Dating the Counterfeit – Chapter 2: The Night I Felt Something

Chapter 2 – The Night I Felt Something

When I finally got inside, my host brother was frantic. He whispered his apologies—loudly. But I was just trying to outpace his walk. I wanted to get into my room without him entering it. He was inebriated, yet somehow so fast. Maybe it was his military training. He matched my pace as if we were ballroom dancing—but instead of two humans, I felt like a puppet with one string attached. I broke our rhythm and ran into my room, snapping that final string with the slam of the door. I followed it with a chair and my suitcases, barricading myself inside. The adrenaline of fear completely sobered me. And my tears put me to sleep. I need a way out of this.

I am a snitch.
I spent all weekend debating on who and how I would tell this story to. I mean, if I snitched, I’d be able to leave this host family and possibly end up with a better one. Or possibly a worse one? So the following business day, I spoke with my director. She agreed to find a new host family for me. However, I would not be able to move in until the end of the week. My director ensured me that she would not tell my host family until the night before I had to leave. I spent the majority of the week pretending that I was happy and would be with them until the end of my stay. Who knew how much acting victims have to do in order to survive? Even though my director promised me they did not know, I still lived with anxiety that they did. I mean, upon applying to the program, I was told that I would be in a safe environment. Yet, I was confined in a room congested with filth and dust, and assaulted by a housemate. Was anyone really on my side? My journey in France had only just begun, and now I was praying that the end would come quicker. I do not understand—what have I done to deserve a life that finds an ending at the very beginning?

New Beginning

The end of the week finally arrived. My host parents were away on a trip, so I was alone with their son. How convenient… My director had told them I was leaving—and why. They were adamant that their son would never. I never got to properly say farewell, but I was happy to say good riddance. What I find most disheartening is that their son showed no remorse. Instead, he tried his best to justify his behavior to me. That he was a good guy. And, in some twisted way, that I might have liked his actions—if I had just given him a chance. A rationale I will never understand. He was so arrogant, he believed his assault was a compliment.

I am now introduced to my new host family. They were everything I asked for—clean and friendly. During dinner, I was seated next to women. They cooked so well. I could not have asked for a better host family. They lived a little far from where my schools were, but it was worth it. I could tell they were aware of my previous host family experience, due to the precautions they took. When the eldest son was to walk me to the closest metro, his parents also sent their daughter with us. I slept on the first floor, while their children slept on the third level. Not only were they concerned about my physical safety, but also my mental health. Although I had a new host family, I was still unhappy.

I had been in France for two months and three weeks. I felt as though I still had little to no friends. I was taking eighteen credits and an internship. My days would begin at 8 a.m. and end at 7 p.m. What really upset me was that I thought I’d have more time to travel. Class schedules and work took up all of my time. Each class was around three hours. There was no such thing as office hours for professors. Trying to contact a professor was almost impossible. Everything I took for granted as an American student had come back to bite me. I had been bitten with a serum with two very lethal ingredients: stress and loneliness.

Unexpected Beginning
During my time in France, I met another American girl, Brittney, and we shared cities where we attended college in the U.S. We were both in the fatigue stage of being in France. We tried to rekindle our spirits by planning a night out. We planned to meet at her apartment at 10 p.m. When it was time to get ready, I wanted to text and cancel. I was too busy counting down the weeks until reentering the U.S. than wanting to go out. I showed up to her apartment 40 minutes late. We then walked to the nearest metro. We were going to a Caribbean club called Glue. She suggested two different possible stops we could get off at. I chose the closest stop, which was Jean Jaurès. Now that we got off the metro, we were about to exit the station. Again, I was left with the option of which side we should get out of. One would take us across the street. The one right in front of us had escalators, so I took it. Brittney wasn’t even sure where we were going, so I figured whatever I picked didn’t matter.

As Brittney and I were getting out of the elevator, we began walking in the direction of three men who we assumed to be African or Afro-French. We were about seven feet away from them when Brittney turned me around and said, “Oops girl, I think we are going the wrong way.” Now we were approximately 20 feet away from these men. Then out of nowhere, we were 20 centimeters away. This tall, melanin-blessed man with a clean haircut asked us, “Savez-vous où on peut acheter de l’alcool?” Brittney immediately said, “Je ne parle pas français… my friend speaks French.” Then that same Afro-French man said, “Do you know where we can buy alcohol?” I immediately said no. Meanwhile, Brittney attempted to give them vague instructions on a possible liquor store she had once seen. I stood back as Brittney did all the talking. I was not about to be friendly with three strangers. Since they had no clue where to buy liquor, they asked us where we were going. When we said Glue, they laughed and explained that we were going in the wrong direction. They said we wouldn’t like the bar because it’s a bit sketchy-looking. They had just left that bar forty minutes ago—the time we were originally supposed to be there. These three strangers offered to take us to a better Caribbean bar that was nearby. I was ready to politely decline when Brittney viciously whispered, “Stop being boujee for one night and let’s go.” I gave in. And it felt like the best decision I’d ever made.

I was being stuck-up and unfriendly the whole time walking to the bar. The two other guys were named Francois and Benny. Francois became a fan of my friend Brittney. He was upfront, talking to her. They were talking the night away. However, there were still two guys left, but only one woman. The tall, dark-skinned one asked me what I was studying in France. I told him I was studying finance. He asked me if my business classes were challenging. Then, of course, my arrogant butt replied, “I’m a smart girl.” He then backed down. I guess he was able to read my “leave me alone” signals. However, Benny took that as his opportunity to speak with me. He kept talking and talking. All I could think was, “Where the hell is this bar?” Then we made it.

We were inside the bar. Benny bought Brittney and me rum mixed with pineapple juice. The rum was strong, but not strong enough to get me to dance. Although the DJ was playing a great selection of Caribbean music, the bar was crowded and a bit hot. There was this voluptuous woman close behind me having the time of her life. However, her happiness kept bumping into me all night. I felt a bit claustrophobic. It seemed as though Francois and Brittney really hit it off. They were dancing hard together. However, this time the outnumbering of men didn’t affect anything, because I was not willing to dance at all. Thus leaving Brittney with the burden to dance with everyone, all at once. Hey, Brittney has some talent. Benny bought me another drink. So I felt a bit obligated to dance a little with him. He stood behind me when we were dancing. He was trying to be romantic. I didn’t hate it. I didn’t love it. I didn’t feel anything. I then grabbed Brittney and pulled the restroom card. I needed to check my hair and makeup. That bar was hot. I was determined to leave the bar looking like the same person that came in. When we were leaving the restroom, Benny was outside waiting. He walked me outside the bar. Then he began to explain how he lives in Toulouse and would love a chance to see me again. I agreed, and we exchanged numbers. I didn’t mind seeing him again. I didn’t care to see him again. I felt nothing.

I entered the bar. Benny went missing. Brittney was on the other side of the bar getting hit on by a really attractive older gentleman. So it was Francois, Mr. Tall Dark & Handsome, and me. They both kept trying to get me to dance. Francois failed miserably. Mr. TDH got me to dance a little—but that was only because he caught me when the DJ was playing really good music. Then a particular Kompa song that resonated with my spirit played. I began to dance with Mr. TDH. We danced hard. I loved it. Well, until Benny came back, and I felt ashamed for dancing with another man—especially after I just gave Benny my number. My shame forced me to dance with Benny. I felt as though I had to cover up a secret. I felt obligated to a man to whom I had made no commitment. The more I danced with Benny, the more I knew I wanted to be in Mr. TDH’s arms. Then the best thing happened. Once I was released from Benny’s arms, Mr. TDH came and got me to dance. Did Mr. TDH feel that spark as well? Was my loneliness causing me to overthink this feeling of happiness?

Mr. TDH and I were still dancing together. We were dancing and talking. Do not ask me about what—I cannot remember. But whatever it was brought me so much joy. That second cup of pineapple and rum had started to hit me. I’m not sure why I told Mr. TDH that I was a bit drunk, but I did. When I did, he took my cup away from me. I couldn’t believe it—he was putting me on alcohol probation. I’m still puzzled as to why he did so, but I’m happy he did. This night was one to remember.

After dancing to a couple of songs, I sat down. Brittney sat next to me. We agreed to go to the restroom again, but this time we actually had to use it. When we were washing our hands, we started to have girl talk. I was so sure Brittney was going to talk about Francois, since I saw her dancing and mingling with him all night. She assumed I would bring up Benny since I gave him my number. As Brittney smiled and began to reveal her next move for the night, she mentioned that she wanted the tall, dark-skinned guy—as in Mr. TDH. My eyes could not look at her as I replied, “Well, I want the tall, dark-skinned guy.” I saw how nervous she was, so I awkwardly laughed and said, “Well, we can share him.” However, I hoped she would just let me have him.

Francois, Benny, and Mr. TDH were still there in a position of waiting, as if they had a discussion of their own. I paid no attention to Benny, Brittney, or the last one. I walked directly to Mr. TDH. We danced, closely. We no longer danced to the beat of the DJ’s music, but to the music of our beating hearts. I never believed that existing people could vanish into thin air. They did that night. I was certain of what I was feeling—and that was love. I didn’t know this man, but my heart recognized its vulnerability. As we danced, he tried to kiss me, but I was not willing to be so vulnerable just yet. I knew what a new beginning would mean. I didn’t know if I was willing to go through that again. He tried to kiss me once more. Out of nowhere, an old friend of mine revisited me. Her name was strength. She gave me a gift of faith. So this time when Mr. TDH tried to kiss me—I not only let him, but I kissed him back. We kissed like we were in love. I felt my heart turning over to its soft side. I’ve never felt this type of happiness in such a long time. I tried to encode my thank you for the joy into a thanks for the dance. However, I didn’t even know his name. It’s Sam. Sam? How can someone with such a regular name have me feeling so irregular? We exchanged Instagram usernames.

Let the real fun begin.