33 | Sushi Bombs

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V E R A

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By the end of the night, no man with the three-syllable name crosses my path.

As I say my goodbyes to guests, collectors, and world-renowned artists, an odd feeling settles in my stomach. Weirdly enough, although the thought that he never showed picks away at me, I don't spiral. Taking in my final gazes of Titled, Muse before the museum closes, I notice the harsh pressure that riddled my chest is no longer there and the anxiety that sat has followed suit. It was as if the last few hours have anchored me again, reminding me that I was never here for love. As if the city of love rightfully returned to the city of light, speaking in morse code that even after all of this, I would be just fine.

Then suddenly, I am distracted again by the many romantic pieces covering the walls, and the message is quickly lost in translation. This is because there is never logic in love and morse code does not account for technicalities. Love only stands in front of you with sentiment and dewy eyes, wanting to know if you'd be willing to sacrifice your sanity for a pinch of that soft feeling. It begs until blood is dripping from knees and tears are staining cheeks and I am brought back to the theory of irrational masochism.

I look up at a piece and I vaguely remember reading through this submission a while back. There are a couple of photos next to the written portion where a woman is naked, bound completely by red rope. Wax adorns the erogenous parts of her body as she lays across a bed. The pictures are vignette-Esque, only heightening the erotic scenario and making it ten times more personal.

Funny enough, it reads: You came undone with only words, responding to a foreign language only spoken by I, one that asks you to strip from your clothes and submit every inch of your skin. Allow me to bind you with rope and wet kisses, leaving a trail down your back that spells outour kind of love is sacrilegious. We ruin and the Devil applauds.

The words correlate all too well and I am back to missing him.

A tap on the shoulder makes me aware of my surroundings again. Turning around, I'm met with Cordelia and Nicolas whose faces speak of pleas, making it known that there is more planned beyond the exhibit opening tonight.

"Come to dinner with us," she reaches out her hand to which I grab it.

"Ah, I don't know," I wasn't sure if I was up for more socializing tonight.

"It'll only be for a couple of hours or so. There'll be the tastiest dessert you'll ever have," she tries to convince me again with an almost devious smirk.

To my surprise, even Nicolas is looking at me with conviction plastered across his face. I thought to myself for a second, maybe a couple of hours wouldn't be so bad. I laugh as puppy dogs are standing in front of me, begging me to meet them halfway over some wine and a few appetizers. The dessert better be worth it.

With a sigh and a nod, I agree and we make our way into the museum's garage where there is an SUV waiting for us. As we all get into the car and settle in for what is a twenty-minute drive, it feels rather peculiar for it to only be the three of us. In a lot of ways, I feel guilty for having replaced someone so dear to the two sitting next to me but I'm afraid to tell them so. I know they miss him equally, maybe even more, as the three of them seemed to have been inseparable before me.

"You all right?" Cordelia reaches over and rubs her thumb over the skin of my knuckles.

"Just thinking," I assure her that it's nothing serious and squeeze her hand before she sits back again.

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