Vows of Misfortune

40.

It was the night of the art show. I wasn't looking forward to it, at all. My stomach was twisting and gurgling in protest. Even my gut didn't want me to go.

I had to practically force myself to shower and get dressed in a black sleeveless dress. It had a high side-split showing off significant skin of my left leg and a subtle cowl neck. It was perfectly scrunched at the waist and stretched to accomodate my hips.

It was perfectly hot for an exhibition. Maybe a little too hot, but oh well.

I curled my hair a little bit just enough to make it bouncy and tried my best to do a winged liner—tried being the key word.

I paired it with a 2 pack gold choker necklace, one tight against my neck and the other hanging down just enough to hint at my hidden cleavage. It was a simple look with some red lipstick.

"Ready?" I asked Romir, putting on my thin black heels and getting up from the chair. I turned to see him sitting on the mattress, watching me. "What? Do I have lipstick on my teeth or something?" I brushed the top teeth with my finger but he shook his head.

"You look beautiful."

That was a first. My whole body flushed from the compliment. "Thank you."

I couldn't help but admire Romir from the corner of my eyes. He had cleaned up so well which wasn't a surprise. He was wearing a long beige coat, a dark brown-orange sweater with a white-black checkered dress shirt underneath. He paired it with indigo denim pants underneath and that was it. He looked like a model.

I swallowed. He had more sense of classy fashion than Varun ever had. That guy literally only threw on a leather jacket onto everything as if that made it any better.

"Let's go?" he asked, getting up from the bed himself.

"Um, yeah."

Was I really ready to face the two of them together? What would I say when they asked why I was there? I didn't know.

But I was going to do it.

***

The event was seething with crowds inside, the bustling chatter of people standing behind ropes and 'ooh'ing and having complex conversations about the meaning of each painting and sculpture.

It was overwhelming to say the least.

We had to pass by a huge music festival happening across the road to get to the major buffet; there was food inside the gallery itself, but I wanted to prepare myself before I went back inside.

I spotted Varun and Claudia at the very end, talking to a woman with a high bun, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and insanely close to her arse.

I shuddered. I didn't want to have that image in my head. My hand was looped through Romir's elbow as we walked around.

"What about this?" he asked, pretending to be immersed in the painting. I tilted my head at the painting in front of me.

"It looks...very..." confusing, to say the least. It was just a splotch of paint with some animals in the background. "...unique."

"'Art of the Soul'," he read off the plaque. He made a low rumbling noise under his breath. "Mhm. It's definitely speaking to my soul."

I snickered. I was glad I was here with him. He was relaxing my nerves much more than if I were to come here alone. I could feel some eyes on me and I could feel my palms sweating. My gaze kept bouncing back to where Varun was. They still hadn't noticed us.

We walked past a painting of a portrait, sunflowers on the far left. It looked like a five year old had painted it.

Romir hummed. "'The Painter of Sunflowers' by Paul Gauguin." He hadn't even read the plaque.