WAITING FOR DAWN

Chapitre 2

                                                                                     GRADUALLY

Over time, the pieces of the puzzle began to come together, and I came to realize that I was not as exceptional as I had believed. In reality, Billy was desperately searching for a solution to his many financial troubles. Two days after my arrival, a strange character showed up at our place. Unshaven, with disheveled hair, he did not look well. His glasses, poorly adjusted on his long nose, were of no use to him. He stared at me with a hostility that I did not yet understand. Perhaps he was wondering about my identity, whether I was a relative or friend of Billy, someone who might finally settle his tenant's debts.

Not knowing who he was, I lowered my head and focused once again on what I had been doing before his intrusion. Billy, visibly anxious, hurried to meet him at the entrance. They exchanged words in a low voice, so nothing of their conversation reached me. After a few minutes of whispering, the man left with little conviction. Intrigued, I asked Billy about his identity.

"Oh, him... Don't worry about it, it's not important. I'm going to take a shower," he replied evasively.

I didn't get any further explanation, so I simply resumed what I had been doing.

A few days later, as almost every evening, I went to Donald's place. Once again, I found myself dealing with his scheming. This time, things nearly got out of hand. His two bodyguards, tasked with his security, threw me out with force and even took what I had received that night. I was supposed to receive 700 Rènes. But in the first week, he had only given me 500. I had accepted without protest, happy at the thought of performing on stage. What a mistake! Now, I was receiving only 350 or 400 Rènes, depending on his supposedly cheerful mood.

That night, I returned home with a heavy heart. They had taken everything from me, and I didn't know which hurt more: the 200 Rènes stolen, the blatant disrespect Donald showed me, or the fact that I was left penniless. Despite my dissatisfaction, I always went back to his cabaret. Donald must have thought I was at his mercy. And to be honest, he wasn't entirely wrong. On the way back, I couldn't stop replaying the scene in my mind. Where could I perform now? Would he let me return after what had happened? The anger building inside me had no outlet, as I longed to be back on stage.

I couldn't talk to Billy about it. He idealized me too much, or at least, that's what I thought.

Once home, I experienced the most exhausting night of my 22 years. I made countless trips back and forth, both in bed and around the apartment, to the point of eventually waking Billy.

"What's going on? Can't you sleep?" he asked.

"No... um... yes..." I answered hesitantly.

"Do you want to talk about it, or is it a composition you can't remember?"

Indeed, Billy, you always understand quickly. While I was sleeping, I had something like a revelation for a song, so I got up to write it down and then... poof, blank space."

"Damn it! But do you at least remember the theme the song was about? I'm asking to see if I can help."

"Nothing, I can't recall anything."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"I'll compose another one; I don't really have a choice. After all, it's my job."

"Okay, perfect. I'll use the time to get ready because if I make the mistake of going back to bed, I might be late."

Billy, just like me, stubbornly clung to the illusion of doing something tangible, but deep down, we knew it didn't truly meet our expectations. Remaining inactive seemed unthinkable, so we were deluding ourselves, not knowing how long this charade could last.