Light Blue

Part x- Acceptance and Encore

10

“We should go,” I whisper quietly. I pull away from him and start to walk away from him. Oscar grabs my hand.

“No. Don’t go,” he says. “At least try and explain to me. You seem to know so much more than I do.”

I laugh bitterly. “Oscar, even if I told you, you’d think I was crazy. You’d think, how is it possible.” I hurry through the galleries away from him.

“Delilah! Delilah! Stop! Please stop running. Why do you keep running!?”

I run through the galleries and security guards all over the place start and stare as I dodge past them. I push through packed corridors and Oscar is there, trying to catch up with me. I burst out onto a balcony area that overlooked the ground floor and was the entrance way to the terrace galleries. I move to one side of the balcony and crouch down, breathing hard. I bury my head in my hands. Too many memories to count. I should tell him. My eyes fly open. How do I tell a stranger about this? A pair of hands land on my shoulders. I squeal as I’m lifted up. I’m set on my feet and I’m turned around so I am looking straight up into Oscar’s eyes. He cups my face in my hands and a tear rolls down silently. He shakes his head.

“Delilah. Please don’t run from me. It’s actually getting quite annoying.” He chuckles and wipes away a tear. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but really, sometimes talking is much more relieving than you think.”

I push his hands away. “I know Oscar, I know!” I say angrily. “You just need to stop… being there messing with my mind and everything that is going on and you just being the ridiculously amazing person you are and…”

“Woah, stop Delilah!” He laughs. “I’m just not getting anything you’re saying!” I cross my arms.

“Never mind,” I mutter. Oscar shakes his head and drapes his arm around me. “I think we should go and find Amelia,” I continue.

“Yes, but first let’s just stay here and relax a bit.” He grabs my hand and leads me to the marble railing that looks out over to the sculpture covered ground floor. We lean against it and I rest my chin on my hand. The whole ground floor is a complete maze full of black and white marble and worn stone statues and sculptures. I search the whole of the ground floor trying to look out for Amelia. I fish out my camera from my pocket and take a picture of the rather organised mayhem. Oscar clears his throat and he takes the camera out of my hand.

“I think I’ll take a picture of you now, mademoiselle,” he says in a ridiculously bad French accent. I burst out laughing and I shake my head. He grins at me and waggles his eyebrows comically. But I stand by the balcony anyway and smile at the camera. He takes a few too many shots, but every time I try to move away, he would wave at me with a hand, telling me to stay still.

“This is an art Delilah! Stay still!” he says.

“You must have taken hundreds by now!” I say, walking forwards. I try to take the camera from his hands but he holds it up high above his head and I jump up to try and reach it. “Give it back!” I cry out. He merely laughs and takes another picture of me, the shutter clicking shut a numerous amount of times. I stop jumping and I cross my arms. Same old Oscar. He stares down at me and his lips curve into a wide smile.

“Catch me if you can.” He runs off to the right and I stand, glued to floor staring at his retreating back. Oscar had unknowingly replayed so many scenes in the span of less than an hour. I roll my eyes. Completely typical. My mind kicks back into gear and I unglue my feet off the ground.

 “Wait Oscar!” I yell after him, and I run after him. I catch up with him through the throngs of people waiting in line to take pictures. I follow him down the stair case and  I flash past tall statues with alabaster surfaces and made of black marble, and old copper, brass, gold and china bowls and vases on pedestals and he’s laughing, waving the camera above his head. We burst out onto the ground floor and he trips over and I follow straight after him. People in the near vicinity are staring at us weirdly and the French people looking after the galleries are moving in their seats, as though they were thinking of whether to come after us. I get off Oscar quickly.