The Degradation (translation)

Chapter 8

Herve Bazin wrote: "Life without a future is most often life without a past." Sometimes the past brings so much pain that it leaves us without a future. 

*** 

Louis' pov

«16. Will you come to the masquerade ball tomorrow?»

«No."

«Why?»"

«Because I don't like balls and masks and people.»

«And the dancing?»

«Never.»

«Too bad you're not coming.»

«Why?»

«Because that would be cool. Anonymous in a black mask, lost in the crowd. You know what I mean.»

«I like the idea.»

«So you're coming?»

«No, I still don't like people.»

And this is probably stupid, but I smiled. He doesn't like people, but he doesn't push me away. It's such a nice feeling to know that I'm different, that I'm different from everyone else. When I'm with an Anonymous person, I feel like I'm dear to him. No, I don't have any self-esteem issues, quite the opposite. I know what I'm worth, and I'm proud of it. But with him it's different, with him it seems to me that my actions actually make sense. For example, when I'm not angry with him if he doesn't want to talk, or when I comfort him when he's sad. I enjoy doing it. Because it turns the most unimportant things into vital ones. I think that's what I like about him. The way he shows me that I'm worth something without even knowing it.

"And this?"

I quickly lose my smile and look up with an exasperated sigh.

"It's perfect.

Like the other eight she'd tried on. I don't see how I could have agreed to this. I've been sitting on the couch in front of the dressing room for two hours, pretending to look at Eleanor's dresses. Every time I tell her that they are all beautiful, but she always lacks something. She spins around in the mirror and tilts her head to the side. I'm warning you, just don't say what you're going to say.

"I'll try on another one."

Not that. I'd rather jump off a bridge than sit here for another hour. It's my turn to manipulate. I stand up and pull her around my waist.

"No, It's perfect."

"But you say it every time!"

I lean down to whisper in her ear:

"Yes, but I can already imagine pulling it off you after the ball."

Effectively. Twenty minutes later, we're outside.

***

The evening started two hours ago, and I'm already finishing my seventh or eighth glass of whiskey. I don't know, and I don't care. The great hall of the University is decorated in the style of the sixteenth century. Girls in dresses, guys in suits. All wearing masks. I'm standing at the bar with a glass in my hand, talking to a blonde whose name I can't remember. Eleanor got me so sick of dancing that I sent her. I hate dancing, and she knows it. Insulting, she did not forget to specify that someone else would pull her dress off. Oh, hallelujah, finally. Blondie tells me that... I have no idea what she's telling me. I look at her cleavage, it's more interesting. She stops her monologue abruptly and looks at something behind me.