8:26 PM – Wednesday, March 7th, 2012

Louis Vuitton / Marc Jacobs Exhibition – Paris, France

He looks so out of his element here. With his denim jacket and his buzz cut, he sticks out like a sore thumb, but I think he looks adorable. Honestly, I don’t feel like I belong here either, but I still wanted to come. A couple years ago, I never would have thought that I would want to go to Paris Fashion Week, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve really come to appreciate fashion. It’s just a different medium for people to express themselves in.

And Rob…he couldn’t care less. He’s here solely for me. He flew to Paris and came to an exhibition that he’s completely oblivious about and that I don’t think he’s particularly enjoying, because I wanted to come. I told him he didn’t have to, but he told me that he didn’t care what we did because he just wanted to be with me.

I smile to myself as he apologizes quietly for bumping into someone. He’s so shy and polite in public when he’s around strangers. It’s actually pretty strange to him like this when you’ve also seen him drunk out of his mind and acting like a psychopath, but I love that he has this side to him. He has so many different facets to his personality, and I’m always grateful that I get to experience them all.

We make our way into a V.I.P. room, and Ruth walks over to talk to a friend she knows here. That leaves me and the boyfriend.

Rob loosely grabs my fingers and pulls me over to one of the couches in a secluded area of the room. I sit down with him and he leans over so his lips are next to my ear.

“You look so good,” he whispers gruffly.

Boom. His personality goes from sheepish to horny in two seconds.

It’s contagious, though, and I move closer to him so I can feel his beard against my skin. He kisses me, and before I know it, I’m letting his tongue inside my mouth, and his hand is getting dangerously high up my thigh. I have to force myself to remember that we aren’t alone.

“Rob,” I say against his lips.
“Mmm.”
“Rob…stop.”

He pulls back and his eyes flick back and forth between mine.

“We have to stop,” I say.
“I don’t want to.” He kisses me again and I break out in a grin, putting my hands on his shoulders to hold him back.
“Are you five?”
“No. I’m twenty five, and I want to kiss my extremely hot girlfriend.”
I raise my eyebrows, and as hard as I try to stop it, I smile. “Do you?”
“Yes, I do. And I think she should let me.”
“Nope. You’re not sweet talking me into this one, buddy.”

I kiss him on the cheek and he mock-frowns at me. He settles for holding my hand instead, and I nestle my head right beneath his chin, feeling more than content just like this.

We sit quietly for a few minutes, and I love feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” I say.

His thumb continues softly rubbing the back of my hand.

“You’re welcome.”
“I love having you here…so much.”
“I love being here.”
“You love being at a fashion exhibition?”
“No. I love being with you. I feel like we’re away from each other so often.”
I sigh. “I know. I hate it.”
“I hate it, too.”
“We should both just take five years off and then we’d never have to leave.”
“You love what you do too much to do that. And that’s okay. I love that about you. I love that passion…that fire that no one can put out…”

I look up at him and my eyes glaze over. Supportive isn’t a good enough word to describe him – not the way that he’s endlessly there for me and cares about things not from his own interest, but simply because I do. He’s my cornerstone. He fills in all the holes in my confidence and sense of self-worth, and he holds up all the broken parts of me.

He makes me feel so whole.

I’m caught up in his eyes and I don’t notice that I’m crying until his hand comes up to hold my face and his thumb brushes a tear away. His eyebrows knit together, and he handles me so gently that it’s like I’m made of glass.

“What is it, babe?” His voice is covered in concern.
I shake my head, and I hold onto his wrist. “It’s nothing…it’s just…I love you.”
He looks almost surprised, I guess at the fact that I’m crying over something so simple – something that I tell him so often. But after a few seconds, his eyes glaze over as well.
He looks directly into my eyes and strokes my face. “I love you, too.”
He rests his forehead against mine, and then he kisses it and pulls me into his arms.

Now I can’t care less that there are people around. Nothing in the fucking world can stop me from him. I take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply, and he kisses me back with a passion that makes me feel so loved and so wanted.

I’m young, and I have so many things in life to learn, and experience, and figure out, and I don’t know much, but there is one thing I’m sure of.

I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, as much as I’m sure that I love Robert Douglas Thomas Pattinson.

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