Chapter Text
========= Chapter One. Raelle doesn't belong here. ==========
She takes a big sip of her drink as she looks around the bustling Soho art gallery, hoping the alcohol will calm the feeling fluttering in her stomach. Even though she knows she shouldn't, she begins to compare her outfit to everyone else's. This gallery is much more hipster than the ones she once visited. The fashion outfits of the opening crowd run the gamut from quirky to bright and everything in between. Still, Raelle can't help but wonder if people are judging her, thinking she's not good enough in her simple polo and jeans.
Well, fuck them if they think so. She didn't know Gerit was bringing her to the fucking art show tonight.
Raelle takes another sip of beer, swallowing hard and putting her hair to the side. Smooths it back down. The bottle is cold and slightly damp from condensation; she scratches the label with her thumb, looking around the crowd for her friend. They lost each other almost as soon as they stepped inside, Raelle declining the offered glass of champagne and wine from the waiters piled at the door, deciding to head straight for the bar, while Gerith probably went in search of the mysterious man who led them to this gallery.
Raelle was shocked when, already in the cab, Gerit told her where they were going. Not because Gerit wasn't into art, but because he was an introvert, often preferring his manuscripts to people. They were "two peas in a pod": they were happy in their solitude. He just never seemed to Raelle a man who wanted to be part of some company where he would have to expend all his energy on small talk and pretend to be happy to see people. Talking to him, Raelle never thought she would find herself in a position where she would have to pick at old wounds that would never really heal, that she definitely never told her friend about.
So Raelle just tried to talk Gerit out of it, saying that Soho was the opposite direction from their usual bar and their apartment, that she wasn't dressed for a social outing, but Gerit didn't even budge, saying that he didn't see what the problem was and he was in jeans and a T-shirt too. They argued in the car for a while, and neither of them wanted to give up. Eventually Gerith broke down and admitted that the reason he was so set on going was because the person he had just started dating invited him to "stop by."
- We only need to be there for an hour, and then we'll leave," Gerith assured her. - I just need some time to chat with her.
Raelle only had to sigh. After all, she could just enjoy the free food and drink, and offer moral support, just in case. It was the silent pleading in her friend's deep brown eyes after he had exhausted all his arguments that finally convinced Raelle. She relented, agreeing to step into the arena she had sworn five years ago never to enter again.
Besides, it wasn't Gerith's fault that his new passion apparently worked in an art gallery.
Raelle just needs to put on a mask and go through with it. She can do it. For the sake of a friend. She is no longer the child who struggles to make ends meet; she is in her thirties and quite an adult who has put the past behind her. She can play the game and pretend to feel at ease.
After all, she did it all the time five years ago. If she's really honest with herself, though, which she's been trying to do for the past few years, she'll tell herself that she's never been able to look at a yellow square of canvas with one black square in the middle and call it art. Parsing the composition, trying to decipher what the artist was trying to say and how it made him "feel"-because it's bullshit.
Nonsense. It always made her feel stupid. Like she was outside of some system, like she was the only one who couldn't see the talent in a painting that could very easily hang on the refrigerator in her house. She hated the hell out of it.
Raelle sighs as the waiter stops in front of her, offering a tray of tuna canapés. She takes one from the tray with a strained smile and accepts a cocktail napkin from the waiter. Raelle pops the canapés into her mouth, exhaling approvingly as the aroma of sesame and ginger soaks into her tongue. She wipes her fingers and wipes her lips with a napkin, rolling it into a fist as she finishes, looking for the trash can.
This is another thing that has always driven her crazy: napkins, cocktail sticks, and not a single trash can in sight. She finishes her beer, shoves a napkin down the neck of the bottle and returns to the bar, sighing heavily and making her way through the crowd. She really thought she'd put it all behind her, locking all those feelings in a drawer that would never be opened again. But all she had to do was end up in an art gallery, so all the insecurity would just come roaring back in full force.
Raelle walks over to the bar, places the empty bottle on the countertop, and makes a sign to the slightly exhausted bartender that she wants another one. The bartender quickly hands her the bottle; Raelle smiles appreciatively, holding out a five-dollar bill across the bar and receiving an equally appreciative smile in return.
It's a kind of collaborative exhibition; the styles of paintings are too varied to belong to just one artist. Some of the art is modern crap, which she always hated, but there are also quite a few still lifes and portraits. These were always the types of paintings she understood, the types of paintings that gave a sense of reality about tangibility, capturing moments rather than vague concepts.
Raelle is slowly moving toward these paintings, her interest in the exhibition slowly growing. Maybe she should have grabbed the brochure by the door after all. Her new apartment is in dire need of some decorating just a month after returning to New York.
- A mini toast?
Raelle turns to the young waitress, who suddenly appears beside her, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the tray in her hands. Of course, they serve toast with various appetizers. She hates avocado toast, and doesn't understand why everyone is so damn obsessed with it.
- No thanks," Raelle replies angrily. Her stomach rumbles loudly, and the waitress giggles. - You don't have anything more substantial here, do you?
- Not here," replies the waitress, conspiratorially leaning in and tilting her head, pointing to the exit of the hall. - There's a lot of stuff over there behind the door. I can show you.
It's probably one of the few things Collar missed. In this city, people are not as constrained and burdened by prejudice as in many of the other places she has visited in recent years. The girl is young and pretty and probably longs for a fleeting adventure. Raelle doesn't usually act like this, but this place is freaking her out. She needs a distraction or a drink. The first option makes more sense.
- Maybe I'm too hungry," Raelle pulls away, taking a sip of her beer. After all, if she got the hint wrong, at least she won't leave this place hungry.
The waitress smiles and nods, stepping aside and offering a tray of disgusting toast to her next, unsuspecting victims, then throws another look at Raelle as she moves away. Keeping her eyes on the prize, Kollar quickly makes her way through the crowd in pursuit of the waitress. She can practically feel this evening making her "alive" again as she rounds the corner, stepping into the expanse of the gallery, her eyes surveying the room, searching for the girl.
That's when she sees her.
She freezes in place, shock running through her veins like ice water. All thoughts of a fling with the pretty waitress instantly disappear from her mind. Her stomach drops abruptly to the floor as she stares at her twenty-two-year-old self staring at her from the wall. Shit.
Raelle sighs sharply, squeezing her eyes shut.
She's making all this up, right? She's dreaming, so she should be. There's no reason for her portrait to be on display in this gallery. Because that would mean...
Raelle blinks, her eyelids fluttering as the room floats around her. She takes a few large sips of beer as she makes sure that she is definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait of Scylla Ramshorn she has ever painted hangs on this wall.
Raelle stares intently at the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as she realizes that there is not just one painting of her, but five. The portraits are lined up as if they were a kind of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of her deepest love. Her greatest heartache. The pain that had pierced so deeply that she'd left this fucking country, severing all ties to her life in New York, now suddenly surrounded her as if she'd never left.
Shit.
All of Raelle's instincts are screaming at her to get out of there, but she stays put, completely mesmerized by the pictures. She may not know much about art, but just so you know, Scylla's work is bloody brilliant. It always has been. Her paintings have an inner quality that immediately draws the viewer in; she has a true gift when it comes to capturing the emotions of her subjects, making them feel unique on that canvas. Raelle hasn't allowed herself to think about these moments in years, but as soon as she looks at the paintings, everything immediately comes back, as if it were only yesterday.
The first picture that changed everything was the only one she ever posed for. Raelle remembers how damn nervous she was and how they talked until Raelle relaxed, naturally assuming a pose that caught Scylla's attention. Her right arm crossed over her chest, clutching her left bicep, showing off the bird tattoo on her forearm and bare wrist. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, forcing the neckline of her T-shirt down low, revealing her collarbones, while her head is tilted to the side, her eyes peering through her lashes with a soft, affectionate smile adorning her lips. To this day, Raelle has no idea how Scylla captured that expression on her face.
Or maybe Collar was just in love with her from the start. She could never hide it.
Heat rushes to Raelle's cheeks, and she takes a big sip of beer as her eyes slide to the next picture. She lies in bed on her side, propped up on her elbow to emphasize her curves, and only the smallest part of the pale blue sheet covers her hips and breasts to preserve her modesty. A coy smirk is on her face, and her eyes shine teasingly as her hand clutches the sheet, leaving the viewer to decide whether she is covering herself or about to be naked.
Raelle unconsciously rubs her wrist as she looks at the middle picture, her fingers tracing the path of the rope tattoo. She looks over her shoulder, smiling so hard that her eyes crinkle and her right hand reaches back, the rope tattoo fresh on her wrist, the skin around it slightly pink. Her fingertips touch the outstretched left hand in the foreground of the painting, the ink of the corresponding anchor standing out sharply against her pale skin. She doesn't need to look at the small square to her left-the painting shows its title. She will never forget it; the words are forever embedded in her brain and imprinted on her skin.
Tied together like two ships.
Raelle swallows hard, her throat clenched. That was the only time Scylla has ever painted herself in one of her works.
She can't remember the moment that inspired her fourth painting, because it could have been any moment. All the gallery openings and parties, all the happy times spent together blurred so much that all that is left is a fog of misery.
In this one, Raelle sits in profile, her hair falling over her forehead, her eyes downcast, and her shoulders hunched as if she were trying to get smaller. The whole picture is true...she is sad, broken and destroyed. She looks lost, melancholy echoing in every neat and precise movement of Scylla's brushwork. At the time, Raelle had no idea why Scylla painted such a portrait, why the hell she wanted to capture something so damn pathetic; it really made her furious. Now that she has some distance, she thinks she knows why she was angry. After all, she spent an entire year channeling all her energy and emotion into her work and failed, and Scylla just processed it all with a brush, and now her own sadness is as evident in the painting as it is in Raelle's face.
The fifth painting is one she has never seen before, and it looks like a punch in the gut.
It is an unfinished work, but there is something definitely finished in its incompleteness. The canvas is mostly completely white, crossed by faint pencil grid lines. Raelle's preliminary sketch is most of the profile, drawn in heavy graphite lines, with some charcoal shading, black spots creating dimension and texture, indicating where Scylla will return and draw shadows.
Scylla began to fill in part of her face, focusing on her nose and cheekbones, applying a few shades to replicate her skin tone. Her eyes are the only fully completed part of her personality. Scylla always started with them, working so thoroughly that she often spent hours getting the exact shade of blue she wanted, lovingly coloring each eyelash and brow curve. Her eyes look ghostly here, depicted in a stormy blue-gray, made all the more disturbing by the fact that nothing else in the painting is fully realized. This painting crumbles in small strokes, as if carrying away the image of Collar.
Raelle swallows hard as she sees splashes of blue paint on the canvas, dripping from under her nose and chin, covering the lower half of the portrait. It is the same blue that Scylla has always used for her eyes. When Raelle looks more closely, she sees tiny specks of color dotting the canvas where the paint splashed out from the obvious point of impact. She stares at it until the painting begins to blur behind the tears protruding in her eyes. They flow in a stream as she draws in air through her teeth.
Shit.
A waitress walks by with a hollow tray, Raelle sets her half-full bottle of beer on it and wipes the tears from her cheeks, trying desperately to pull herself together. She concentrates on her breathing, breathing in and out evenly, trying to calm her racing heart. Of all the art galleries in town, and she knows there are a hell of a thousand of them, Raelle didn't have a chance not to go into the one with Scylla. Of course she did. It must have been some kind of twisted cosmic joke. But then again, Raelle isn't surprised. Not really. She and Scylla have always been like magnets, the attraction between them was undeniable. So why wouldn't she return to Scylla's orbit almost as soon as she got back to New York? She should have known.
She runs her hands over her face and sighs heavily.
Scylla is not here, in this very room. Raelle knows it is. And she can't decide what's worse: turning around and seeing her, probably with fucking Alexander by her side, or quietly slipping out of the gallery unnoticed and not seeing Scylla at all.
She takes a deep breath and turns around.
Raelle looks for Scylla in the crowd, her heart pounding frantically. All the sounds in the room are drowned out by the sound of blood in her ears. Her hands are sweaty and clammy, she clenches them into fists, and the slight pain of blunt nails digging into the flesh of her palms makes her freeze. The crowd in the center of the room shifts, and Raelle sighs softly as she sees Scylla Ramshorn for the first time in five years, and her heart involuntarily sinks.
Scylla is chatting passionately with the older woman, clutching a full glass of red wine in her right hand. Her attention is laser-focused on her, her eyebrows furrowed. Raelle has found herself on the other side of that gaze many times before. She has no doubt that Scylla feels like the most important person in this room, completely capturing her attention. She has always been good at these things, charming and casual, and it is clear that she has not changed in the slightest.
While Scylla is busy with other people, Raelle takes the opportunity to get drunk, recounting all the little differences between the girl she once loved and the woman standing in front of her. She is exactly the same, and yet completely different at the same time.
Scylla looks good. Really good. Which, of course, is infuriating. She holds herself differently now, her back straighter and her shoulders squared, radiating confidence. As she ages, her face becomes more angular, her jaw sharp and defined. She is wearing a white dress with a black floral pattern that Raelle swears looks just like the linens they used to buy when they lived together. On someone else, Raelle thinks it would look absolutely ridiculous, but Scylla isn't all that. The cut of the skirt accentuates her long legs, and the heel adds height. Her hair has gotten shorter, she notes sadly at that moment, Scylla sneers at something the woman says, and it makes Raelle's stomach flip.
It's the one thing that hasn't changed about Scylla. She is still the prettiest girl in this room. In any room.
Raelle is so immersed in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice Scylla's attention shifting until it's too late. She freezes in place when their gazes meet, Scylla's blue eyes widening when she sees her, in shock. Her jaw sags, her lips fold into a perfectly round "O" as the paint pours from her face, the wine glass slips from her fingers and breaks. Ruby-red liquid splashes out and splashes all over her legs and her white dress.
All the noise in the room suddenly erupts into Raelle's senses, from the giggling of people in close proximity to Scylla to the man on the other side of the room trying to shout out the noise. A waiter runs up to Scylla with an empty tray in one hand and a towel in the other. They squat down, haphazardly wiping a spilled puddle of wine with a napkin, while the waiter tosses the towel over large chunks of glass.
- Raelle? - Scylla gasps, looking up and down at her, confusion and anxiety written all over her face, the wine-soaked napkin clutched in her hand.
It is the sound of Scylla's deep voice saying her name that brings Raelle out of her trance, her urge to escape finally activated. She turns around, nearly colliding with another waiter, bouncing, making her way through the crowd as fast as she can, her eyes fixed on the exit. Adrenaline rushes through her veins, her heart pounding at a hundred beats per minute.
She has to get out of here. Now.
- Raelle!
She flinches when someone touches her shoulder, turns around sharply, almost expecting to see Scylla standing in front of her.
- God, Gerith," Raelle sighed, pressing her hand to her chest and glancing from her friend to the door and back. - You scared the hell out of me.
- I'm sorry, but I thought you saw me," Gerith said frankly. - Where have you been? I was looking for you, because...
- Where have I been? - Raelle laughs, and there is a hysterical undertone in her voice. - I think I've been to hell, Gerith, and where have you been?
Gerith wrinkles his forehead as he studies Raelle, noticing the paths of tears.
- Holy shit, are you okay? - Gerith asks, his brown eyes full of concern. - What's wrong?
Raelle looks back at Scylla to make sure she's not following her. She's not sure if she's angry or not.
- Saw a ghost," Raelle says quietly, looking down at her sneakers. - Look, I gotta go," Raelle says, patting Gerith on the shoulder. - I'll explain it to you later, okay?
- Okay, but Ra...
- I'm sorry I didn't get to meet your girlfriend," Raelle interrupts, turning sharply. - Some other time, okay? Yeah. I'll text you later.
Raelle heads straight for the door, not even waiting for Gerith to answer. Already rummaging in her pocket for a pack of cigarettes, with a sigh of relief she leaps outside, where the slightly stuffy June air is a welcome respite from the cold air of the gallery. She puts the cigarette in her mouth and smokes it with trembling hands, taking a long, deep breath. As she slowly exhales, her eyes stop on the neon-green shamrock in the window of the diner across the street, the logo flickering slightly.
She urgently needs a drink.
*/flashback/*
- Shots? - asks Raelle, arching an eyebrow and looking at Byron as he removes his heavy winter coat, hanging it on a hook under the bar counter. - Tuesday night? Are you trying to kill me, Byron? Why are we drinking tonight?
- Because, honey, my boss is a jerk, and you keep complaining about losing your inspiration," Byron replies with a cocky smirk. - Do we really need another reason?
- No, we're not doing this on a weekday," Raelle replies as she sits down on a stool and pulls it closer to the counter. She holds out her fist to Patrick, their usual bartender, who returns the blow with ease even as he pours the drink into a neat line of shot glasses. Raelle frowns, counting them. - Why are there six?
- Stan is coming, isn't he? - Byron asks, cautiously moving the full shot glasses toward her. - Two for each of us.
As if on cue, both their cell phones buzz. Raelle gets to his first, turning it on and reading the text thread.
- He's stuck at work," Raelle informs the guy, showing him his phone. Byron makes a pouty face, sticking out his lower lip. Raelle snorts, blocking the phone and placing it on the bar counter.
- Then we'll just drink in his honor," he says solemnly, holding out one of the shots to Raelle. - Bottoms up, darling.
- Oh, God, I'm not getting up tomorrow," Raelle grumbles, toasting her glass with her friend's. - To good friends. And bad habits," she smirks sarcastically.
They tap their empty shot glasses on the wooden bar. The sharp smell of whiskey fills Raelle's nostrils as she brings the shot to her lips; she closes her eyes and takes a sip with familiar ease, the whiskey sliding smoothly down her throat, leaving a pleasant burning sensation. She rattles down the second empty shot glass on the bar counter, glancing at her friend, who is already holding out a third to her.
- Too slow," he reproves with a smirk. - I know you can do better than that.
- You're right, I can," Raelle agrees. - But I won't, no way," Raelle refuses, waving his hand. - If I drink any more on an empty stomach, I'll probably throw up on you. I need something to eat.
As if by magic, Patrick puts a large plate of fried potatoes in front of her, and sauce on the sides.
- Honestly, Raelle, what do you take me for? - Byron pokes her affectionately under the rib. - I ordered it as soon as you got on the subway.
- I love you," Raelle sighs, dipping one potato in the sauce. - But I still don't agree to get drunk.
- A beer, then," he says haughtily, Raelle's mouth half-full of scalding hot potatoes.
- Come on," she nods nonchalantly, chewing. - Just don't call me tomorrow when you have a hangover and have to deal with your awful boss.
- That's Byron's future problem," he shrugs, rattling down his shot and pushing his plate to the middle. - And you're too uptight, you need a girl, at least for the night. The bar is full, go out and meet someone.
Raelle knows that enough time has passed since her last relationship and knows that her friends are flustered by her lack of a "busy life" in a personal way, but still she makes no attempt to change things.
- Any options? - That doesn't mean she can't support her friend in his zeal.
Raelle turns around, waving a straw in her ginger beer glass, and leans against the bar counter, looking around at the crowd that has gathered on a Tuesday night. Here, in fact, there are never any empty seats because of the location of the bar. The long and narrow space seems full, but not crowded.
Raelle's eyes wander to the various groups of people gathered around the whiskey keg tables on the other side of the room, assessing them by how much fun they seem to be having. A group of six people standing diagonally away from them catches her eye. They are a little noisier than the rest of them, a dark-haired girl making a loud toast. Raelle's stomach flips slightly as the group shifts, revealing the girl they are congratulating, her cheeks rosy as she tries to placate her friends, and the pink cocktail slurps slightly in her glass.
The prettiest girl Raelle has ever seen.
A bright plastic tiara, which is definitely meant for a child, looks gracefully on her head, her curls cascading down to her shoulders, while a ribbon with neon pink lettering announcing her as the birthday girl stretches across her chest, tying her narrow waist. She smirks from ear to ear, her pretty lips flushed with cocktail and blended lipstick, and her cheeks wrinkled from smiling. Her eyes sparkle, and though the bar is too dark to see exactly what color they are, Raelle knows they must be beautiful.
Raelle hears Byron giggling nearby; she pushes him in the side with her elbow to keep him quiet. She looks at her, she knows she's looking, but she doesn't care. She wants the girl to notice her, wanting her to look in her direction.
Their gazes meet, and Raelle's heart sinks for a moment. The girl tilts her head and a strange smile appears on her lips. She doesn't look away, a hint of defiance flashes in her eyes as she looks back.
Stupefied by the two shots of whiskey now flowing through her veins, Raelle winks at her.
The girl's eyes widen and she drops her cocktail, the wide margins of the glass falling to the edge of the table, the pink liquid splashing over her jeans and faded gray T-shirt. She bounces back as the glass falls to the floor with a loud clatter. Raelle slaps her lips with the palm of her hand, trying to contain her laughter, and the dark-haired girl shouts joyfully, putting her hand out in front of her. The rest of the group begins to act, one of them holding out his napkin to the girl, shaking his head gently. The girl clutches the napkin to her chest, looks back at Raelle and laughs, a beautiful humming sound spreading over the lively noise of the bar. Raelle arches an eyebrow as she smirks, turning back to the bar.
- I'm in awe, really," Byron laughs as Raelle takes a graceful sip of her ginger beer. - It's like watching a master class. How did you do that?
- I don't know what you're talking about," Raelle replies nonchalantly.
- Bullshit," he snorts. - She's coming this way.
- Shit, okay," Raelle mutters, running her fingers through her expertly tousled hair, then gently smoothing it to the side. She deliberately doesn't look back at the approaching girl, suddenly very interested in the hockey game on TV behind the bar. Because of this, she senses her presence before she even sees her.
The warmth emanating from her body as she invades Raelle's personal space runs through her. The girl grabs a stack of napkins. Raelle turns to her, still trying to be the epitome of equanimity, when she meets the most beautiful pair of eyes she has ever seen.
- Oh," the girl giggles, her voice deep. She looks down, biting her bottom lip as she wipes her pink splattered belt with the lettering.
- Hello," Raelle exhales, all semblance of equanimity disappearing as she smiles.
- Hello," the girl says like a parrot, and a few unruly curls fall on her forehead as she looks up at Raelle through her lashes. Her eyes are a little glazed from the alcohol, but her gaze is still sharp.
- Nice tiara," Raelle remarks as she leans her back against the counter. - Is it really your birthday?
- "Yes," the girl nods, majestically pointing to her stained flip-flap sash with "birthday girl" written on it. - Today is my twenty-third birthday.
- Well, happy birthday," Raelle smiles.
- Thank you. Unfortunately, I seem to be out of booze," the girl sighs dramatically, adjusting the tiara in her curls. - And someone has to buy it for me. That seems about right, doesn't it?
- Do you think so?
The girl just nods, blinking and exaggeratedly pouting her lips.
- You dropped your own glass," Raelle shrugs.
- Only because someone fucked me with a look," the girl objects, turning around. - Well, since it wasn't you.
- Wait," Raelle calls out, and the girl holds back a smile. - Um...
The words stick in Raelle's throat, her breathing interrupted as the girl narrows the space between them, standing so close that Raelle can smell the sweet alcohol on her breath. The girl's heels are on, which makes Raelle look down at her. They study each other, and neither wants to give up first.
Raelle's heart is pounding in her chest so hard that she's sure the girl across the street can feel it. Finally the girl lowers her head, her lips almost touching the shell of Collar's ear.
- Duck, was it you after all? - Mumbles the girl, her voice as slow as thick honey poured on the gravel.
The girl pulls away, a cocky smirk gracing her mouth. Raelle exhales convulsively, a nervous laugh escaping her lips as she signals Patrick from across the bar.
- What are you drinking?
- Raspberry Cosmo," the girl replies, her cocky grin melting into a sweet smile, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
- You heard the man," Raelle smirks. - A Raspberry Cosmo for the birthday girl. - The bartender nods and immediately reaches for his glass. - In the meantime," Raelle says, sliding an extra shot of whiskey over to the girl, "you haven't told me who I should sign my birthday card to.
- You don't have to have a name for a birthday card," the girl teases, taking a shot.
- Maybe you should just tell me," Raelle snapped.
- Is that whiskey? - The girl asks, wrinkling her nose and sniffing at the smell. Raelle nods.
- I can't stand it," the girl says apologetically, putting the shot back on the counter and pushing it back to Raelle.
- This is for me," Byron says suddenly, flying over and grabbing a shot glass. (That's right, he's still here.)
Byron quickly pours himself a shot, the girl watching him, shifting her eyebrows and pouting her lips, which makes him look like some kind of jealous frog.
- He's not your boyfriend, is he?
- God, no," Byron exclaimed, his face wrinkling as he knocked over his shot glass with a clatter, his whole body shuddering. - No, no, not in any way, not in the world. No." And he adds for reassurance. - Gay. Absolutely not. I mean, I... no. Absolutely...
- Well, thank you, Byron," Raelle replies nonchalantly. - I'm trying to make a good impression here.
- Oh, I think you already have," he chuckles.
The girl chuckles loudly, clasping her mouth in her palm, and Raelle can't help but wink at her once more as Patrick puts a glass of drink in front of her.
- Thank you," Raelle says, handing him some bills. She turns again to the girl, who is watching her with a somewhat confused expression on her pretty face. Raelle slides the glass toward her. - Here you go, baby. Happy Birthday.
- What's your name? - The girl asks with a reverent smile.
- Oh, now that you got what you came for, you want to know my name? - Raelle teases softly.
The girl just nods and smiles wider, her smile so deep that Raelle is sure it could be seen from outer space.
- I'm Raelle," she finally says.
- Nice to meet you, Raelle," the girl says, extending her hand.
- And it's a pleasure to meet you..." Raelle replies, becoming silent as she touches her palm lightly squeezing it.
- Scylla," the girl prompts. - My name is Scylla.
They smile radiantly at each other, and Raelle involuntarily feels like she's standing on the edge of some abyss, something amazing about to begin.
- I think our acquaintance, another occasion to celebrate with a toast, shall we go to our table? - Scylla says solemnly, raising her glass in the air.
- To the most beautiful girl who has turned twenty-three. - Raelle smiles as her reflection.
A slight blush covers Scylla's cheekbones, and Raelle still can't help her heart as she looks at her smile.
*/end of flashback/*