by Elodie Lenardon
They hate me. I know they do. With their smiles, their laughs, they all seem to be quite enjoying themselves, and it seems so easy. They’re all talking over one another, as if there’s a competition that I’m not aware of, and the winner will be the loudest; it’s deafening! The music is almost lost to the sound of their voices, a faint melody that is softly dying in the background and that no one pays any attention to – except me. I desperately try to focus on the melody, I try to hold on to it as if, by some miracle, it could save me. I don’t want to lose myself in this clamor of voices; I’d like to be able of hearing my thoughts, or I might go completely insane.
I did want to come, though. It probably was an earlier version of myself – a hopeful version of myself – who had wished to come. Now, the regret of that decision is so piercing, it’s all I could think about. Why did you say yes? Why didn’t you stay at home? You would be so much better at home, in your bed, reading a book – you would be at peace. Stop. Let’s focus. It cannot be that bad, I just have to nod and smile – pretend, that’s all you have to do! I tell myself. Oh, I so wish I could be the girl for whom going to a party wasn’t such a nightmare.
Someone seems to be talking to me. I’m surprised they can still acknowledge my presence; I thought I had become completely invisible by now. I turn around and I face the person. I don’t think that I know her – or do I? Is she a friend of my friends? Perhaps. I really can’t tell.
“What do you do?”, she asks with a bland face, definitely not giving a damn about my possible answer. I promptly reply with a short and clear answer: “I’m at university”. She seems to be waiting for something – what could it be? Then, she turns around and starts talking to someone else. I clearly upset her. I should not have said anything. What if she hates me now?
I hear someone laughing; do they laugh at me? I look for the source of the chuckle, even if it could literally be anyone at this party; everyone is laughing. They’re not laughing at you, c’mon. Why would they? Because they don’t like me, that’s why.
I do know some people here, though, at this dreadful event that most would call a party. Some that I even consider my friends; I actually like them, but I highly doubt that this feeling could somehow be reciprocated. I don’t know, it’s maybe just a feeling – but a feeling so sharp that it must be right. My friends suddenly sit next to me, they all start talking energetically about matters that I’m not familiar with – I think they do it on purpose, they don’t want me to participate to the conversation! I can only grasp some parts of the exchange, but the most of it is completely lost to me. I simply nod and smile – I even pretend to laugh once or twice to show that I’m still here, alive and having such a great time! No issue here.
“That’s funny,” says a friend next to me, after I attempted to make a joke that clearly wasn’t that funny. She only said that to mock me, it isn’t an honest statement. Or is it? No, it cannot be. I made a joke simply because I had nothing else to say. It was rather pathetic; a terrible joke, I’d say. I tend to turn to irony when I feel uncomfortable, and I forget that some people don’t enjoy this particular type of humor which can lead to pretty embarrassing outcomes. She’s surely going to divulge about it to everyone and they will all laugh. I can’t really blame her, though; I might do the same if I were in her shoes.
I don’t believe in magic, and yet I think that I have the power to read minds. When I’m around people, I can hear their thoughts as if they were my own; it prevails as my peculiar curse that I’m doomed to live with. No one would want to live with such a burden; it’s exhausting, and I would definitely not recommend it. Why do I believe that I have such a power? I’ve always been able to anticipate people’s actions and I am – almost – always right. I think that someone is going to betray me, they betray me the next week. I think someone lies to me, I discover the truth the next day. I won’t deny that this power has proved – at times – to be quite useful, but it’s principally excruciating. I practically can’t live a day without hearing people’s thoughts and it’s never good: She’s so annoying; Why are we friends with her?; She’s so pathetic.
“Ella? Are you okay?” I turn around, surprised to hear my name and I lock eyes with a friend, Sadie, who looks rather concerned. “You are so quiet tonight, is everything fine? I know you don’t feel very comfortable at parties so I…”
“I’m fine,” I interrupt her. “I’m really fine.”
“Are you sure?”, she insists, changing the tone of her voice to a more serious one.
“Yes,” I reply, feeling her staring at me. Her brows are furrowed, her lips are drawn in a firm line. Is she angry at me? She seems to be, for sure.
“Ella, come with me, please.” Sadie stands up and urges me outside. Does she want us to argue? Probably. I hesitantly stand up to follow her, already picturing her screaming at me in the dark alley, and then, me, crying, alone, with only myself to blame.
We both step out of the bar, and the sudden change of ambiance takes me aback. The silence of the night welcomes me; I close my eyes and I embrace it. It’s finally quiet. It’s finally quiet! I inhale the cold air, imagining that it somehow has the ability to clear all my existing tension. Perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn’t, who cares? It doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is that I’m finally able of hearing my thoughts, mine and only mine.
“Feeling better?” asks Sadie, who had been silent until now.
“Yes,” I answer, opening my eyes and looking at her.
She smiles at me, and I smile back; yes, everything is better, definitely better.