MARBLE & SALT (Lesbian)

Chapter 1 (Part 2) THAT'S NOT A JAZZ CLUB, BUT DEFINITELY A PSYCHO WARD!

"Velia, this is Arthur. I told you about him."

Ugum. A hundred times already, probably.

Dasha smiles, but there is no particular joy in her eyes. Of course, another rich boy from the circle of her parents' friends and their rich kids. She, most likely, is already regretting coming here and is maybe thinking now how to make peace with Danya.

"Valia?"

"No. Velia."

Here it comes again! And it's like this every time! My full name is Evelina. My dad gave it to me, considering it cool and modern for our country. Mom, of course, agreed. At home everyone called me Eva or Evochka. Evie baby: what could be sweeter than this sugar sound, from which diabetes can develop, and later end up as gangrene? But at school someone called me Velia (I suspect that it was Danya), and it just stuck. Even my parents started calling me Velia. Everyone loved it. Everyone was delighted, except me. My full name, although it sounds catchy and dignified, for some reason always confuses me. Evelina Soleva*. What nonsense! With the same result they could call me Semiramis, why not? That's where the real modern is: Semiramis Viktorovna – a perfect combination to my Slavic patronymic middle name and surname! Pff. To tell the truth, the name, flying from the lips of Dasha and Danya sounds gentle, even affectionate: Velia, Velechka, Velulya, Velyok, even Solka**. But I can't say the same about others.

Right now, I am standing and blushing like poppy and mumbling something under my breath like a fool... I hear his friends laugh and understand that they are laughing, most likely, not at me, but I still feel embarrassed. A hot blonde about our age, in her early twenties, joins our group. She pretends not to notice me and doesn't say "hi". Only once she throws a contemptuous look at me and nods to the young men in greeting. I rest my eyes on my white converse shoes (I probably should have put on something else with a dress, but I put them on out of habit. It will do. I'm not man hunting like this mumzel-damsel.). I'm incredibly embarrassed. I really want to go home, but I can't just turn around and leave only because some random girl looked at me the way I don't like to be looked at. Maybe something happened to her, or she's just tired after work, or she's not in the mood. It happens to everyone. And I can't leave Dasha alone. I promised to go with her.

"Let's go inside, huh? It's so stuffy here, guys! There must be a good air conditioner." My friend puts her hand on Arthur's shoulder. The new girl pouts her lips in an ugly manner, but doesn't utter a word, studying everyone with a sharp look.

Jazz players are still uncovering the instrument. Soul talk or soft laughter is heard from everywhere. The light is pleasantly dimmed just enough to see the scene and at the same time giving the hall a romantic atmosphere. We sat down at a table. I nestled at the very corner. The blonde squeezed between two guys and put her hands on their shoulders, but they didn't even move, as if they hadn't noticed her.

"You are probably envying, aren't you? Hugging two guys at once?" She looks at me insolently.

"Excuse me?" Is she talking to me? Maybe she says it to the guys...

"Did you say something?" One of Arthur's friends, whose name I didn't even bother to remember, turns to me.

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't want to interfere," I mutter something to him again.

"Interfere?" He looks at me in surprise.

"Hey girl, do you like playing with your Dasha in a "hot friend – ugly friend" game? Let me guess which role you are playing?" She giggles disgustingly. "Do you want her to look good against your dull background? Good girl! You are such a true friend of the Romantic period!"

She moves her hand and runs a manicured finger over the ear of the guy I was just talking to. I can hear Dasha cooing with Arthur, and he is whispering something merrily in her ear.

"You probably want to be in her place now, poor creature! Or do you want to be him? Cuddling up to your friend, whispering something dirty to her."

I blush again and somehow shrink as from a blow. "What the hell are you talking about?" I gasp, not believing her words.

"What?" The guy looks at me like I'm a mental patient. "Who are you saying this to? Dasha, is your friend high?"

If I crawl across the table and say "Cleopatra" to Dasha's ear, they will definitely take me for a sick person. I jump up from the table as if I was scalded with something hot and quickly walk to the restroom.

"Vel, where are you going?" Dasha shouts, but I proudly do not answer.

I lock myself in a booth. Why did she talk to me like that? And why did no one stand up for me? Worst of all, even Dasha didn't pay attention: the blond was talking quite loudly. That's not a jazz club, but definitely a psycho ward! That's what it is!

Nice music is played outside. I sobbed and pushed the flush button so that no one would think that I was just standing in the booth: another offended girl in the club. So, what else is new??!

I have been washing my hands for about five minutes pretty reluctant to come back. When I finally decide to leave the place, I notice a large mirror in the small hallway next to the restroom. "But why am I so unlucky!" I say it to my pale reflection. I think the girl in the mirror wants to cry. "Someone else would be relaxed and would have answered something witty and impudent to the blonde and would have started flirting with the guys... "

I heard the footsteps, but there was no one in the reflection behind me. I sigh sharply as I turned around because of the unpleasant sensation that someone was breathing into my neck. That disgusting blonde is standing right next to me. Her golden hair looks unpleasantly gray in the strange light of the hall, and her lips are unnaturally red.

"Why did you run away from me, girl?"

*salt

** baby salt (diminutive form of the word salt)