invasato [h.s]

74: 'Flower'

Elaina Basset

In a matter of mere minutes, my art will be the centrepiece of this gala.

I'm a nervous wreck, not only because of the gala, but also because of what happened last night.

I'm still not sure if I dreamt up the figure sitting on the couch—if it was some hallucination conjured up from mental exhaustion. But the thing is, it could've been completely real and I have no way of knowing.

I've been watching my back all day, at a café with Bianchi, showering, getting ready. There hasn't been a moment where I haven't felt watched or been on edge.

I try to push those thoughts down and replace them with how big today is for me, but then I just lead myself to think...what happens when today is over?

What do I do?

I have no one to call. No one to celebrate with.

I'll go back to my hotel room and sit in the weight of my dream being achieved and not knowing where to go from here.

I never realized how lonely this would be.

I haven't been handling it well. I've been texting back and forth with Isaac, and I'll be the first to admit that it's gone too far.

I told him I'd be in Paris at the same time as him for the gala, and he told me he'd be here.

I'm anxious to see his face again. I don't regret him at all, but all in all he's not the one I want here supporting me.

Beggars can't be choosers, but I never thought that I'd have to beg for this.

Standing next to a storage closet in the employee locker room, a floor length baby blue satin gown masking any ugliness I feel within, I look down at my phone.

Elaina: display goes public right away.

I send the text to Isaac and just shake my head at myself. As of two hours ago, the texts from him went silent. I truly should've known better—expected him to go ghost.

Staring at the screen and waiting for something, there's a knock on the staff room door. I lift my head and see one of the employees peering in and giving me a polite smile.

"It's time." he says, two simple words that made my heart pound.

I exhale and nod, stuffing my phone in a locker with my bag and following him out.

I look down at my shoes as I walk, breathing in and out as calmly as I can. I'm just moments away from my hard work being shown to a room full of strangers.

I'm led up a small staircase which leads to a stage. There's a curtain between me and a crowd of chatting people who will look at my art for a minute and then move on.

Something that I ached to create will be a passing moment for them. And I've always known this. I was okay with it when I had people I loved to celebrate with.

Bianchi is behind the curtain as well, greeting me with a proud smile as he reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

"This is it." he declares softly.

I make myself smile back.

"Bonne soirée." I hear a man's voice from the other side of the curtain, addressing the crowd. "On behalf of le musée rodin, we are honoured to welcome monsieur Bianchi of Milan's Institution of the Arts to introduce all of you to the mind behind our newest display."

The short introduction is followed by clapping, sophisticated clapping. Bianchi steps through the curtain, presenting himself to the onlookers. I don't let myself look, only breathing when the curtain closes again.