A TANGLE OF SWEAT AND CAKE

A TANGLE OF SWEAT AND CAKE
 “More mystery, then,” I say with a sigh. Knowing his christened name would make me want to know why he changed the name, and then I would dive into figuring out who his parents are and probably get more curious about his life before Blank Patriarc. Despite all these, I ask anyways, “so what’s your real name?”

Blank chuckles. “You said it’s more mystery.”

I shrug. “Well, you’ve already mentioned it. I guess it’s better knowing than not knowing.”

“If you can wait twenty more hours, you’ll find out.”

Twenty more hours is when he would reveal his art. “Why do I have to wait? Now I’m curious. I’m going to be restless for the whole night!” I whine, stomping my feet on the ground as Blank keeps laughing. “If so, then please satisfy this one curiosity of mine,” I add as I put my palms together in a pleading manner.

Blank’s eyes may be red, and dark around the corners, but I notice his gaze softens as he asks, “What is it?”

“You didn’t know that the key-card was faulty, why is that?” This is the last question that would finally erase my suspicion of him. After all, it was one of the things that made me believe he was a serial killer in the first place.

“Well, it was my assistant who retrieved the key-card for me. I was in a hurry to dismiss him, so he couldn’t get the time to tell me about the fault.”

I nod while tilting the corners of my lips downward. “That makes sense.”

At eleven twenty, we said our goodbyes.

Truthfully, we made no progress in getting to know each other. The only thing I grasp is that he’s Blank Patriarc with another identity. He loves to dance, listen to music, and paint. And he loves any meal that has to do with pasta, olive oil, or beef.

On my part, I… I guess he knows all about me already, seeing as he knew I was Lupin’s daughter from the start, and that my name was Nectar. He has probably seen the bad stuff covered about me on the internet too.

Oh, well.

Blank insisted I go in first. So I do.

Inside the reception hall, the music has stopped, the crowd frenzied while pushing between themselves to make for the escalator.

I decide to wait in the hall until it’s a bit clear. That’s when the devil, Iyanu, approaches me.

She stands by my side with a smile, and I try my best to ignore her, hoping she would find another victim to taunt. But she’s relentless.

“Did you watch my performance?” she whispers while leaning into my ear. I shift sideways to avoid her, yet she comes closer. “Come on now, don’t be like this. We’re friends, remember?”

“You’re no friend of mine, Iyanu.”

“Only after I became everything you couldn’t be; after I achieved everything you wished to have.”

“What do you possibly know about what I want, Iyanu? We were kids then, barely even ten. Do you think my dreams then is the same as my dreams now?”

“Yes, I do. The society never changed how they see you. You craved attention then, but you got none. The little you got turned out to be bad ones.”

I glare at the girl, my shoulders stiffening and my chest rising.

True, she and I were friends. Best friends. Sisters even. Others went as far as calling us soulmates. But let’s no pretend we know every crook and cranny of each other’s lives.

What she said about attention was actually the other way round. Back then, the girl noticed I got more attention from mom and dad at home than she got from the entire world. She was that heir no one talked about.

Things got worse when teachers at school started noticing me more as well. To her, it was too much. To me, it was little, and there was still the negativity when they often referred to me as Mellow’s step daughter, or the love child, or the product of a villainous marriage, or Zeath Lupin’s other child.

Iyanu didn’t see how much I struggled with these terms. All she saw was that I was a bit popular. And it was all she wanted to be. Popular.

Due to that, she joined the bitch gang built specifically to be my villains. Her popularity quickly rose from there.

Having my only friend against me was a bad experience. It made me grow paranoia for everyone around me. Everybody became my villain in my eyes. Because of that, I slowly adapted to being alone until now.

I did meet Shawna in high school. But I never attempted to be friends with her, nor did she try to be my friend so as not to risk triggering Iyanu’s wrath on her.

We only became friends after we met again a few months back in a book signing. We realized we loved the same kind of things down to the same authors and books. We clicked right away without Iyanu’s scrutiny.

“I’m not the one craving attention, Iyanu. It’s you. It’s you who made yourself the center of attention by constantly terrorizing me who happens to be the daughter of the current wealthiest man.”

Iyanu’s smile turns sinister. “Are we talking about that title now?” she scoffs. “Ah. Let’s see: your whole life is a movie, Nectar, people only watch for entertainment, not to learn a lesson. They scrutinize every part your fucking existence to sate their boring lives with the satiating story of your miserable self. You and I know that for your arrogance you’re not the favorite, are you? I mean, your father seems to favor the dead younger sister more than the alive one, seeing as her face is everywhere with several support foundations and communities, while you rot in your own solitude. But… BUT YOU DO WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT TITLE.”

Clapping her hands, Iyanu marches to the stage and grabs the microphone from the staff before making her way back to me. “Y’all remember the artist from yesterday who had that trashy piece of art with derogatory words on it?” she declares into the mic, pointing at me. “Here she is. And guess what? She may be using Nectar as a pen name, but she’s actually Nectar Diza Lupin, the daughter of Zeath Lupin. Not Mellow’s daughter, by the way.”

I look at Iyanu, totally shocked. Mumbles grow in the crowd, and the one thing I pick is someone’s murmur. “So Zeath had an other child?”

“Yes, he did. She’s his first daughter, by the way, but she ended up being the illegitimate daughter and the outcast heir.” Iyanu closes in on me, leaning into my body with a whisper. “At least I’m an heir, even though I’m ignored. You, you’re obviously his first child, but you’ll get nothing aside from some petty shares. You’re not even doing well on your own, meanwhile I’m basking in my own wealth. All you do is cry back to your mommy. Last I heard, the rejection started from her. And oh, do you remember the kind of scandal you were born with? Your mom thought it was political to get pregnant and use the baby to steal another woman’s man instead of building her own life. At the end, he grew bored of her and you weren’t even enough for him!”

“You dare not mention my mom that way!” I grit my teeth while grabbing Iyanu’s chin between my thumb and index finger.

The girl reaches for a nearby person holding cake, grabbing the cake and plastering it on my face.

I grasp her hair to fight back, and she clutches mine too.

The crowd avoids us as we fall to the floor in a tangle of cake and sweat.

>>>>>>>>

SOME HOURS AFTER THE END OF THE ART CONCATION.

When I was a child, I watched those teen movies, where most of the characters were depressed and always angry.

I would ask myself what made people depressed and angry. What was there to feel bad about? In my head then, I can only not be fine when mom or dad doesn’t give me the money to buy what I wanted. But where there’s the money, why not just lick some ice cream, or eat chocolates or whatever makes one feel better?

But then I grew up and faced my own differences. And I realized you don’t necessary need a reason to be in a good or bad mood. One day, you just wake up angry and you find so many things or people to blame for being upset.

I blamed mom. Other times I blamed dad or aunt Mellow. Sometimes, I even said I was grieving a younger sister who died before I could even recognize her—mom only told me the story of how I was friends with her, but I don’t remember.

Most times, I just found it easier to put the blame on the world. That was the simplest excuse to scream and kick and cry until I found a higher ground in Blank.

Mom thinks it’s just a tiny obsession with him; like... a professional thing. She doesn’t know it exceeds that.

I use him as my point between sadness and joy—my bridge of happiness.

I don’t need any money for this one. I could just look at one of his works on my wall and feel better. He’s like that one bright star glinting in a dark sky, or that single candle at the corner of a room where darkness never penetrates.

But, today, looking at his artworks displayed on the walls of my room doesn’t give me the same feeling. It only makes me feel more and more miserable about myself. It’s like he dunk me further into waves of family trauma. This time, I don’t find reasons to feel bad. I feel bad because it’s justified. Because I deserve that, at least.

I thought it was pure luck meeting my idol in person—being one of the few persons to see his face in twenty years. But that’s all bullshit.

The reveal of his artwork yesterday told me one thing—the guy’s still head over heels in-love with aunt Mellow.