Peintures vivantes - Joseph Descamps

Gâteau aux pommes

Needless to say, I spent the night awake like an alert owl. I couldn't even fall asleep for a few half hours because of the constant thoughts pounding in my head.

On the one hand, I cannot forgive what Vincent did to me: he hurt me, he faked our relationship for months while he saw me happy and carefree. With what weight did he carry this secret all this time, I wonder.

On the other hand, I understand it a little. Certainly our society, nowadays, does not look favourably on homosexual people, and consequently they tend to hide to avoid judgement and nastiness. I know an old friend of my mother's who some time ago, together with her husband, discovered their son to be homosexual.

What can I say, for that boy the story did not end well. Homosexuality is seen as a problem to be contained and avoided at all costs. Everyone tries to stay out of it.

Surely Vincent felt exposed, and by finding me, he also found a possibility of protection from the world he lives in. Surely that's why several times in our last two discussions he begged me not to tell anyone. Not for nothing did I avoid spilling the beans to Descamps. And certainly, I will avoid doing so with everyone else.

"Romy..." Annick calls back to me, knocking lightly on my bedroom door. I'm still engulfed in the blankets, the pillow pressed to my face and the covers all ruffled.

I reply with a bored moan, as my friend enters the room with a slight lopsided smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks me, sitting down at

the foot of my bed. I drop the soft pillow to the side of my head, and sit up, touching my shaggy hair.

"Apart from the fact that I feel as loaded as a fox hit by a car?" I answer her in a sour tone, pulling my hair back into a high, stressed- out tail. Annick's gaze is clear: she wants to know what really happened.

After my last confrontation with Vincent yesterday, I locked myself in my room without speaking, for hours. "Romy, be serious."
"I'm serious!" I reply, raising my voice a little too high. "Sorry..."

Seeing me in distress, Annick gets up, and putting herself behind my back, starts to gather up my hair with the elastic band. "May I know what happened between you and Vincent?" she asks me.

No one must know. No one must know. No one.

"He was also seeing another girl in the process..." I lie, keeping my gaze low and bored. I feel Annick's fingers tugging lightly at my hair, involuntarily. "What?!" she rants, confused and furious at the same time.

"Mhmh..."Ibellow.
"I mean, a real asshole. How could he!" rages Annick, starting to pull my hair too much.

"Ow!" I scream in pain, shaking my head and releasing myself from her furious grip. "Sorry, I didn't mean it." She apologises, starting my tail again, paying attention to the force.

After finishing her hairstyle, she comes back in front of me, and seeing me in a particularly upset and exhausted state, she asks me, "Shall we go and bake the cake?"

I willingly accept, hoping to forget, at least momentarily, my particular situation.

We enter the kitchen, and while Annick selects the tools for the recipe, I gather all the ingredients on the table. "Do we have three apples?" I ask her, looking around the kitchen.

"Yes, check outside in the balcony." She replies, and I head for the glass door. The apples are there, nice and shiny green, placed in a ceramic bowl. As I take three large apples in my hands, I hear a slight noise, very similar to our doorbell.

"Did you hear that too?" I ask Annick, returning. But I immediately notice the absence of my friend, who has already headed for the front door. "Hello!" someone greets, as soon as she opens the door.

I remain motionless with the apples in my hand, praying to God that it is not Vincent. I don't want to see him right now, and I don't want any further discussion. "May I come in?" the male voice asks Annick.

Oh, shit...

"Hello Romy." Descamps greets me, entering the kitchen, followed by Annick, whose smile is clearly visible on her pale lips. I let the apples roll on the table, risking dropping one. Descamps catches it on the fly and places it gently on the table, laughing lightly.

"Why are you here?" I ask, without even returning the greeting. His gaze, from happy, darkens slightly as he unbuttoned the last button of his shirt, revealing the taut lines of his tanned neck.

"I wanted to know how you were." He replies, almost making eyes at me. So emblematic, indecipherable. Mumbling, irritating, vulgar, but at the same time caring, attentive and almost lovable.

Annick, still standing by her side, gives me an almost accusatory look, the words 'Be thankful for this gesture' coming out nice and clear. I cross my arms almost defensively, and lower my gaze for a few seconds.

"How did you know I live here?" I ask, looking into his eyes again. Their colour, a mixture of brown and dull green. I see him inhale, crossing Annick's gaze from top to bottom.

"Yesterday we met at the supermarket, while I was shopping." Annick replies, smiling at me, hoping for my calm and polite reaction. I remain silent, observing them both, obviously noticing their difference in height.

"I asked about you, and nothing. We found out we had flats next door. I live a few minutes' walk from here." Descamps continues, smiling in turn. Acknowledging my typical accusatory silence, he picks up the apple and starts playing with it.

"Come on, will it be a crime to see how a dear old friend is doing?" she asks me, as her gentle smile turns into her trademark sly, irritating grin.

Dear old friend? Me? Old friend?

"Shall we start this cake? I'm hungry!" complains Annick, starting to rearrange the ingredients and utensils. Descamps, in defiance of me, keeps his gaze in my eyes as he pulls up the sleeves of his white shirt.

"Come on Romy! Wake up. Start beating the eggs!" urges Annick, addressing me with a smile I recognise on the fly: 'Leave him alone, you'll see his company will make you feel better'

Like Annick? How will the guy who broke my heart over and over again three years ago and whom I still loathe make me feel better?

Sulking, I grab the bowl and two eggs, and settle on the opposite side of the table, avoiding his gaze. "I crumble the butter." Descamps says, stepping to my side and taking the block of butter in his hands.

"Wash your hands at least..." I hiss at him annoyed. "Relax, otherwise the cake will suck." He teases me, and together with Annick, they laugh. They're only irritating me more, which doesn't help. Who knows when they'll figure it out.

Inexplicably, during the preparation of the cake, thanks to Descamps' communication skills and Annick's steadfast patience, they managed to move me and make me laugh. Of course, there was no lack of glances between Descamps and me, and he, on several occasions, tried to tease me.

"You are doing it wrong, you have to stir harder." I take it back, as I cut the apple in half, extracting the seeds.

"Romy, come here for a second. Look at the dough and tell me if it's OK." He calls me back, completely avoiding my acid comment. Without suspecting anything, I abandon the apple half, and move next to him, bringing my face closer to the bowl with the dough.

With a lightning movement, Descamps smears the tip into my nose with the wet, liquid mixture, causing Annick to burst out laughing. I stiffen, getting back to my feet, and stare at him, feeling anger rise from my gut.

Something, however, stops me from getting angry. The atmosphere is serene; we are all having fun. But above all, they are here for me, and they are doing this...for me.

Descamps would not be here if not to help me, to make me feel better. I burst out laughing, and they follow me. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

author space:

Hi!! sorry for the absence, but I have a few university exams to give... During the holidays I wrote a few chapters

Hope you're enjoying the reading, enjoy