Love-Struck In Quarantine (short story)

chapter 15

Two years later:

Vera:

I should've chosen something better to do with my life. Being an arts student has felt fulfilling, but it has also felt like I've already accomplished what I'd wanted. It feels pointless now. Why had I ever taken arts anyway? Oh, right, the scholarship. And what now? I can't earn anything with my art, can I? It's all based on capitalism, really. I need to invest in order to get something back. It becomes hard when I don't have the investment.

You see, when covid hit, I had no place to stay at, I ended up investing (if you wanna call it) my money into beds and food. And now I work part time to save up for my future while also attending University. For arts. Of course.

My part time job is probably when I feel happiest, if I'd ever known what that meant. It consists of face painting kids for parties or other occasions. I still thank my professor for helping me land this job. It doesn't feel pointless at times, when I see them smile.

As I'm tucking myself in bed, I think about the most random things that can cross a mind. My childhood hair, for instance, my sweet bangs. I wonder if I should go back to it. Probably not. Would Zack like it? What does Zack like anyway?

I've been trying to enter a fairytale for quite a while now. 20 years to be exact. I'm on the verge of giving up. If Zack doesn't wish me at 12:00 on my birthday, I'm calling quits.

It's 11:59.

I stare at my messages.

12:00 comes and goes. I remain patient.

12:45.

I fall asleep.

The next morning:

I squint at the screen, happy birthday Vera :)

Thanks, I reply, numb from the exhaustion. Zack made me tired.

Just then, I read the message that pops up. It's from my boss. My lungs constrict and my eyelids feel heavy.

Look, I know it's sudden but Christian bailed out and I need you to get to this location for a birthday party. In an hour.

It's my birthday, I reply.

Right, happy birthday, the pay will be heavy.

I push my phone away and sit up, my legs dangling on the side of the bed. One hour. That leaves no time for me to get ready like how I want to. I suck in a breath and calm myself down, then get dressed and go for a natural makeup look. I tie my hair into a ponytail and carry all my paints out the door.

As I look up the venue, I realise how big of a party it must be. Certainly the biggest one I'll ever attend.

I climb up the stairs and the door is pushed open for me, I'm greeted warmly and immediately given a spot to set everything up at. It's nothing showy, and yet I feel curious little eyes on me. Small boys run around, pleading to their parents, asking if they could have their faces painted. Why hire me if none of them were allowed in the first place? It baffles me. It's a birthday party, for Christs sake. And it's washable paint.

I smile politely and stare at the birthday boy, feeling idle. He was turning three today. The family looked extravagant and just beautiful in a simple way. The money looked good on them.

"Exchse me? Hey."

"Hi!" I smile at the boy who'd just then approached me.

"What kind of face paint do you do?" He asks.

"Any kind, I can make you whoever you want to be," I reply.

"Even Voldemort?" He asks.

"Even Voldemort," I nod, not sure why he'd want snake like nostrils or peanut eyes.

"Okay, cool."

I begin working on him, casually sparking conversation here and there. He wasn't particularly interesting, a result of his shyness, I assumed. He didn't feel very inclined to reveal anything about himself.

"Why Voldemort?" I ask, when I'm almost done.

"I want to look unrecognizable," he answers.

"God, Dylan, is that you?"

I look up from Volde- Dylan's face and my breath hitches.

"It's complete," I whisper to the boy, my eyes still on the man.

"You weren't supposed to reveal my name," the boy whispers, getting up from the chair now, and walking towards the guy.

My ears itch, and I feel bare somehow, and conscious. I realize I'm severely under dressed for this party. And I look ugly, I know it. My makeup hadn't been proper in the first place. I knew I'd aged quite a lot in the last few years, stress does that to people. But still, I feel disappointed when he bends towards the boy and doesn't spare me another glance. I realize how bad I must look, he doesn't recognize me at all.

I feel the need to pinch myself but the feel of my nails digging into my palm tells me enough.

***

Hi to anyone seeing this even after all these years! 

just know that when I started this book, I had no intention of leaving it mid-way but sometimes, life stresses you out in ways you cannot believe. I gave up writing for a LONG while, it felt pointless and when i came back to it, I just couldn't write anything I liked anymore. I couldn't relate to my own characters. but they deserve an ending, and so do you. time to unleash a few of my drafts and get this done with!