French washing machines and stupid, stinky boys
I thought I had a friend in Paris. Now I’m not so sure I ever did.
Trust is hard to earn and even harder to keep. I guess I was delusional, thinking I really knew someone after all these years. But the truth is that you rarely know people at all.
I’ll call him Lucas because that’s his name.
Lucas invited me to stay at a flat he was housesitting in August. He called multiple times, talking about all the fun we’d have. I was still employed, so I could only stay a week, but I was excited. I’d known Lucas for almost a decade, since my study abroad in Angers, France. He was my semester romance: carrying my books, exploring the city, drinking wine, laughing, dancing. Sure, we were kids, but those memories felt real. Technology kept us connected after we went our separate ways, and I genuinely believed we were friends.
So when he asked me to visit, I said yes. Free housing, activities, other friends in town, it sounded perfect.
I arrived, met him at the eyeglass store where he worked, grabbed the keys, and dropped my stuff at the flat. Gorgeous place. I grabbed my first Parisian baguette and waited for him on the terrace.
When he returned, we opened a bottle of Prosecco. Now it’s important to know that I don’t drink to excess anymore, especially not around people I can’t fully trust. But I thought I could trust him. We’d been there for each other before, right?
We drank. We laughed. We danced. And then he leaned in to kiss me.
It was awkward. I kissed him briefly, then realized I didn’t want it. He tried to pull me close again. I laughed it off. I thought it was over. I was wrong.
Later, as I was falling asleep, he came over and started touching me. I said no. I told him to stop. But he didn’t. I froze, heart pounding, body tense. I tried to cover myself, hoping he would stop. His hands continued to roam across my body, trying to get under my clothes, and I felt him get hard beside me. I kept pushing him away and saying no, feeling like it was a bad dream.
Eventually, he fell asleep beside me.
The next morning, I felt violated. Confused. Angry. And somehow, I still tried to find excuses for him. This wasn’t the first time I’d been assaulted, yet the reflex was the same: blame myself, rationalize his behavior, hope for his approval.
Days passed. He ignored me. When he finally spoke, he told me to leave. He was jealous I was dating someone in D.C. and had made other friends in Paris. He acted cold, calculated, angry. The friendship I thought I had was a lie. Because I didn’t give him sex, I was worthless in his eyes.
Lucas is not my friend.
Maybe he had a little sister, maybe he swore he wasn’t “like that.” But in the end, he was just like the men we tell ourselves we’ll never let close. He apologized once, vaguely, more for himself than for me. Then asked for a hug—without waiting for an answer.
I was stunned. Confused. Watching a contradiction in real time…this was supposed to be my friend.
By the next night, he told me to be out by 7 a.m. knowing I had no money, barely speak the language, and was alone here. I cried. I begged. He refused. I called my partner back home, who calmed me, supported me, reminded me I wasn’t alone. I organized, booked a hostel in Lyon, and planned my escape.
At 2:30 a.m., I decided to do laundry before leaving. I crept quietly around the flat, threw everything into the machine, and sat on the floor, spinning with exhaustion and disbelief. When it beeped, the door wouldn’t open. Panic surged. I called my partner, sobbed on the bathroom floor, angry, frustrated, defeated.
Then I leaned against the machine and heard a click and was finally able to get my things out. French washing machines are temperamental as hell. They need time.
I layed down in bed staring at the ceiling for maybe 30 minutes afterward and decided it would be better to wait anywhere else than here. So I snuck quietly out of the flat, left the keys on the hutch, and walked to the train station where I immediately blocked Lucas on every platform.
Lesson learned? Trust yourself first. Even with “friends.” Especially when everything feels overwhelming—pause, breathe, take a step back. And never forget: you don’t owe anyone your comfort, your body, or your peace of mind. Not even the Lucas in your life.
