Letters On Our Skin || BangChan

False Confidence

A girl sits on a table in a fine restaurant. She is wearing a beautiful red dress and high heels, her blonde hair is done up with pins. Her lips are a bright red, her light eyes lined with kohl. She put time and effort into her appearance. The table in front of her is decked for two, yet the seat across from her is untouched. A phone is placed screen up next to the girl's half-full wine glass.
Behind her, a clock is on the wall. The clock hands move incredibly fast and in sync with the people around her. Everybody is rushing, moving, blurred and smudged. They don't pay attention to her.
She's sitting for what seems like hours, alone at the table for two. Waiting. Slowly, her smile disappears.
Time slows down, everything resumes to its normal speed.
A message comes in, the phone blinks up.
A number saved as 'Lover' has texted.
I won't make it.
Tears well up in the girl's eyes, as another message arrives from the same number.
Sorry, I'm leaving. I can't do this anymore.

The girl smacks her lips, then picks up the bottle of wine and takes a few deep mouthfuls, before she gets off the chair and kicks off her shoes. As the rest of the restaurant comes into view, it's frozen in time. Nobody moves, hands and cutlery hover in the air, faces pulled into grimaces of emotions.
As the music picks up, the girl sinks into a dance. The movements she makes are hopeless and speak of a deeply broken heart. Disappointment and sadness are mirrored in every step she takes as she moves across the floor, twisting and turning around herself.
In a lash out of anger, she grabs a handful of spaghetti from a neighboring table and stuffs her face with it before wiping her hands on the man's white shirt.
As the music picks up, her dance becomes wilder, more careless, and almost hysteric.
She can't believe she wasted time on someone she never even sees anymore. Spend money, spend nerves, spend effort to look beautiful just for him.
She dances through the restaurant in big, space-invading movements. She is done with making herself small. She wants her life back, she wants to know who she is.

As she nears a group of tables towards the back of the restaurant, she pulls off the table cloths, smashing plates with food, tipping over glasses.
She empties a glass of red wine over a woman's salad, absolutely frantic.
The girl's face is pulled into a manic grin, her mascara has stained the skin beneath her eyes.
Her dance is a mixture of frustration and sorrow, she's both furious and mourning the end of a relationship and all the time she lost pretending to be someone she isn't.
To free herself, she pulls the pins out of her hair, recklessly driving her hand through it and over her face, smearing her lipstick. She takes a bottle off the next table she passes and empties the last few swigs before throwing it across the room. It lands in an aquarium filled with exotic fishes and slowly sinks to the ground.

As she dances, all the heartbreak seems to leave her. Her movements become lighter, as if she is gaining back a part of the person she used to be. The grin on her face grows slowly into a smile, joyful and sweet.
The movements of her dance turn into a row of spins, arms wide open, the skirt of her dress flying. Her legs move fast, she jumps and kicks. Her steps secure.
She spins past a trolly filled with baskets of bread rolls, kicking them flying through the air in the process.

Who cares?
Nothing matters anymore.
She's free. She is released. She is on the loose.
Shaking her body from left to right, hair a mess, she dances a series of moves, driving her hands over her body, bending and stretching into fragile and gracious positions.
She heaves air into her lungs as she slowly trails back to her table, tipping a young man's hat to sit crookedly on his head, flipping his table partner's tie over his shoulder.
She sits down onto her own chair and from one second to the next, everything is back to normal.
The girl's hair is done up beautifully again, her make-up in perfect condition. Nothing in the restaurant is torn, or messed up, or in disarray.
The girl takes the bottle of wine and fills up her glass again, a calm look on her face. She leans back in her chair, and opens the menu. A winning smile tugs on her bright red lips.