“I just don’t understand. One minute you are crying and the next…”
“I feel like I’m undergoing emotional overkill, Jules. You just…you just don’t get it. These feelings…I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. What the hell is wrong with me?” Placing my hands on my face, I start to rub frantically, trying to wake myself from the haze.
“Ava, you are majorly infatuated.”
“This might be more than infatuation.”
“Yeah. Try more like obsession.”
“God. You know what? Can we please stop talking about this?”
“Fine Ava, fine. But honestly, you will get hurt.”
“My eyes are open.” My voice sounds pitiful, even to me.
"It doesn't matter. He’ll still destroy you.”
It didn't matter. “I would rather feel pain, than feel nothing at all.”
“He is breaking you. You don’t even see yourself clearly anymore. Every day that passes, your judgment gets cloudier.”
“He makes me feel vibrant, alive. Like anything is possible.”
“You’re not a better person when you’re with him.”
“I don't want to be better; I want to be complete. In the end, he wants every last part of me.” I look at her. “Even if I have pain...at least I'm feeling.” Silence stretches between us. Awkward and uncomfortable.
“So, what are you doing tonight?” she asks, changing the topic
“Why don't you come with us? I’m going out with Gabe. Drinks and dancing at Tromperie.”
“Nah, I'm okay. It’s Sunday, who goes out on a Sunday, anyways?”
“Me, and you should, too. Let me guess…you are just going to sit around staring at the phone waiting for him to call you?”
“Fine, I will go with you,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Left to my own devices, I would probably rot in my bed, but lucky for me, Jules is never far behind.
I WALK BACK into the room thirty minutes later with a towel wrapped around my head and one around my body. Jules is lying on the couch watching a fashion show while painting her nails. Her face is green from the beauty treatment she’s performing to ready herself for the evening. Jules has taken it upon herself to come over today and apparently is not planning on leaving until she sees I’m actually dressed and coming with her dancing.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“I’m bored, are you ready yet?” She furrows her eyebrows at me. I shake my head and pull out a mini gold sequin dress from the bag I’m holding in my hand.
“What do you think about this dress for tonight?”
Her face lights up immediately. I can see the excitement radiating in her deep brown eyes.
“Stop right there. You will not be borrowing this one.” I laugh.
She breaks out into a fit of giggles, I knew her too well. “Okay fine, but you totally need your YSL shoes. They will look killer, and oh my God, with those heels, your legs…I DIE.” She is so over dramatic I can’t help laugh.
I’m finally dressed, and I take Jules’s advice. I’m wearing the teeny, tiny sequin gold dress, my YSL sandals, and carrying my silver and gold patent Chanel clutch. My dark brown hair is blown out with beach waves. My blue eyes are accented with a shimmery gold shadow and black eyeliner that I had played up to make my eyes catlike, and my lips are nude with a shimmer gloss. I’ve never felt so sexy in my life. I take out my phone as Jules is in my bedroom getting dressed. I do it quickly so as not to get caught.
Me: Hey do u want to meet me and my friends at Tromperie tonight?
I wait, holding my iPhone in my hand, staring at it like a possessed stalker. After what feels like forever, but in actuality was fifteen minutes, it still hasn’t vibrated. We’re running late, so I’ve no time to dwell on the text. We hop in a cab and make it to Gabe’s in record time. The booze is flowing. I hear the familiar pop of champagne bottles and music is blasting. If I didn't know better, I would think I was already at the nightclub.
“Shots all around,” Gabe shouts as we walk in. He’s pouring Patron into little crystal glasses, “extra chilled, just the way you like it, Jules.”
She smiles a very flirtatious smile and winks, and he bursts out laughing. I’m still waiting for Jules to get her head out of her ass and admit she's in love with him. I grab the crystal glass, “Bottoms up!” The cold liquor flows down my throat like liquid heaven, and my body instantly loosens up. We consume quite a bit more before we finally hit the club.
TROMPERIE IS A LOUNGE and club where the dance floor is in the middle of the room surrounded by small glass tables with small booths for bottle service. The room is plush, everything is upholstered with dark burgundy velvet, and the ceiling has a series of large black crystal chandeliers hanging strategically. It looks like a French boudoir. It invokes decadence, sin, and as the name so poignantly states in French, ‘tromperie.’ It makes me think of Ryder.