can try. What have I got to lose?"
Kenny managed to find a car for us, which must have been one of the last ones still in working order in Rouen. I sat in the back with Kyle and Stan, who clung to each other during the entire car ride, clearly afraid they would be torn apart. I could sympathise: as much as I tried to pretend I didn't love Christophe, I knew that when the time came for me to leave France, I would be completely heartbroken.
Tense though the ride was, we made it to Renneville without a problem. The plane landed just as we arrived at the field. It circled around and stopped near us, and we began to say our goodbyes.
I would miss Stan, but I was most concerned about Kyle, about whom I cared a great deal. I hugged him and wished him luck, and told him I would see him again soon, I hoped. I knew if our plan worked, then the suffering he'd gone through would come to an end, but I was sorry to see him go, nonetheless.
Christophe's farewell to him was even more bittersweet.
"You are like a brother to me," I hear him mumble, "I will miss you very much."
"I'll miss you too," Kyle said, tearing up as Christophe embraced him, hugging him tight, "Thank you for... for everything, Christophe. I owe you my life."
I was surprised that they were both sniffling as they pulled apart, as the airmen standing by the plane started yelling at them that they had to get going. I watched with trepidation as Kyle approached the plane with Stan, but apparently the soldiers believed the story he gave them, because after a moment the hatch closed behind them, and the plane moved to take off.
"Craig's going to be pissed," Kenny said gleefully, probably trying to draw my attention away from the fact that Christophe was trying not to cry.
"It'll be worth it," I said, speaking to both of them.
Due to the curfew, we ended up having to pull the car into the woods, and camp out in there for the night. As the sun went down, it began to rain, and the sound of the raindrops on the roof would have been relaxing if it weren't for the somber mood we were all in. Kenny took the front seat, and Christophe and I curled up in the back together, clinging to each other. Christophe hadn't said anything since the plane had departed, since he had last spoken to Kyle, and I was growing very concerned. We were both beginning to drift off, when I decided to broach the subject.
"Are you alright?" I asked him, after I thought Kenny had fallen asleep.
"I'm just worried about Kyle, that's all," he said after an excruciating pause.
"That's all?" I repeated, stroking his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. I expected an angry glare, because Christophe hated being called out on his bullshit, but he just looked at me sadly.
"I'll miss him," he said, looking away.
"So will I."
"It's not the same, though, Gregory. I knew him for almost a year... he was my responsibility. And... he began to feel like family to me, after a while. He wasn't the only person who lost everyone," he said, glaring at me.
"You lost your family?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair.
"Yes. Well. I only ever had my mother. And she... she was killed in the bombings right before Kyle showed up."
"Oh... oh dear, I'm so sorry," I said, leaning up to kiss him. I was stopped by the scowl on his face.
"That's what happens in war," he said angrily, "I don't need your sympathy."
"Fine," I said, huffing and moving to lay against the other side of the car, "Then you shan't get it."
He glared at me for a moment, and then his face softened, and he crawled across the seat to lay on top of me, rubbing his face against my neck.
"I don't want you to treat me like a wounded bird," he said, sleepily planting soft kisses along the bottom of my jaw. I snorted.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said.
"I just... I don't like to talk about it. I never told anyone when it happened."
"Maybe the fact that you're talking about it now means that you're starting to heal," I said, petting his hair.
"Maybe it just means I trust you more than anyone else," he mumbled, and drifted off to sleep.
I stayed awake for a long time after that, my heart racing.
The flat seemed too empty without Stan and Kyle around, especially since Kenny continued to spend all his free time over at Bebe's place. Christophe and I kept each other occupied, as we were wont to do, and the news from all over France kept our spirits up. The front was approaching Rouen as a brisk pace, and we were simply waiting for our chance to take action.
It was only a few days after Stan and Kyle left that Christophe came home grinning, once again. I had been reading a book on the sofa, and he came at me without a word, pouncing upon me and throwing my book to the floor.
"Hey, I was reading-" I started, by he cut me off with a passionate kiss.
"Paris has been liberated," he said, pulling back with the biggest grin I had ever seen on his face.
"Really?! Wh-" I said, cut off once again by his lips against mine.
"Christophe, really, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I do wish you'd let me speak," I said, as he moved his attentions down my neck and to my collarbone.
"Choltitz surrendered the city to the French army two days ago," he explained, his hands working on my belt, "De Gaulle himself held a parade down the Champs Elyses, or so I heard."
"Oh, Christophe, that's wonderful!" I exclaimed, though my stomach dropped. Once Rouen was liberated I would most likely be sent home.
"We will be free soon," Christophe whispered against my hip. I gasped as one of his hands began to work on my cock, while the other pulled my trousers off.
-Yaahoooo-
"I've never met anyone whose sex drive was so motivated by military victories," I said, unbuttoning his shirt.
"Hm, there are plenty who are worse than me," he said, pulling me up to straddle his lap, "I once knew a man who came in his pants just from shooting a Bosche spy."
"I hope you're not referring to yourself," I said, sitting back to regard him warily. He just laughed, and pulled at the buttons on my shirt.
"I am harder to please than that," he said, grinning, "I just feel this is a cause for celebration. And I can't think of a better way to celebrate, can you?"
There was something in the way he said this, and the look on his face, that made me wonder if perhaps I wasn't the only one who was hiding his true feelings in our relationship. I pushed that thought out of my mind as he brought our lips together once more.
Sex between us was usually fast and rough, but this time I decided to take things slowly, putting what I was too much of a coward to say into our movements together. I rode him as he laid against the back of the sofa, seemingly content just to watch me, occasionally reaching up to run his fingers through my hair, or across my chest. The tenderness between us was unprecedented, but I immediately regretted that we'd drawn it out for so long when the door to the flat banged open.
"Hey guys, did you- oh, shit."
"Kenny!" I practically screeched, as I pulled Christophe's shirt off the arm of the sofa and attempted to shield myself with it. Christophe sat up, pulling out of me, but he held me in place on his lap. Whether it was out of modesty or defiance, I had no idea.
"Well, you're the ones fucking in the living room!" Kenny said, looking as though he was trying to contain his laughter.
"Oh, that's disgusting," said Bebe, who I'd just noticed was standing right behind him. Kenny walking in on us was one thing- I trusted him implicitly- but that Bebe saw our coupling infuriated me. I knew I must be blushing from head to toe, and in my state she could see nearly all of that.
"Well what the two of you do is pretty disgusting to me, so I suppose we're even," I snapped, and Christophe laughed underneath me.
"Yeah, but you've never had to see it. I think I'm going to go blind," she replied, her face bright red.
"Hey, alright," Kenny said, holding his hands up, "We came to ask if you guys heard the news about Paris."
"Yes," Christophe said, holding me in place as I tried to pull off his lap, "We were celebrating."
"Ok, well don't let your celebrating wear you out too much. I just ran into Craig, and he told me Bradley wants to have a meeting tonight about whatever half-assed plan he's got," Kenny said.
"Oh, God damn it," I said, and everyone stared at me. "What? I hate that ineffectual bastard."
"Well," Kenny said, grinning at me, "Let's just see what his plan is, ok? And then we can gleefully ignore it."
We all stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, until Kenny spoke again.
"Ok, um," he said, "Well, I was going to make lunch for me and Bebe, but I guess we'll go somewhere else."
"I don't think we have any food left anyway," Christophe said, which was true. It had become increasingly difficult to find supplies of any kind as the front drew nearer.
"Well ok... Let's just go mooch off your mum, then," he said, turning to Bebe.
"I've told you, Kenny, my mum doesn't like you!" she said, pulling him back into the stairwell, clearly relieved that they were leaving.
"Well how can I make her like me?" he asked, sincerely.
"Nothing short of an engagement ring would please her," she snapped, shooting us one last glare before shutting the door behind her.
"Be at Bradley's at 7!" Kenny called through the door, and then we heard him move down the stairs, continuing his banter with Bebe.
"That woman wants her bullshit happy fairy tale ending so badly," Christophe said, and I laughed and turned back to face him once more. I felt something poking me in the thigh as I shifted on his lap.
"Dear God, Christophe, you were hard during that entire... intrusion!" I said, gaping at him.
He smirked up at me and shrugged, shifting underneath me until he was pressed against my arse.
"I think you get off on being caught in the act," I said, touching his lips.
"I think I just get off on you arguing with people," he said, and then grabbed me without warning, pushing me back against the arm of the sofa. "And right now I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your name," he breathed against my lips, and proceeded to do just that.
The meeting at Bradley's was about as infuriating as I had expected. It was the usual staple of losers from what Christophe and I had so eloquently dubbed 'Team B': Bradley, naturally, and Chapeau Bleu, and an array of other young men I felt were ill-suited for resistance work. Their numbers were surprisingly strong, around 30 or so, and I wondered what exactly had kept Christophe's group from growing so large, since he was a much more competent leader than that blonde coward.
We listened to Bradley hem and haw and try to worm his way out of taking any real action for nearly half an hour before I got fed up with it, and went to the front of the room with a determined look upon my face. Bradley seemed afraid as I approached him, but something akin to relief settled upon his face as I forced him into a chair, and stood in front of the men.
"This is ridiculous," I said, staring at everyone, "We need real action, not this vague, pandering shit."
Bradley looked deeply offended at this proclamation, but I saw a few men in the room watching me with interest, and Christophe smirking at me from the back of the room.
"What do you suggest, then?" Bradley asked, sourly.
"We organise into units, and when the fighting comes to Rouen we take to the streets. And, if we can, we get more people involved. We have enough arms hidden just outside of town to supply at least another 20 people or so."
"Trying to get recruits is dangerous, though," Bradley practically whined at me.
"Not as dangerous as it once was. The tide is turning, and the people aren't as afraid of the Bosche as they once were. I think more people would be willing to fight, especially if we set a good example for them. We also ought to be blocking the Bosche's movements as much as possible, by bombing the roads and rails. We still have some of the dynamite that was sent over with me, and it should be at least partially effective."
"So, what?" asked a young man whose name I didn't know, "we should just lay down our lives because some British asshole says so?"
"No, you should lay down your lives in the name of France," Christophe said from the back of the room, "and for freedom. If you joined the Resistance to impress a girl, or to make your mama proud, then you should go the fuck home, but most of us started this for the same reason: to defend our homeland, and send the fucking Bosche back where they belong. Don't forget that."
I had never wanted him more than in that moment.
As the meeting carried on, we were able to organise into small combat units, in addition to assigning a few of the more personable men jobs in recruitment. It seemed like perfect timing, because as we walked home in the dark, we could hear a great rumble of artillery not too far off in the distance. The front was finally coming our way.
In the morning Craig brought over a box of grenades, smiling at me for the first time since I'd met him.
"A gift, from the Americans," he said, handing the box over, "It was parachuted in last night."
"Excellent," I said, "This should really help us out."
"Yeah, I kept a box for myself, too. Should be fun," he said, shuffling away.
I shut the door behind him, and went to wake Christophe up. The night before we'd stolen eggs out of Bradley's pantry, and he cooked those for us for breakfast, humming "La Marseillaise" to himself the whole time. He seemed very happy. I thought of how lovely my life would be if every morning was like this, but that only ended up depressing me, since I knew my time to go home was rapidly approaching. My mood must have shown on my face, because Christophe gave me a quizzical look as he set my plate down in front of me. I simply smiled back at him, and dug into my breakfast.
The sound of gunfire outside was drawing steadily nearer, and when we finished eating we hastily threw our things together, making sure we had enough ammunition to last us a while. We went to meet Kenny downstairs, and I was alarmed that he had brought Bebe with him. She was looking surprisingly fierce in trousers and a beret, with a rifle slung over her shoulder.
"Do you know how to shoot that thing?" I asked, more rudely than I intended.
"You'd better believe it," she said, and something about the way she said it made me and Christophe laugh.
"What's it like outside?" Christophe asked.
"Calm," Kenny said, "I think all the German soldiers are concentrated on the edges of town. Me and Bebe walked here with our guns out and didn't get stopped once."
"Do they seem organised at all?" I asked.
"Not really. I think we should have an easy day of it."
He was only half right. We'd had a successful morning, lobbing grenades and shooting at at every group of German soldiers we came across, and then fleeing before their comrades had a chance to retaliate. We ran into some of Bradley's men several times as the day wore on, and they adopted a similar hit and run method, though the only weapons they had were their guns. It was amazingly effective, and since we never stayed in the same place for long, the Jerries became scattered and confused, which helped the Allied troops that were knocking upon the city's door.
But our euphoria was not to last long. We were being pursued by a group of soldiers, and as we darted around a corner we ran head-on into a tank. Whether or not it was waiting for us, I did not know, but I heard Kenny yelling at us to get down as a shell was shot from its turret, hitting the wall above us. Something hit me in the head, and I blacked out momentarily.
As I came to, I saw Christophe standing at my feet, shooting furiously at the men who'd chased us in that direction. He glanced at me as he reloaded, looking relieved, but was too preoccupied to help me up. Across the street a group of Bradley's men were ineffectually shooting at the tank, ducking back as it fired a shell at them.
I sat up, dizzy, and wiped at the blood running down my face. I forgot all about that, though, as I noticed Bebe, sitting on the ground on the other side of Christophe, holding Kenny's head against her chest. The was blood pouring from his lips, but he smiled up at Bebe as she sobbed and stroked his hair. She was whispering reassurances to him, but it was obvious that he was done for.
"Don't worry," he rasped out, "You won't even remember this tomorrow."
I fought back my own tears as his face went slack, and Bebe cried out his name, clutching him tighter against her. Christophe had apparently disposed of the Jerries who'd come after us, because he turned to Bebe, regarding her with sympathy. Before he could say anything, the tank fired once more, and the wall of the next building over exploded, sending more dust and debris our way. I covered my head with my hands, and when I looked up again, I could make out Bebe digging through Christophe's bag, through the haze. He was yelling at her, but she paid him no mind, and took off running toward the tank.
"She's mad!" I exclaimed, "She'll be killed!" but Christophe said nothing, and watched her warily.
The machine gunner opened fire on her, and she weaved back and forth across the road, ducking behind debris when she could. It was when, by some miracle, she reached the tank unscathed that I realized what she'd taken from Christophe's bag: grenades. She crouched at the side of it, where the men inside could not see her, and pulled the pins on the grenades one by one, before carefully rolling them under the tank and then taking off in the opposite direction. The combined strength of all the grenades together was enough to actually lift it off the ground as they went off, and I could feel the heat of it upon my face. As the only man inside who seemed to have survived the explosion attempted to crawl out, Christophe took aim at him, shooting him down easily.
I could see Bebe peering out from behind a building about a block away, tears still pouring down her face.
"She's insane," I marvelled. Christophe laughed.
"I knew I liked her for a reason," he said.
Mad though it was, that little stunt earned Bebe my full respect.
We found it nearly impossible to sleep that evening. The Allies were bombing the city again, though I could hardly understand it at this point. There wasn't much city left to bomb. Christophe and I took shelter in the cellar once more, and made love in the shadow of his broken beer barrels. It was unexpectedly tender, though I suspected that was just because he knew I was anxious and upset over Kenny's death. He held me after we finished, tracing my spine with one hand, and I rested my head on his chest, listening as his heart rate slowed.
"They'll be sending me home soon," I said, finally broaching the subject that had been on my mind the last few weeks.
I felt him stiffen underneath me, his hands freezing on my back.
"You think so?"
"I'm certain of it. Once Rouen is liberated there will be no need for a saboteur, will there?"
He leaned his head back against the wall, and shut his eyes, sighing heavily.
"I don't want you to go," he said, finally.
"You could come with me," I said cautiously.
"I'm not leaving Rouen," he said, his face full of incredulity.
I didn't say anything, just shifted off him and moved onto my side, facing away from him. He touched my shoulder, but I made no response.
"You're upset," he said, and I snorted at that. This is why I hadn't brought it up before; because I was afraid he'd say no.
"Of course I am, Christophe. I thought this meant something to you."
He was silent for a moment, but his hand never left my shoulder.
"Yes, Gregory, this does mean something to me. But I haven't been fighting in the Resistance for four years, hoping to make France free again some day, only to abandon my home once we've won. This is important to me."
I could definitely understand that, but it still broke my heart. Though I knew he cared for me, I didn't think it was on the same level as my feelings for him. I thought about bringing that up, but this conversation was already making me feel too vulnerable to admit that. I loved him so much, and I really didn't care what happened when I went back to London, if he was by my side. We could run the government, or we could live out on the fucking streets, for all I cared. It didn't matter to me. I just wanted him. But I had to go home, and he wanted to stay in France. He didn't want to make that kind of a move for me. It was clear what his priorities were, and I wasn't about to admit my true feelings if they would never be returned.
He sighed heavily as the silence between us grew stronger, but he spooned up behind me, planting kisses along my neck before drifting off to sleep.
The next day was glorious, though I was too heartsick to really appreciate it. Christophe and I continued our hit and run attacks on the Bosche, with Kenny and Bebe accompanying us, but by noon they had all fled the city, and the Canadian troops rolled in. The scene, as all the citizens of Rouen came out of hiding to greet them, reminded me of The Wizard of Oz, though the ruins of the city hardly made for a beautiful backdrop.
Men, women, and children lined the streets, or what was left of them, as soldiers and tanks made their way through the city, waving and smiling at the newly freed people, most of whom were in tears. Everyone was breaking out the food and wine they'd been saving for this moment, and after four long years of oppression, they had every right to be gleeful.
The Resistance members had little time for celebration, as we sought out the commanders of the forces, eager to assist them in any way. We followed the soldiers to the edge of town, gunning down the Germans as they fled. I had no sympathy for them.
At the end of the day, when the town was cleared, Kenny and Bebe decided to join us at the flat, where we drank a bottle of the best champagne I'd ever had, that Christophe had been saving for this day. It was then that I'd realized that I'd never really understand what Christophe, and the other citizens of France had gone through. All day long I had felt slightly out of place in the celebrations, but it wasn't until that evening that I realized why. Yes, London had been bombed mercilessly, but living in a nation under attack was not the same as living somewhere that was being occupied by foreign troops, especially ones as cruel as the Bosche. I could hardly blame him for wanting to stay in Rouen, although it still broke my heart. Neither of us had brought the subject up again, and I supposed that was for the best. If Christophe simply saw me as a convenient wartime lay, then so be it. I would not pressure him further.
I tried to be merry and smiled at Christophe as we drank together, but my defences collapsed after I excused myself to have a bath, and I spent 30 minutes locked in the bathroom, crying as quietly as I could.
After Kenny and Bebe left, Christophe and I retired to the bedroom.
"I think this is the best day of my life," he said, gently caressing my cheek.
"Hard to believe it's all over, isn't it?" I asked, though I was referring to more than just the war.
He smiled at me, and kissed me very sweetly, but I pushed him back.
"What?" he asked, looking confused.
"I want it rough," I said, ignoring the look of disappointment on his face. It was becoming excruciating for me when he was gentle with me, because all it did was get my hopes up. I was grateful when he complied with my wishes, grabbing me roughly and flipping me onto my stomach.
"Whatever you want, Gregory," he said, though he hardly meant it. If I could have whatever I wanted then I wouldn't be going home alone.