The Attic

Chapter 4 - Jealous Effect

Day: Two

Date:  February 29, 2012

Time:  2:11 P.M.

     Golden rule of success – in order to emerge to the top of the food chain, there were two ways: either don’t be a prey or prey on the predator itself. Unfortunately, the only way to win Camille’s heart over from my friend was to bury him with the option of doing it while he’s well and breathing.

                Eric was a friend of mine, a fellow architect, and a ladies’ man. Every break-up he had resulted to him having a better girlfriend and his ex in sorrow tears. Of course, I couldn’t let that happen to Camille, knowing well that Eric changed girlfriends as fast as he scrapped crappy designs. I loved this cheeky guy so much that I wanted to smash the wineglass I was holding onto his face.

                “Hey man,” Eric went for a bro fist which I returned with an endless stream of curses in my mind.

                “Hey bro,” I greeted back, “Have you met Ms. Santiago? She’s the interior designer of this house,” I asked, motioning towards her, pretending that I haven’t the slightest idea that it was him to whom she was drawn into. I was proud at how good I was at spotting even the smallest details on building surfaces, and the name Eric was written all over her face. She didn’t need to stress it out for me to know.

                “Yes actually. We spoke some moments ago,” confirmed Eric, “Based on what I see, she did a good job,” praised him, referring to her excellent work of adding color to my dull canvas. His airy voice seemed to flatter rather than irritate most women.

                What could she possibly have seen in this guy?

                Besides a handsome face?

                And thick purse?

                And height?

                And the title of an architect?

                 It then popped out from the farthest corner of realization that I had every reason to be insecure, even just a little, for we had everything in common, except a particular girl that only liked one of us.

                Her lack of words was killing me.

                I could hardly ignore her stealing glances at Eric all the while that we talked, as if I wasn’t there or probably because we’re just friends, and it’s her indirect way of getting me friend zoned. I had a choice of leaving them alone for some quality time but I was afraid to catch them pecking on each other later on. I told myself to keep it together and just played it cool.

                Eric reminisced our days way back and I noticed that in almost every memory he retold, I was the one, if not embarrassed, then pissed. I began to feel uncomfortable when Camille joined in the conversation and I found myself as the tag-along, their interests matched, while I was invisible, robbed of a conversing partner. An outcast, that I am.

                I left before my day turned further ill.

                It didn’t help though because both of them together retained in my thoughts right after I excused myself. Hours were quick to come and the hands of my watch created an angle similar to that produced by the freemason’s compass pointing downward. All that remained in the premises were a handful of close friends and co-architects. Camille’s Porsche was still outside, but I felt bad when I couldn’t find her anywhere, at the same time when Eric also went missing in action. It was starting to get dark as the time neared six in the evening and my colleagues were about to conclude the day. I wrapped some of the food for them to take home which they gladly accepted; maybe for formality or welcome desire, I wasn’t sure.