Amélie Laurent, a 32-year-old art curator at the prestigious Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, sat in her chic apartment overlooking the Seine, her mind drifting as she stared blankly at the framed paintings adorning her walls. Despite her impressive career and the envy of her peers, Amélie felt a gnawing emptiness that no amount of professional success could fill. Her life had become a monotonous cycle of arranging art exhibitions, schmoozing with wealthy patrons, and enduring awkward blind dates set up by well-meaning friends and colleagues who couldn't understand why a beautiful, successful woman like her was still single.
She sighed, remembering the latest in a long string of disastrous dates from the previous evenings. Pierre, a handsome investment banker, had taken her to a overpriced restaurant in the Marais, where they had made awkward small talk over a meal that tasted as bland as their conversation. Things had heated up briefly when they had stumbled back to her apartment, a bottle of expensive wine and pent-up frustration fueling a passionate encounter that had left Amélie, although physically satisfied, but emotionally hollow. Near about midnight, she had watched Pierre dress hurriedly, after giving her a satisfying fucking, although, his earlier ardor was replaced by a cold, detached demeanor as he muttered something about calling her before hurrying out the door. She knew he never would, just as none of the others had.
Amélie shook her head, dispelling the bitter memory, and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Nearly noon already, and she had yet to drag herself out of bed. With a sigh, she threw back the covers and swung her long legs over the side, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. Rising, she padded naked to her ensuite bathroom, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror as she passed. Her long chestnut hair was a tangled mess, falling in waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes, usually so vibrant and alive, looked dull and lifeless.
Next, she caught sight of the marks littering her body - the vivid red love bites and purple hickeys dotting her alabaster skin. She had to admit, the man had skills in bed, knew just how to touch her to make her writhe and moan with pleasure. But as she traced a finger over one particularly dark bruise on the swell of her breast, she felt a twinge of sadness. These fleeting marks of passion would fade, just like the man himself had faded from her life, leaving her alone with nothing but the ghost of his touch and the bitter taste of loneliness.
Sighing, Amélie turned away from her reflection and stepped into the spacious, sunlit bathroom. She started the water running in the deep, claw-footed tub, waiting for it to heat up as she brushed her teeth and washed the remnants of last night's makeup from her face. As the steam rose around her, she stepped into the warm, welcoming water with a soft moan.
She sank down into the tub, the hot water enveloping her like a soothing embrace. Amélie leaned her head back against the cool porcelain, her eyes drifting shut as she tried to wash away the emptiness she felt inside. "Why does it always have to be this way?" she whispered to herself, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. "Why can't I find a man who wants to stay, who wants to build a life with me, instead of just taking what he wants and leaving me with nothing but the memory of his touch and the ache of my own longing?"
As she soaked in the tub, her mind wandered to Camille, her best friend since childhood. Camille had always been the romantic optimist, the one who still believed in love and happy endings. She had been the one to set up most of those disastrous blind dates, convinced that Amélie just hadn't found the right man yet. Amélie smiled sadly at the thought of her friend's unwavering optimism, wishing she could share in her naivety. "If only she knew how many times I've tried, how many chances I've given only to be left broken and wanting," she murmured to herself, tracing patterns in the steamy water with her finger. "Perhaps one day I'll have the heart to tell her the truth - that love, real love, is nothing more than a cruel illusion."
Amélie stepped out of the tub, the water sluicing off her curves as she grabbed a fluffy towel and wrapped it around herself. She padded over to the sink, grabbing her phone as she passed. Four missed calls from Camille flashed on the screen, making Amélie feel a pang of guilt for ignoring her best friend's attempts to reach her.
She dialed Camille back, putting the phone to her ear as she towel-dried her hair. "Camille, bonjour," she greeted, her voice still slightly hoarse from the steam of the bath.
"Finally!" Camille exclaimed, her voice echoing through the speaker. "I've been trying to call you for hours. I thought maybe you'd fallen into a coma or something."
Amélie chuckled, rolling her eyes at her friend's dramatic tone. "I'm sorry, chérie. I was just...indisposed." She glanced down at the love bites marring her skin, a rueful smile tugging at her lips.
Camille sighed, and Amélie could picture her shaking her head in exasperation. "I suppose that means another disastrous blind date, non? That's the fifth one this month, Amélie. When are you going to start being more selective about the men you sleep with?"
"Oh, don't start with that again," Amélie groaned, sinking down onto the edge of her bed. "You know I can't help it. They all seem so charming and handsome at first, but then..." She trailed off, not wanting to admit the sordid details of her latest tryst.
"Okay, okay," Camille relented, a note of concern in her voice. "But I want to talk more about it. Meet me at the usual spot ASAP, d'accord? And bring some of those condoms you're always stockpiling."
Amélie laughed, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "You just want to gossip about my love life and ogle the lingerie, don't you?" she teased, glancing down at the drawer where she kept her extensive collection of lingerie and condoms.
Amélie hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone as she weighed her words carefully. "D'accord, I'll bring the condoms," she said finally, her voice uncharacteristically subdued. "But Camille, there's something I need you to do for me first."
"Oui, of course," Camille replied immediately, always eager to help her best friend. "What is it you need, chérie?"
Amélie took a deep breath, steeling herself for her friend's reaction. "I need you to bring some emergency contraceptives with you. Plan B, or whatever they call it."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a stunned silence. "Mon dieu, Amélie," Camille gasped, her voice pitching higher with shock. "You didn't use protection last night, did you? I can't believe it! After all the trouble you've had in the past..."
"I'll explain everything once we meet," Amélie interrupted, a note of defensiveness creeping into her tone. "But yes, you're right. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I may have put myself in a risky situation."
"Think clearly?" Camille exclaimed, her voice dripping with incredulity. "Amélie, you're a smart woman, but when it comes to men and sex, ughh...sometimes I swear you have the brain of a teenage girl. Promise me you'll be more careful in the future, d'accord?"
"I promise," Amélie sighed, feeling chastened by her friend's scolding. "Now please, just bring the emergency contraceptives. I'll tell you all about it once we're face to face."
With that, she hung up the phone, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. She knew Camille was right, that she had been reckless and foolish not to insist on protection. But in the heat of the moment, with the man's skilled hands and talented tongue driving her to new heights of ecstasy, she had thrown caution to the wind, chasing her own pleasure without a thought for the consequences.
Amélie shook her head, dispelling the unsettling thoughts as she finished getting ready, slipping into a pair of tight jeans that hugged her curves and a silk blouse that hinted at her ample cleavage, and lastly, she draped a coat over her shoulders. She grabbed her purse, tossing in a handful of condoms as promised, and headed out to meet Camille at their favorite café near the Seine. The crisp autumn air nipped at her heels as she walked, the golden leaves crunching beneath her boots, a stark reminder of the fleeting nature of things. She pushed the gloomy thoughts away, determined to put on a brave face for her friend, even as a sense of dread lingered in the back of her mind.