TAKE IT EASY • TC ✔️

29: An Intervention or Two

The plan was for Lucia to slip in unannounced.

Julius, for one, seemed to be against this plan.

He'd sat on the side of the sink while she was doing her makeup, licking his paws and glancing up at her as she leaned closer to line her eyes. He let out a particularly fierce mewl just as she began to do the cat-flick, and she paused. Glanced down at him.

"You don't agree?"

Julius looked at her with such undisguised disdain that she huffed, grabbed a makeup wipe, and got rid of the remnants of the eyeliner. For something named after him, Julius was oddly opposed to cat-flicks.

Then, when she'd finished her make-up and attempted something with her hair (which had been oddly compliant that evening), Lu sat at her kitchen table and tried to focus on her essay again. It was open at the first paragraph, which she was sure she hadn't left it on, and she scrolled all the way down. Moved the cursor to the end of her unfinished first sentence and stared at the screen. Willed the words to materialise upon it.

But, in honesty, she was too restless for a task like writing. Her feet were tapping under the table, already laced up into her boots. Because how had she allowed it to get this far?

Saying she would go was one thing, something which would make Timmy happy, something she could agree to half-heartedly and just hope would go away. But eight thirty was drawing nearer and nearer, and there was no sign of Timothée withdrawing his offer, lesser yet of her coming up with a mildly decent excuse as to why she suddenly couldn't turn up.

She'd set an alarm when Timothée had left, hoping that a physical reminder would cajole her into going, would force her to attend. But eight thirty came and went. So did eight forty five, and by the time nine o'clock rolled around, she'd decided just to text him. Let him know that she really couldn't do it, couldn't face a roomful of people who were all better than her, smarter, richer, more famous. Timmy would understand, wouldn't he?

Every now and then she'd hear the rumble of voices travelling down the corridor, beginning by the stair well and making their way to Timmy's door at the other end. Occasionally the voices would materialise right outside her front door, following the ding of the elevator which signified its arrival. And the voices would travel a little, before a faint knock could be heard, and a door was opened, and there would be a burst of noise, music, chatter, laughs, and then the door would shut again, and Lu would sit there, agonised.

One such burst of chatter filtered through the corridor at exactly the same moment as she opened her messages to find a text from Timmy, a very blunt where are you, capitalised and sent fifteen minutes before. She sighed at her phone, sighed at her ebbing willpower, sighed at the fact that her shoes were already on and that it would take no more than ten seconds to arrive at the party.

She locked her phone. Slipped it into her back pocket and leaned into the full-length mirror propped up by the door. Checked for any food between her teeth, for dry lips, bits of fluff on her jeans. But, regrettably, everything was neat, perfect, everything was fine. So Lucia went to leave the apartment alone.

Julius seemed determined to act as an escort. He followed after her diligently, and when she stopped outside her door to close it, he stopped too. Looked up at her innocently.

"Are you gonna go back in?" she cooed, opening the door a little wider for her cat. Julius blinked up at her, his tail swishing softly against the carpet. "No?"

Unsurprisingly, there came no reply. She nudged him very softly with the toe of her boot, trying to push him in the right direction, but Julius stayed there as though his feet were glued to the ground. Lucia squatted down, aware that her lower back was now exposed to anyone walking past, and whispered to him.