Out Of Time Girl

FRAMED

Cassian was always late. It was part of his philosophy of life, something he wore as casually as an elegant trench coat. When he would appear, a half-burnt cigarette between his long fingers, he would quickly stroke Lou's cheek (his hands were always cool) and say, "Patience is a virtue." What nonsense.

Patience wasn't a virtue, it was a test and Lou was a master at it. She wasn't upset about his narcissism or about keeping her waiting. The moments before he came were the most intense. Everything came into focus, time stood still for a moment. Humanly shapes became more prominent, their conversations more pointed and angular.

And when Cassian appeared, a touch of mystery mixed with an expensive cologne, a veil opened and his dark Welsh curls shone like a general's polished boots. Lou was glad that Cassian didn't know anything about the charisma he had. He still believed himself to be the little college boy, naive and a little messed up and ALWAYS underestimated.

They met while studying. She and Cassian and her brother Dylan. Brother... Lou felt a hollow tingling sensation, like a distant echo. My brother. As if a part of her brain had been operated and only its shadow had survived.

Lou crossed her legs, briefly looking at the pumps on her feet, fine red straps on white skin, and then looked up at the picture on the wall in front of her.

Turner.

The picture showed a volcanic eruption. Diffuse colors chosen so delicately that they contrasted painfully with the powerful event. The image radiated an irrepressible power that made you unable to look away, feeling the need for a man's touch, wine and a hot bathtub, hours of conversation about art and pain, followed by sex.

Lou thought about the last time she had had sex and realized she wasn't old enough to smile at the fact that it had been a long time ago. She swirled the glass of Champagne in her hand that everyone had received at the entrance. It was already warm. She had sipped it while it was still cool. She didn't understand the hype about Champagne. It tasted bitter and left your mouth dry. But it was alcohol and at least something.

Vernissage. What a word. Everything sounded better in French, more sophisticated. A man in a red suit stopped in front of her, blocking her view of Turner. He rocked up and down, looked at the picture, drank the Champagne loudly. Lou could see from the slightly tilted back of his head that he knew nothing about art. She felt for the small brooch on her jacket. Cool metal. Her fingers slid along the letters. Vault. She closed her eyes briefly. Tec.