Page 18 of Omega Artist
The three of us bark out a laugh, attracting attention for a second. Soraya joins us, and I high-five her witty daughter, despite the fact that her words cleave my broken heart in two. Soraya lost her best friend. I lost my wife. We were lost for a while… especially me. Chloe is so on point…How I used to be…
My skin prickles at the thought of our loss, but that’s not what troubles me most. The lump that forms in my throat has me sputtering as I gulp another tall glass of sparkling water to help bury my sudden discomfort. Somehow, the fact that Delia’s ghost lingers while I’m anticipating Alie’s next message feels wrong. My heart flutters when I register the reason why: it feels wrong in a way I didn’t expect… like I’m betraying Alie.
Why do I feel this way? This woman doesn’t hold a candle to my wife. I scold myself inwardly; it’s not a competition anyway.
At once, my mind reasons.
Late wife.
Chapter Seven
Virtual Insanity
Aliénor
“Dammit,Sophie! I never should’ve listened to you.”
“Oh, pleeease! You’re the only bored one here. Look around you, everyone’s having fun!” Her slurred words tell me that she’s slightly intoxicated. As for me, I’m on my way, one drink at a time.
“I beg to differ. These people are eager to judge me. They’re not my friends. You’re my one true friend. Nobody else bothered to pay me a visit when I was in the hospital struggling with cancer.”
“Aliénor, relax. Stop being so dramatic. This is the best New Year’s Eve party in Paris. Trust me on that, so enough of your pity party. Carpe diem!” Sensing my hesitation, my friend snatches my wrist over the fitted sleeve of my little black dress and shakes it. “Come on, you’re better than this,” she admonishes. “This is totally unlike you.”
I hate that she’s right. “Fine,” I grumble, happy to be tucked in the most secluded corner of this giant place so that we can have this conversation without needing to shout over the thrum of the dance music.
“Youfoughtthat fucking cancer, and you will win the battle, I promise you.”Right!“So, be proud and enjoy life for a change. You turned twenty-one a couple of weeks ago and didn’t even celebrate. It’s time to paaaaarty!”
Sophie hurries towards the expansive buffet on the other side of the room, and I follow suit. I’m starving; my recent health issues upended my appetite, and my weight loss isn’t welcome this time.I pack my plate with cold cuts, raw veggies, mixed salad, and salmon to start with and dig in while my foot taps along to the beat of the music. The food, the music, and the DJ are all decent.
“Oh, my God!” A screeching voice assaults my ears, attracting my attention that was centered on eye-fucking said DJ. “What happened to your beautiful hair?”
“Hello, Solène.” I couldn’t sound more bored if I’d tried. I pat myself on the back for that. “Nice to see you, too.” My classmate winces when she realizes that she’s being rude. “It’s still there, only shorter.” Matter-of-fact is the best approach. I have no intention of informingGossip Girlthat I donated my beloved blonde mane once I learned that the tumor had been removed successfully. I have no intention of telling anyone that I cried myself to sleep for weeks after being diagnosed. I have no intention of sharing how much I actually prefer my pixie haircut, since it brings out my chocolate eyes and makes me look like a badass. Thankfully, she gets the hint and meanders away.
I don’t usually tag along to these events. There are too many people. There is too much music. There is too much excess.
Everywhere I look, I see people my age drinking to excess, hooking up in plain sight, or doing heavy drugs. Against the far left wall, I notice a group playing beer pong and snigger; since when did this cross the Atlantic and land at one of the poshest parties of the year? To each their own; I’m just appalled that the very same people judge yours truly when not under the influence.
Damn, I’m so horny!
Apparently, I have only four moods lately: hungry, tired, angry, and horny.
Sophie and I drift towards a few of our closest friends from high school. Standing in a semi-circle by the DJ’s setup, each clasps a glass of champagne or stronger alcohol. From this angle, and with most of my friends showing with their backs to the DJ, I’m free to ogle the guy without moving an inch.
Rubbing my thighs to tame the heat that’s taken residence between my legs, my intense stare stays on him as he entertains the vast crowd. Dressed in a fitted short-sleeved black shirt that exhibits his toned biceps and broad shoulders, he’s sporting a buzz cut and a five-o’clock shadow. His skilled fingers move across his random electronics, tongue haphazardly licking his lower lip. That’ll do.
Oblivious to me for the moment, he circles through a wide variety of musical genres to please everyone, from recent French classics to famous electro songs. Even the youngest guests sing along with songs that were released before they were born; it’s impressive how music can bring people together.
My friends are lost in discussions about video games and world economics, which I don’t give a shit about. Although everyone’s entitled to an opinion, I doubt that any of us is sufficiently sober to have a serious conversation right now; it’s a good thing that the volume of the music covers words that I don’t care for. I play nice, mumble indications of agreement here and there, and, a little later, watch Sophie dance.
We all run in the same circles thanks to our aristocratic status and lineage; there’s no way to prevent crossing paths with the same old people, sometimes. The same friendly people, sometimes. The same superficial people, sometimes. It all depends on the circumstances. In my experience, we are obliged to fall in line with what’s expected.
My personal motto is to respect myself first and foremost. It’s truer now that I’ve had a taste of how short life can be. I intend to live my life to the fullest because you only get one shot. But like Mae West said, “If you do it right, once is enough.”
“Guys, I’ll be right back.” I glimpse at my empty plate as an explanation and stride to the bar to discard it. On my way back to my friends, I sense the weight of a stare on me.
Bingo! It took you long enough!
I give him a brief nod and smile at him flirtatiously.
