Masquerade ✔️

twelve: nate

She's my satisfaction, oh, oh, my beautiful distraction, my endless reaction.

I've picked a different mask for tonight. This one is dark red and gold, like the one the woman wore last time. I'm hoping she'll know it's me.

Nonetheless, I'm talking to Drew and Charlie, sipping champagne while kind of glancing around the room.

This month, the couple has coordinated again; Charlie is in another floor-length gown, this one a deep blue and a lot less modest, while Andrew wears a matching suit trimmed in black. Both sport masks that don't have a theme, merely a swirling design.

"Would you excuse us, Nate?" Charlie asks politely, gripping Drew's wrist with her probably fake blue nails.

"Sure thing. Bye." I leave the couple in tense silence, handing my champagne to a waiter. I've never liked champagne, too bubbly. Thankfully, there's an open bar and I make my way over, ordering a beer.

"Thanks." I take my drink and survey the room for a moment, looking for her. It's unlikely I'll know her if I see her, but still.

After a few minutes with no luck, I finally locate the balcony. The doors are large and paned, unmistakable, and I nearly sprint over. Is she waiting? Should I have waited? Did she get bored and leave?

When I finally push the doors open, my spirits lift and drop nearly simultaneously. There's a woman standing there, but not her. This woman is short, shorter than her, and red-haired. Not her.

She doesn't look at me, just ducks her head and scurries off the balcony, leaving me alone.

God, I don't know why I can't stop thinking about her. She's a girl I met once, who wouldn't tell me her name and complained about being bored. Why should I be thinking about her?

I clutch my beer tightly in my hand, the neck gripped in my white-knuckled fingers with enough aggression to snap the glass stem from the bottle.

Taking a long swig, I return the bottle to the railing and stare out into the black night, dotted with stars barely visible with all the light pollution.

Someone has sparklers down below, they whoop and shriek as the group with them draws pictures in the air and tosses them around.

The doors swing open and to my dismay, a very drunk man staggers through. He's holding two sparklers in his hands, waving them around even though they're not lit.

"Hey, buddy." The man hands me an unlit sparkler and grins, the smell of alcohol overwhelmingly strong.

"Thanks." I hold the small, thin stuck in my other hand, waiting patiently for him to take the hint and leave.

"You're welcome. Enjoy the party." He stumbles off and leaves me in silence once more.

Is she going to show? Maybe she wasn't invited. Maybe she isn't coming. Maybe she just isn't looking for me. Maybe I'm overthinking this a little.

Relax, Nate. Finish your beer. If you don't see her, so what. There are other fish in the sea.

But not beautiful, mysterious, fascinating fish who can get you hooked (pardon the pun) in a single conversation.

I rummage around in my pocket and find a lighter, though I don't smoke, to light my sparkler.

Flicking the switch, I watch the tiny flame dance for a moment in the night air, flickering and swaying in the light breeze.

I place the tip of the stick in the flame and the sparkler bursts to life, turning into a tiny firework at the end of the stick.