Peintures vivantes - Joseph Descamps

Fête à la maison de Pichon - Second Part

"How long have you been thinking these things about me?" asks Descamps, keeping a firm grip of his hands on my hips. I remain silent, no longer trying to free myself from his grip. I detest him, I hate his gaze, his mocking smile, his ideas, his inclination to manipulate me as he has done before.

"I am tired of your behaviour. One day you decide to hate me, then you continue to ignore me for months as if I didn't exist. And today you come back, with your usual annoying arrogance, just because you saw me dancing with another guy. I am not yours!"

We both remain silent, reflecting on the dialogue that is developing. I lose myself in the lines of her face, which I have always loved. I stare at his thin lips and an inner force tries to push me to kiss them, but I resist. Descamps, as soon as he notices, smiles contentedly.

"We haven't spoken in months, but I see I still have the same effect on you."

My beating heart seems to want to break free from my chest frantically. My lips tremble in response as his presence triggers a mixture of hatred and a strange, but intense, attraction in me. His hands release their grip on my hips, and I can feel the heat spreading across my face as it turns redder and redder.

Our faces are close, our lips almost touching. I don't want to give in, so I keep my gaze fixed in his eyes, remaining motionless. In response, I see that he too focuses his gaze on my lips and his smile disappears.

"Let me go, Descamps. I have nothing more to say to you,' I answer him firmly. After one last look into his eyes, I walk away, determined to find Annick.

After moving away from the din of the main hall, pervaded by the crowd and the deafening music, I try to regain control of myself. My hands grip the neck of my dress tightly as I try to re-establish a regular rhythm of my breathing. Damn, I ask myself for the umpteenth time, why does that damn kid always manage to make me feel like this?

Still immersed in my thoughts, the heated voices of Annick and Henri arguing animatedly reach my ears. I stop my steps before crossing the corridor, letting my curiosity capture me, and take a moment to listen carefully to their discussion.

"Was it a good idea to dance with him?" he asks, his voice steeped in bitterness and despondency. Annick remains silent for a moment.

"But are you mad at me? It was just a dance," she replies, as from around the corner I see her frantically touching her blonde hair. "Just a dance... yes."

"Ehi, come on!" interjects Annick, trying to play down the tense and heavy situation. "If you tell me to leave my friends because you need me, I will!"

I bring a hand to my mouth, trying to catch every single word of the conversation, as the din and liveliness of the party attempt to overpower every sound.

"If I ask you for a dance though, will you refuse me?" his voice grows darker and graver.

"Do you want to dance?" asks Annick, grabbing him by the arm, smiling. Henri remains still, his gaze broken.

"My friends are right. You are playing with my feelings, Annick," he hisses at her. It is surprising to hear Henri so angry, considering his usual sunny and cheerful aura.

'But we're friends,' Annick scolds him, and I can feel the anxiety leave his lips.

"No, we were never friends. A friend wouldn't ask me to dump my friends for..."

"I didn't force you," she interrupts him, in a firm voice.

"She wouldn't have stripped in front of me, forcing me to look at her."

I blink and lean against the wall, shocked. Annick remains silent, with nothing to add.

'Dance with whoever you want, but I don't want to talk to you any more. You're just selfish...' Henri finally declares, abandoning her alone in the middle of the corridor. I remain hidden until Annick turns and walks out of the corridor.

We collide violently, and the moment she looks up and meets mine, I see her heavenly eyes brimming with tears. "Annick, what's going on?" I ask her, trying to ignore the conversation I just overheard between her and Pichon. Her forehead rests against the crook of my neck as she begins to sob. I hug her tirelessly, longing to comfort her.

"I was so foolish..." she continues sobbing, her words drowned in tears. Casting a glance around, I return to look at her. Gingerly, I grab her shoulders, trying to distance her slightly from me. "Let's go to the bathroom," I suggest, leading her towards the second floor of the house, in search of some peace and quiet.

I bang hard on the closed bathroom door, but no answer comes. I decide to open it, finding myself confronted by a disconcerting scene: Ahmed is holding Lamaziere, his head completely submerged in the toilet. The acrid smell of vomit hits me, making me dizzy, and I immediately close the door.

A hysterical laugh escapes Annick, whom I notice with a compassionate smile. "Maybe we'd better try the guest bathroom," I suggest, hoping to find a safe haven.

I enter the bathroom, close the door behind me and let a deep sigh of frustration escape my lips. Annick, without delay, rushes to bathe her face with cool water, causing her make-up to unravel, dripping down from her eyes like hidden tears. "Now you look even more desperate," I tell her wryly, trying to bring some levity to the situation.

Her reply is a weak smile accompanied by a stifled laugh. 'Now Pichon hates me,' she begins to tell me. I remain silent, trying to absorb every word.

As Annick wipes her face, she allows herself a deep inhalation in an attempt to regain her composure. "Some girls at the party criticised me, calling me 'stiff', so I decided to dance with a random guy, and Pichon saw me."

My silence is an invitation to continue, and in response she shares the weight of her emotions. I wrap her in a comforting hug, trying to convey my silent support. "Thank you for being there, Romy," she thanks me, her tone still imbued with sorrow.

After a few minutes, Annick regains some serenity, and together we leave the bathroom. However, at the corner, an unexpected encounter changes the situation radically. I bump into a tall guy, and before I can figure out who he is, I notice his shirt completely wet, with a red stripe running down the middle.

I smell a strong odour of wine. I take a step away, and immediately realise that I am standing in front of Jean Pierre, only this time he is dead drunk. As soon as he recognises me, his green eyes sparkle and he immediately points a finger at me.

"YOU!"

I take a few steps back, finding myself not far from the dancing crowd. I squint, not understanding. Jean Pierre wipes his nose clumsily on the sleeve of his filthy shirt, and I see tears trickle down his cheeks.

"It's all your fault!" he shouts at me, slurring his words due to the effect of alcohol. "My fault?" I ask him, remaining calm and impassive, more focused on his unkempt appearance, than on the words he says.

"It's because of you that Simone left me!" he continues to shout, holding his finger pointed at me, and an empty glass in his other hand. I take a few more steps back, feeling my personal space being invaded.

"You've ruined my life!" he shouts again, and from behind me emerges Simone, alarmed. "Jean Pierre what are you doing?" she asks him impanently, taking the glass from his hand. He, however, keeps his green eyes on me, as if I am the focus of all his frustrations.

"Jean Pierre, calm down!" Simone takes him back. Meanwhile, Annick remained at my side.

"You ruined my engagement!" he howls.

I can't hold back my anger any longer, and I blurt out like a loaded mine.

"Mine too if for that matter was ruined because of you!" I snarl at him, feeling my heartbeat get faster and hastier. Meanwhile, around us, everyone has gone silent and stopped; the music has stopped. I look around, embarrassed.

"Jean Pierre you need to calm down, you're not well!" continues Simone trying to tame him.

"It's her fault Simone!" he continues blathering, holding himself up with difficulty.

"It's not her fault..." hisses Descamps' voice from above my head. As I turn around, he walks past me and stands in front of me, very close to Jean Pierre. "This affair only includes the two of us. The only ones at fault are the two of us. Leave her alone, she never had anything to do with it. It was all my doing." He confesses to him, in a tight tone.

I see his jaws stiffen and his fingers clench into fists.