𝐍𝐲𝐱 (𝘨𝘹𝘨)

IV - soda stereo

Victoria Valentín

Irene's guest is infuriating. I shiver in contempt and slam my bedroom door. I sink to the floor with my head and knees throbbing. I had fallen while running upstairs earlier, while rushing to clean myself up and avoid further embarrassment and to lament the loss of my sketchbook in solitude.

The sketchbook in my left hand is, upsettingly so, no longer a sketchbook. It feels a bit more like a paper mache project gone wrong. I grimace as I think about all of the drawings I have lost, all of the anatomy studies and the illustrated memories of my parents. I feel my chest bubble up and my heart crawls into my throat. I let out some constricted sobs and let the hot tears run down my face.

I throw the sketchbook across the floor, watching the pulp-like papers smear and separate. I look up from my wooden floor and at the large window above my bed. The sunflowers peek through the opening and seemingly ask me if I'm okay.

I get up, with pain, and take a bit of an angry shower while listening to soda stereo.

The water droplets trace my skin in a rapid fashion and my curly hair is soaked. I listen as De Música Ligera comes on. I softly hum to the harsh song and let my mind travel to future art projects. I need to ask Irene about another sketchbook, but guilt creeps into my chest. The ruined book was a gift from my dad. It was an extremely good quality book that I received for my eighteenth birthday, after I had graduated the boarding school.

I went to a finishing school in Switzerland, starting when I was fourteen, until I was fifteen. My parents relocated to Switzerland those two years, so that we would be closer. I started going to a boarding school once I graduated finishing school, which was an experience of deeply mixed feelings. We relocated to New York after I graduated. I took a gap year to spend more time with my parents, which I consider the best decision I've ever made. Everything went smoothly until my parents passed away.

I shut off the shower, hardly humming the song. I reach for the soft towel and, in the break between songs, I start to sob again. It doesn't matter how much I try to distract myself, it doesn't change the fact that I'm at a loss. I've never been at much of a loss in my life, but I had lost the two most important people in my life and tens of pages of drawings, of memories I'm trying to recapture, to make my own again.

I recollect my composure and slip on some overalls and a painting shirt.

I find Irene and the rude guest in the formal living room, chatting and rubbing their hands on the furniture. I catch a few of their happy, distracted words and my chest starts to ache. I tear up, cursing my sensitivity, and attempt to control my emotions. I turn around and start to head into the informal family room when Irene calls my name.

I freeze, turning slowly, and I meet her eyes. They're light and pretty and I can't seem to make out their color from the distance between the staircase I'm standing on and the formal living space. The guest's hair is short and cropped, highlighting her cheekbones and button nose (which I immediately become jealous of). Her eyes are piercing and angular, with a slight tone of defiance.

I quit my staring and continue walking towards them. I grip the pencil in my hand that I had picked up off the floor upon instinct, earlier, when in my room. I force every bit of bias and greet the guest with a small kiss on the cheek, which startles her a bit. A blush rises to my cheeks and I realize that she's most likely American-born. I go and kiss my aunt on the cheek and she kisses my cheek, too. I back up, asking her how she is, but Irene pulls me back and gives me a big bear hug. She knows I've been crying.

She whispers some spanish words in my ear, telling me that our guest is not used to greeting people in our foreign way. I blush again at my impulsively and turn to our guest.

"Sorry, it is a form of greeting." I tell her. I lose contact with her eyes and mine shift to the ground. For some reason, it is extremely hard to look at her directly in the eyes.

She doesn't say anything, which ticks me off a bit. Irene offers me some maté and I accept, drinking the bitter drink and sitting next to her.

"Have you sketched anything recently, amor?" Tía Irene asks, in a lighthearted tone.

Immediately my eyes start to water and my throat begins to constrict. I glance to my side in order to hide my face at her. I look at the sunflowers that are revealed by the windows and calm my breathing. I turn back and hum, nodding my head for an answer.

"Oh!" My tía exclaims, standing straight up. "I forgot to introduce you two!" Irene holds out her hand to me, "Victoria, this is Olive, Olive Rios. Olive," Tía turns to the short-haired girl, "this is my niece, Victoria." I grind my teeth and give a small curtsy to her.

I flinch at the sound of her laughter, looking up to meet her eyes. Is she mocking me? Immediately my chest clenches and Irene smacks Olive's knee hard, with a restrained smile. Irene is laughing too, even though she's seen me greet people this way many times before.

Embarrassment floods through my body and I utter a broken "excuse me", leaving the room towards the patio outside. I find Sol and run with her into the sunflowers field, where the bugs bite at my skin and leave me itching. I find the small clearing where I set up my easel early in April, and sit, staring at the ocean. I let my tears fall and Sol crawls into my lap, purring as my hot tears land on her white head.

A/N: i want a cat like sol