Peintures vivantes - Joseph Descamps

Voulez-vous sortir avec moi ?

"Let's face it. The cake is not that good." Descamps affirms, raising his hands in surrender. Annick and I are sitting on the sofa, next to him, who in turn is sitting on the floor, cross-legged.

I look at the slice of cake lying on my plate, and return to look at him. "No come on. It looks good." I reply, trying as much as possible to avoid his eyes, which I must admit, however, I miss more and more.

"He's right, the taste is not the best." Annick confirms, still with the morsel between her teeth. My head is still anchored by the question 'why is Descamps here?', and even though I try to push it away at all costs, I just can't stop thinking about it.

While Descamps and Annick converse about the actual success of the recipe, without realising it, my eyes fall on his figure: seated cross-legged, the half-empty plate resting on one knee, and the fork between his fingers. I notice, without astonishment, that he is wearing his usual clothes: not too loose beige trousers, a white shirt with the first button unbuttoned, and over it a smart black jumper.

Man...how good he looks dressed like that. Elegant, simple but impressive. Pretty sexy...

"Romy?" Annick's voice calls me back to reality, with a slight tone of confusion. As I step out of the tranny, I recognise Descamps' gaze watching me curiously. "Yes?" I ask a little too vehemently, twisting my lips into a strained smile. Before She can rephrase the question, Annick is suddenly interrupted by the phone ringing.

I leap to my feet like a spring, abandon the empty plate on the couch, and under Descamps' dumbfounded gaze, I make my way with quick steps to the telephone. I pick up the receiver, and immediately recognise the voice of Annick's mother.

"Romy is that you? Can you put Ann on?" she asks me in a shrill, rather high-pitched voice. I turn back, and search my eyes for my friend, still immersed in the 'cake' talk with my ex-boyfriend. I mean...Descamps.

"Annick, it's your mother!" I yell at her, to be heard. Within seconds, my friend takes the phone handset from my hands and presses it against her ear. "Mom!" she chirps at her, turning a slightly embarrassed smile on me.

I decide to give her privacy to talk quietly to her mother on the phone, and return to the living room. I purposely avoid Descamps' gaze, and look out the window near the unlit fireplace. Without Annick, I feel helpless. I am afraid to confront him, especially after our last talk.

"Romy..." he calls me back with his unmistakable timbre of voice: low, quiet, warm. I roll my eyes, feeling exasperation rise to the tips of my hair. What does she want from me.
I turn, and meet his gaze. He is different.

"Yes?" I reply, acting (fake) disinterested, crossing my arms over my chest. I see him fidget and run a slightly trembling hand through his curly brown hair. Receiving no response, the muscles in my legs move on their own, and without realising it, I find myself sitting cross- legged beside him.

"I still need to apologise for what I said to you on New Year's Eve..." he begins, avoiding my gaze. Which he never does.
I look at my hands, and start fiddling with the bracelet I wear on my right wrist. "How long have you learned to apologise?" I ask, smiling slightly. Fool! I don't have to smile! Remember that you hate him. Remember what he did to you!

Descamps, in response, gives me a very light tap on the shoulder, acting offended. "Appreciates that I'm doing this, at least." He replies, making the tone of his voice even more intriguing.

"Sorry accept." By now my smile has taken over, and as soon as he notices, he smiles back at me, blushing slightly at the level of his cheeks. Damn...the effect you have on me every time Joseph. Why!!!

"How are you?" he asks me, while his eyes outline all the lines of my face. I feel the pearls of my bracelet brush my fingertips, causing me pleasant and soothing sensations.

"Good." I lie, straining a smile to convince him. "You're still the same old liar." He replies, laughing slightly. Since we've known each other, he has always managed to understand my true moods, even when I try to hide and disguise them.

"Can I help you in any way?" he asks me, and I can hear his rather worried voice. I look back at him: how I miss you. I miss your messy hair because of the bandage, but soft. I miss your eyes, your lips. Your annoying but wonderful smiles. Your irony. Your attentiveness. Your safe but gentle hands.

"It's OK. It will pass." I answer, turning my gaze to the closed window that lights up the whole living room. Why does he ask me this? Why does he want to help me? He is still engaged to Helene, he certainly can't fool around with his ex-girlfriend just to cheer her up.

Although... there would be no harm in having a little fun with him again. I mean, STOP! I'm a complete moron.

"I'm still quite disturbed by your confrontation with Vincent outside the library. He put his hands on you." He continues, placing his plate on top of mine, causing a slight ceramic sound.

"He had his reasons," I reply, as the scene comes vividly back into my mind. "There are no good reasons to lay hands on a girl." He replies in a slightly sour tone.

"It's just that... there was a misunderstanding. No big deal."
"Are you still together?" he asks me, and at the same time, I freeze like a stone statue.

"No." I reply simply, feeling his gaze settle on my face. We remain a few seconds in silence, both of us with our gazes turned in front of us, lost in the void.
"I'm sorry."

I give him a comforting smile. That connection that once held us together, then disappeared for three years in a row, is resurfacing like a bud in spring. In an instant, I feel I no longer hate him. It's true, I am a liar. When have I ever really hated him? Never...

"Have you finished your exams?" he asks me, changing the subject. "I miss the last one. It's the day after tomorrow. Then I am officially free."
"I'm sorry to tell you this, but you are wrong."

I look at him confused. What does he mean by that? Joseph gives me a look that I immediately recognise. 'No please, stay sweet and placid as you have done until now. Don't go back to being the scoundrel I detest.

"You will be busy on Friday. I hope you like the film. I'll pick you up in front of the house at 9pm."