6. Six
Six
Sara
The lights from the club entrance illuminate the excited faces of Artemis, Mimi, Anne, as we wait in line.
The bouncer, a familiar face, points at us to go in, causing heads to turn in our direction.
Our stylish outfits and confident demeanors evoke looks of wonder from those around us.
Besides being popular in high school, which I’ll never wear as a badge, we’re becoming royalty in the nightlife.
The owners enjoy our habitual presence and being good for business, as they explain.
“You girls bring life to the party.” I’m sure we bring a little more that I’d care to think about. What you don’t know won’t hurt you.
The owners welcome us with open arms, grinning as they watch the lively vibe we bring to the dance floor, our laughter and carefree dancing lighting up the room.
Though it might feel reckless to some, we always know where to draw the line.
Familiar faces are easy to spot even through the wave of tourists.
Our protective circle of friends and staff makes us feel safer than even the most sophisticated home security system.
The bass thumps through the speakers with our favorite hip hop songs, sending exhilarating waves through my body, and I feel truly alive, surrounded by my girlfriends. But I miss Joe, and the more I dance, the more the truth that I belong with him is weighing on my soul.
Artemis grabs my hand to step on one of the bass that bounces through our feet and vibrates every inch of our skin, hair thrown everywhere, our bodies sweating, and us riding at dawn.
My lacy black top and skirt are clinging to my skin, and Artemis is wearing pink velvet jeans with her crop top that shows her perfect stomach.
Joe’s presence in my mind is overpowering me, and something makes my pulse race faster, and when I look over at Artemis to tell her I should go, I scream.
“What the fuck!”
“What? What’s wrong?” she yells back.
I’m so confused. “Your face is pink!”
“What do you mean?” She touches her face with her fingers.
The tempo of the beat makes it hard to stand still. I laugh uncontrollably, and the realization connects. The velvet must have traveled to her face with the intense bounce of the bass.
“Girl, it's your pants! The pink velvet is all over your face.” I’m wheezing at this point. She’s not a bit amused and grabs my hand to pull us to the bathroom, and we rush obliviously past a celebrity. Nothing phases us anymore.
She looks at herself in the mirror, and yup, pink specks cover her golden tan skin, making her hazel eyes reverberate.
There's nothing I can do to help, and I fold over with tears of laughter.
The one and only Artemis, whose jeans redecorates her face without permission, trying to wash it off with a cloth, but it's a failure.
“A bit of a change from cum on your face, huh?” I can barely get the words out. I'm laughing too hard.
“Shut up, Sara.” she smirks. Even she can’t take it too seriously. “We have to go home. No one can see me like —” She blurts out when Anne rushes into the restroom and cuts her off.
“Sara, Joe’s here, he says he needs to talk to you,” Anne says, a little breathless.
I straighten up, my stomach dropping, “What? Are you sure?” I widen my eyes, looking at my phone, but there’s no text from him.
“He said, It’s important. He seems a little impatient.” Anne lights up a cigarette, flicks the ash onto the floor because she doesn’t care, and leans in a little.
“Where did you see him?” I impatiently ask, a surge of confusion why he wouldn't just text me.
“He was in the club, but he just left. I told him you weren’t here.” She grins.
“You did what?” Anger surges into my throat, forming a hard lump that cuts off my breath. “Why Anne? Why would you say that?” I try to push past her, but she steps into my space, cutting me off.
“Word of advice? Don’t make him chase too hard. Boys like that, they break easy but then you become replaceable. It’s a balance I still have trouble with.”
“No shit!” I scoff.
Anne glances back at Artemis, then at me, and for a second her face softens. “But maybe that’s what you want. To see if he’ll shatter?”
I stare back at her, truly puzzled. “I don’t even know what the hell that means?”
“Let her do whatever she wants, Anne.” Artemis walks by to leave the restrooms. “I need a shot. Let’s go.”
Anne looks at her and gasps. “What happened to your face, Pinky?” she asks, holding her laugh in her hand.
“Shut up.” Artemis responds and drags her by the elbow.
Trying to push through the crowd and escape, I race down the nightclub stairs, running through the entrance, feeling my breath and heartbeat pounding in my throat as I search for him once I reach the street alongside the port.
I keep walking, and then I see him, but he doesn’t see me.
His back turned, broad shoulders in that button-down shirt, walking away.
He’s so beautiful it takes my breath away, and for a moment, fear grips me, a terrifying feeling that maybe I’m in over my head, that maybe I won’t survive if he breaks my heart.
Instead of speeding up to run into his arms, my body slows down, my feet in heels decelerating, mind over matter, the ground grows sturdy and a feeling of hands grips onto my ankles.
I’m paralyzed.
My hand wants to reach out, but something inside me tightens, racing in a spiral of dark mist. The shadow finds me again. I can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the certainty that if I give too much, he will leave.
They always leave.
An enigmatic river of doubt submerges me as insecure ghosts infiltrate my soul, whispering haunting delusions. A dark vibration dances within my chest with a panic attack taking total control of me.
No, not again, not now.
I watch him disappear into the illuminated streets of Saint-Tropez until all that is left is his shadow.
I try to breathe, desperately clawing for control before my panic attack turns into a full-blown showdown against myself.
I sink onto the club entrance's stairs, hugging my knees like a shield, listening to the music, and chatter coming from the club.
His Buddha triangle tattoo on his back, which he got after finding peace from it following his father’s death and freeing his mother, comes to mind, as does the taste of him on my lips.
I think of every person who’s ever told me to be more, do less, love better, break softer, and somehow, I’m never enough.
I’m a coward. I’ve been begging him to give me a part of himself, yet I can’t even offer myself in return.
Once this stupid panic attack that imprisons my mind and body slows down, I’ll pick up my phone. I’ll call him and explain. He deserves to know that I’m scared. I am broken more than he knows, more than I’ve cared to admit, and more than I ever realized.
When I get home, the house is silent and luckily my mother’s door is closed.
Collapsing, I climb back into my bed and stare at my phone.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself cry.
Cry from not knowing who I am, from missing my brother, my father.
Cry the tears I’ve been holding back at the excuse of resilience.
But even through the tears, I know tomorrow I’ll see him, and maybe I’ll finally be brave enough to never let him go again.
I finally dial his number, but it goes to voicemail.
French light is the ninth circle of hell, especially on a Monday morning, mid-June at school after a night in the club. There's only one week left of this crap, and I’m done, forever.
Feeling like an opened bottle of acetone sitting out for too long, I drift through the day, not entirely useless or entirely useful.
I have an urging impulse to go straight to Joe’s house after still not having heard from him.
The thought of seeing Joe is clawing at me, and it’s a slow poison in my bloodstream until I kiss him.
One slow death I inflicted on myself by not running to him last night.
The room erupts with zippers, clatter, and sneakers on tile when the class is done.
I keep my head down, ride the tide of bodies out into the hallway, and collide with…
ouch. I look up, and it's a sophomore, Tyler. The only reason I know his name is because a group of girls couldn’t shut up about him when he transferred a few months ago from Cannes.
“Whoa!” Tyler says.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I say, giving him an apologetic look, he could be a hockey player with his build. He glares with his green eyes, but I’m already a few steps away.
As soon as I’m free from school, I glance at my gate and his, and my feet pull me to his while I replay every second of last night watching him walk further from me. Stuck in my stupid panic attack. All I want now is to bury myself in his chest, sit in silence and feel safe in his arms again.
I reach his house and the garden is empty, the gate is closed and I swallow the lump in my throat. There’s no sound from the garage and no messages. First, I tap gently, and then I knock more forcefully. The echo in my chest is ridiculous.
I wait, counting the seconds, but there’s nothing. My heart is pounding. I have been sensing this feeling too many times since last night: something is off.
I peer into the garage, but it’s locked too, and the Ducati is gone. Like a lab rat convinced the next pellet will be the one, I check my phone again. I type out a message:
Me: Hey. Stopped by. Are you okay?
I stare at it for a full minute before hitting send. I hover, waiting. The sunlight is still brutal at six pm, and Joe’s words replaying in my head echoes,
“Do you know what happens when you want someone? they leave.”
Oh God, I’m going to be sick. If I hold still long enough, maybe the universe will answer.
Maybe he will.