Peintures vivantes - Joseph Descamps

Rédemption ?

"I took my last exam this morning. I hope it went well." I answer in a bored voice to my mother, who, on the other side of the phone, remains silent, listening to me.

"Well, darling. Afternoon what are you doing?" she asks me with simple, genuine curiosity. I stiffen, and immediately drop the idea of telling her I'm going to the movies with my ex-boyfriend. After we broke up three summers ago, I broke my entire family's balls for months, complaining, crying, freaking out.

I would say that my mother did not enjoy those months at all. "I think I'll go to the movies with Henri." I reply, lying to her. As always, my mother, naive as only she can be, believes my lie, and after a few recommendations and goodbyes, the phone call closes.

The silence of my flat immediately envelops me. Annick went to her house to visit her mother yesterday afternoon, and will be away for a fortnight until classes start again at the university. This means that I will be alone in the flat for many days, which I am not looking forward to at all.

After hastily tidying up the kitchen following dinner, I head to the bathroom to get ready: at 9 p.m. Joseph will arrive, and I am afraid. I am afraid of what might happen on this night. I promise myself to keep a clear head.

I know myself: Joseph has always managed to sweep me off my feet. How, I don't know. But, if he wanted to, he could make me go berserk.

I open my make-up bag, do a simple line of eyeliner and lengthen my lashes a little. I want to stick with a sober and elegant make-up, nothing excessive. I fix my fringes, tousling them a little to make them look natural, and comb my hair; it has grown a lot since I was in high school. On my way out of the bathroom, my eyes unconsciously fall on my lipstick, partly abandoned in the sink.

It is a fiery red lipstick; my favourite lipstick. Maybe too excessive? After all, I only have to go to a movie at the cinema accompanied by my ex-boyfriend. Better to avoid it. Without thinking, I grab it, turn off the bathroom light, and enter the room.

I put the small lipstick back in the black clutch bag, and open the wardrobe. What to wear? An elegant, bright red, knee-length dress, or a simpler, pale blue, ankle-length dress.

To be on the safe side, I try them both, but before I can decide, I hear the doorbell ring. It is already 9 p.m., and clearly I am behind schedule. I abandon the two outfits together with the choice on the bed, and go to open the door.

The tall, slender figure of Joseph immediately appears before my eyes, dressed, unannounced, very smart: black dinner jacket that wraps his body impeccably, tie also black, with some grey ornaments. As soon as he sees me, a spontaneous smile arises on his lips.

"Arrived too early?" he asks mockingly, noticing me still wearing my pyjamas and slippers. I close the door, inviting him in. "Sorry, I just have to put my dress on, and I'm in." I reply, avoiding sounding tense and embarrassed. And how embarrassed I am.

I hurry back to the room, and without mulling over the choice, I put on the red dress, and before joining him in the living room, I open my clutch bag and paint my lips with red lipstick. What the hell! It's not a crime.

At the same instant as he sees me return to the living room, he widens his eyes, unable to contain his emotions, and slightly opens his lips. "Shall we go?" I ask him, paying no attention to his stunned expression, putting on my long black coat.

"Yes...yes." He stammers, and we walk out the door together. As we walk towards the cinema, we walk for a while in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Every now and then, I glance at him a few times, to get a feel for the situation, but he remains with his gaze fixed and tense, straight ahead.

"Does Helene know we are dating?" I ask him, to break the silence. I quickly realise the annoying question asked, and sew my lips together.

"It's not going well with Helene. Even if she knew I was going out with you, it wouldn't change anything." I turn to look at him, and notice a strange expression on his face: I recognise it.

"What do you mean?"
"I feel guilty about what I am doing. She is realising it with each passing day, and now every time I see her, she only manages to stress me out with a thousand questions and doubts. I'm amazed that she hasn't smashed my face in yet."

"Would you deserve it?" I ask, curious.
"Always deserved. And I'm still amazed even now that I didn't get a good slap from you as well." He replies, and for a split second, our gazes meet. "I deserved it. Or rather, I deserve it."

"Are you trying to redeem yourself, in short?" "I hope so."

"You hope so?"

"The only thing I want now is to patch something up with you. You're the only one who has ever meant anything to me. I mean, you're the only one I've experienced something real with."

I remain dumbfounded, hearing these reflections from him. What is going on? Will you apologise to me? Why? To recover our old relationship? Was I really the only one he had something genuine with?

The confusion in my head devastates me, and my vision almost fogs up. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

author space:

all I can tell you is that, in the next chapter, there will be the first 'Descamps' POV

enjoyy