Page 22 of Broken Pieces
Why did you have to get your father’s hair?
I shake my head, trying to get the useless thoughts out of my head and instead, chase the burning sensation down my throat with a shot of tequila. For one single night, I want to forget about my problems. Forget about the fact that I’ll never become an artist. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not that I don’t like my job—but it’s not what Ireally want to do. I’d love nothing more than to release my endless collections and actually become someone doing something that I love.My passion.Maybe even have my own studio where I can teach kids how to paint. Explore new things. Learn new ways to express my art.
A humorless laugh escapes me, one I chase with another shot of tequila. Me? Become an artist? Please. I can barely show Sophia my paintings before feeling embarrassed. My mother made sure to shame me enough times that I started to believe no one would appreciate what inspires me. What makes me happy.
“Okay, girls, are we ready?” Sophia asks. “Let’s take a selfie in the mirror before we leave.” Sophia grabs her phone and has us pose in front of the mirror.
This is nice. This is exactly what I needed.
I muster the realest smile I can for the picture, swallowing my feelings down. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. Tired of wondering. For once, I want to take charge of what I truly want.
But I’m not ready. I don’t think I ever will be.
“Pass me that picture; I want to post it on Instagram,” I mention as we’re walking out of the apartment.
Sophia nods, immersed in her phone, probably already editing the picture to have it publish-ready. Sophia is very into appearances. Working around the world of journalism, you kind of have to be. People keep a close eye on youwhen your job is to do the same to others. Vicious cycle and all.
As we’re walking to the car, I ask, “Hey, how’s the article about the art heist going?”
Sophia shrugs. “I’ve found a few contacts from Rome, tried to do some interviews, but nothing crazy. Since the investigation is still taking place, they are being very cryptic about it.”
“It was a very expensive, rare painting. I’m surprised you were even able to find people to interview.”
“I spammed their emails, called nonstop. You know, the norm.”
I shake my head with a laugh as we get inside the Uber. While I know this is not what she wants to do with her life, she’s still an extremely good journalist, so I don’t doubt she’ll be able to make this story shine.
Sophia sends me the picture, and I post it with a simple ‘night out with my girls’ quote. I barely use Instagram, so as I’m going through the notifications, I notice Damian followed me.
I frown.
Damian doesn’t follow anyone except for his business accounts.Weird. It was probably a mistake.
When we arrive at the club, it's extremely packed, which is expected since it’s opening night. Leave it up to Sophia to flirt with the bouncer, letting us in right away as people look at us like they want to skin us alive.
“How did you even do that?” Isabella asks Sophia, gaping at her, impressed.
Sophia flips her hair dramatically, then says, “I have my ways.”
I roll my eyes. “Sophia is a shameless flirt. Men go head over heels for her.”
“I can’t believe you’re single,” Isabella points out.
“I have terrible taste in men,” she says, as I say at the same time, “She has terrible taste in men.” We look at each other and throw our heads back with a laugh.
“But regardless, I prefer to be single. I have more freedom, ya know? Let the playboys get played by me,” Sophia says with an exaggerated wink.
I know my best friend pretty well, and even though she does enjoy the one-night stands, she is also a hopeless romantic. I know it must get lonely. She just doesn’t voice it.
Entering the place, it's total chaos, packed with so many people, making it a bit of a challenge to move without bumping into someone. The club has two floors, and it's lit up with rainbow neon lights that are blinking all over. Downstairs, you've got two bars on opposite sides, and in the middle, a dance floor with a bunch of small tables scattered around. Upstairs, it's like a big circle around the dance floor, making that VIP section pretty spacious.
We arrive at the bar closest to the VIP stairs entrance to get some tequila shots. I’m sure Sophia has this calculated,hoping to meet some random guy from VIP and snag us a spot. I welcome the liquid courage for fun, especially if I'm going to be dancing with anyone.
“1, 2, 3, shot, shot, shot!” Sophia yells while Isabella and I take a shot at the same time.
Isabella grimaces, then decides to chase it with a soda. Me? I embrace the burning feeling. It’s half of the fun. Helps me forget about a certain set of emerald green eyes and killer smile. Feeling all light and a bit buzzed, Sophia grabs both Isabella and me, dragging us to the dance floor. Suddenly, my favorite jam, ‘Who's That Chick?’ byDavid GuettaandRihannapulses through the club, and it's like an instant energy boost. I let the music guide me, swaying my hips to the beat. Isabella joins me, and we're both dancing, jumping, and laughing, totally feeling the buzz.
Sophia is cornered by a guy quickly—as per usual—and the dance floor becomes their flirting playground. A couple of songs later, she returns to us, bringing back the energy from her flirt-fest.
