The man at the door was let in as I was let out, I barely saw his face as I was pushed back into the hallway. I hesitated as I got to Pierre’s door. I knew I had to do this right. I let myself in, and wandered around looking for Pierre.
I finally found him in the bedroom, huddled on the floor in a heap. His face was wet, probably from crying. I kneeled next to him, and held onto his shoulder.
“Pierre,” I whispered. He seemed dazed.
“Elizabeth?” He mumbled. I was taken aback, and I shook him lightly.
“Elizabeth, is that you?” He continued, tears falling. I had no idea what to do, he was delirious. He reached out and touched my face, stroking my cheek. My stomach felt like someone had punched it.
“Pierre, its Marguerite,” I whispered back to him.
“Yes, I’m right here.” He began to sit up, facing me.
“I’m sorry, so, so sorry,” he said. I began to wipe the tears off his face. I was terrible at crisis situations, and I didn’t know what else to do, so I kissed him.