The sixth sense

Chapter 11

LILI

TODAY is SATURDAY AND EVERYONE'S at HOME. I spent the entire week in the apartment—dragging my body from one corner of my room to another. I arranged the books that my grandma sent me and changed the curtains that my mother bought for me. They were decorated with a delicate floral drawing. Mom also bought a couple of pillows with a matching print and a bedspread. With the new decorations, the room became much cozier.
The rest of my time at home I spent going through my social media feed and talking to my friends from Lausanne. They shared the latest school gossips and told me everything about the events that happened in my absence. In Lausanne, I often changed schools. We moved from one apartment to another, improving our living conditions, and my mother always signed me up to the closest to our new home school. Unlike Emma, I never had enough time to make close friends at school. When in February my mother once again suggested a move, it wasn't new to me.
Looking at Emma and Pauline, I can't stop wondering about the beginning of their friendship. They're poles apart in everything. Every day Emma asked about my well-being and brought workbooks with the list of homework to do. I couldn't hate her even if I wanted to. She's very kind. Really kind, sympathetic, and nice. I understand Adam because if there was someone like her in my life, I would no doubt want to lose myself in that person. I would accept their love and kindness without a word. But is it the right thing to do? No, it's not. It's very egotistical. I decided not to write about Adam anymore. The red notebook is lying under my bed. I haven't touched it for a week. Life goes on and I need to move on too. At least it's what I keep telling myself to do. It would be so much easier if Adam and I didn't need to see each other every day. Though, who am I trying to fool? I haven't seen him for five months . . . and he's still every thought in my head.
"I'm right here! Can't you see me?" Emma says from the room next to mine. The walls in the apartment are thin as if made of paper. I can hear her every word. Our parents' room is on the opposite end of the hall but I can't avoid hearing Emma talking or her making new videos for the blog. Her makeup is beautiful and unique. She likes using bright colors, glitter, and small shining crystals. Sometimes she looks like a fairytale character, like an elf. It fits her. Her skin is smooth and pale pink and her eyes are highlighted with bright pink and purple eyeshadows. To be honest, the videos from her YouTube channel surprised me. She doesn't have a lot of followers but the videos have something unique in them and it differs them from those other bloggers make.
"Your makeup is super bright today!" a female voice says. Emma laughs and I can easily imagine a soft blush cover her cheeks.
"I decided to go for blue and silver craziness today," she says.
"Oh, it does look a bit crazy! Hope you're not going anywhere with makeup like that?" the words are dipped in disdain. The person from the other side of the screen isn't even trying to be polite.
"It was for another blog video," as if justifying herself, says my step-sister.
"Hope you weren't making the video in that terrible dress you're wearing?" the unknown voice 'kindly' asks.
"Actually, I was wearing the same dress I'm wearing now."
She must be talking to her mom. I sit down on the floor and put my ear to the wall. It's the first time that I hear anything about her mother.
"Well, congrats, dear. You're going to look like a shapeless barrel in that new video of yours." The verdict sounds like one of those a professional Cruella would render. "Why aren't you wearing the things I've bought you?" The irritation in her voice is rising.
Emma stays quiet for a few moments, probably trying to come up with a good response.
"I don't like them," she finally says. Her voice is almost a whisper and I can't hear her well.
"I can't believe you chose to wear the disgusting bag that made you look like a sumo wrestler over the beautiful things I sent you! Just don't tell me you like the awful makeup that hides your eyes or the dress you're wearing. If you want to wear something like that, you need to lose weight first. Besides, how many times do I need to repeat that classics are the best choice for any occasion? Why are you trying to look like a clown?"
Terrified, I move away from the wall. Her mother's voice makes me feel uncomfortable. I can't even imagine what Emma's feeling at that moment. My mother would never criticize me the way that woman did. If she didn't like something in my new style, she would smile and say something like, 'Youth forgives everything.' But she would never make me feel small or do something to bring me down . . . things like that have never happened to me and now I don't know how to act, considering everything I've just heard.
"Mom, I gotta go," Emma says. Her voice is sad.
"If you're going to see Adam today, get changed and wash your face."
"He likes my makeup experiments."
"He's lying, Emma. He can't like them." The confidence in her voice leaves no place for objections.
Then the talking stops and Emma stays alone. What's she thinking about? Is she upset? Or maybe her mother's behavior is no longer news to her and she's used to it. I wish it was that simple. Suddenly, I feel the desire to check on her, but I don't know if I have a right to go for it. I can't tell her I could hear every word her mother told her. But then the decision comes out of nowhere. I jump from the floor and run to her room, knocking loudly at the door.
"Yes?"
"It's Lili. May I come in?"
"Just a minute!"
I patiently wait for her to open the door. One look at her face is enough to realize that Emma can't stand her mother's criticism. Surprisingly enough, her mother's rudeness affected me too. I look into my sister's puffed eyes. She's higher than me and she's trying to force a smile.
"How can I help you?" she asks.
"It's a bit embarrassing to ask you for it . . . but I saw makeup in one of your videos. Bright red mixed with orange. It looks like one absolutely unbelievable sunrise!" my every word is filled with enthusiasm and I try to pretend I haven't noticed her ruined by crying makeup. "I'm terrible in everything that has anything to do with makeup," I continue. "Are you busy now? I need your help with my makeup."
Emma looks surprised. She moves a lock of blond hair behind her ear and smiles. "I'll gladly help you with your makeup. Are you going somewhere?"
I didn't think about that part of the plan.
"I was thinking about a walk. The weather's amazing today. Wanna go with me?"
Emma looks so happy. I feel a little guilty for never asking her to go somewhere together and rejecting her invitations. Maybe I never realized how much she actually wanted to be friends with me. Gerome and I run every morning and our conversations are still short, but I got used to his presence in my everyday routine. Emma invited me to various parties and cafés, but I always said 'no' to her invitation, too afraid to face Adam again. When your own father misses your eighteenth birthday, you start to cherish other people's attention. Emma and Gerome don't owe me anything. But they keep doing good things to me without asking for anything in return. I think it's my turn to return the favor.
"Pauline and I were going to Le Marais," Emma says. "There are so many cool shops with various funny things there. Join us if you want. I'd be happy to have you with us."
"I'm in," I say with a smile and nod to her dress. "This is amazing!"
Emma runs both hands down the pale blue fabric with big white roses printed on it. The dress is extraordinary and I like it. Emma looks great in it.
"Thank you," she says, smiling softly. Then she points to a chair in front of her vanity table. "Sit down. I'll take care of your makeup."
It's the first time I'm in her room. It's on the sunny side of the building, just like mine, and it's filled with sunlight. Her bedclothes and the curtains have a floral print on them and look a lot like mine.
"Is that my mom's handiwork?" I ask, raising one eyebrow.
Emma looks puzzled.
"My bed clothing? Oh, yes, Amelia bought it for me." Her face lights up when she says that. I wonder about the pain that is hiding behind her smile and charm radiating from her. Even people like Emma have a vulnerable side. The air in the room smells like vanilla and fits her so well. I sit down on a chair in front of an oval mirror. The vanity table is covered with small bottles, eyeshadow palettes, and brushes.
"Creative chaos," Emma explains; her gaze follows mine.
"My cosmetic bag has only one palette, one mascara, and one lipstick," I confess.
She smirks.
"You can use my cosmetics if you want. Dad buys me something new for almost every occasion. He always asks shop assistants to help him, so naturally, they make him buy the most expensive things.
"It's been almost five years since I heard from my father," I say suddenly. I don't know why I want to share it with her. Maybe to let her know that she's not alone in this 'I've got one shitty parent' club.
Emma gives me a look full of compassion and sadness. I roll my eyes.
"Oh, please, spare me from your pity," I say jokingly. She suddenly comes closer and hugs me.
"My dad won't miss a single occasion to make you feel special. As well as your mom won't miss her chance to buy new curtains for my room. Maybe it's a new beginning for both of us . . ."
I look at our reflection in the mirror. A blondie and a brunette. I'm cold winter and she's warm spring. We are poles apart. Starting from our characters and to our appearances. Still, we have a lot in common. Parental betrayal for example. And an endless emptiness inside our hearts.
"I'd love that," I say with all the sincerity I can put into my words. She smiles in response with a warm, kind smile.
"First of all, we need to clean and moisturize your skin. Skincare is very important," Emma says and I nod.
'There's one more thing that you have in common,' my inner voice whispers. 'Adam'.
But I don't want to let that thought overwhelm me.
I try to relax in my chair, saying, "Do whatever you think is needed. Let your magic work on me."
Emma winks at me. "I'll try my best. I think I'll turn you into a snow queen." She suddenly pauses and asks, "Are you sure you're ready to go out with makeup like that?"
"You can't ask that question twice. I'm dying to give it a try! Your makeups are amazing."
"Thanks, Lili," she whispers back. Her voice is filled with excitement and gratitude. 
Sometimes a person needs something really small to feel needed. A drop of praising or one very needed, important word that changes everything.
Emma starts working on my makeup. It looks a lot like hers, in pale blue shades, with a bit of topaz and turquoise notes. All the colors are mixed together, with silver eyeliner going above my eyeshades and a small white crystal on the end of the arrow.
"Fabulous!" I exclaim because it's the only word I can come up with to describe my makeup. It's picturesque, exquisite, and stunningly beautiful. "I look like an elf princess! You know what, Emma? I have a dress that will fit this makeup perfectly."
The very dress I bought when in Florence. I go back to my room and take it out from my wardrobe, feeling as excited as ever. There're so many memories connected with that dress. I put the dress on, with Emma watching me, and then spin in front of the mirror.
"What do you think about it?"
"You're so slim and tiny, just like a real fairy."
"I always wanted to be curvy and have more impressive boobs," I say, laughing. "Your look so much better!"
"I can easily share a few pounds with you," Emma says jokingly.
I shake my head. "What yours is yours. You're perfect."
"Bullshit. I've been on the plus side as long as I can remember."
'Unlike you' her waving hand adds.
Now I know why every time we dine, she looks a little guilty, especially when going for a refill or why she keeps a can of Nutella in her room. She always waits for everyone to leave the kitchen before going there to eat something. Not to mention her cheating days that always end up with another breakdown. Who knows, maybe I would be just like her if everyone kept telling me I needed to lose weight. But the truth is, we are different, and everyone is beautiful in their own way. Emma looks like a very tasty, hot roll. Her shoulders are round and her cheeks are so cute. Her skin is soft and fair and she always smells like vanilla. You always want to touch her, to hug her, to pinch her even. And the size of her bra is definitely a dream to never come true for many girls.
"You're beautiful," I say to her. "I'm beautiful too. And very modest!" I laugh and add, "Every one of us has something beautiful."
Emma takes my hand in hers and quizzes it slightly. "Thanks, Lili. But do me favor and stop eavesdropping on my conversations with my mother."
"Was it that obvious?"
"Yes, but it doesn't mean I didn't need it. Thanks for your support. I'll fix my makeup and get changed. Pauline and I agreed to meet on the promenade of Saint Louis. She stayed for the night with her boyfriend. She's still with him now."
Emma leaves my room and I look at the closed door thinking 'you're welcome'. I didn't do anything extraordinary.
An hour later, we walk down the promenade. The wind is playing with my hair, muddling it. The wind is watery and cold, making the air smell like wet, hot stone with the notes of wood and the seaweeds from Siena. I can hear the seagulls screaming and the church bells ringing; the car noise and the rumble of voices. There are barges and boats in the bay. Couples in love are holding hands, exposing their faces to the sun. The old mansions of the seventeenth century add special magic to this place. As if you are about to find yourself in the past. Paris is really beautiful.
"There you are!" Pauline shouts, running towards us. "Why are you so stunning?" She kisses us on the cheeks. "You should have warned me to put on something more sophisticated. Now I feel like a pale chicken compared to you."
"You're always amazing," Emma says, laughing.
Pauline pretends to be lost in her thoughts. "I think you're right," finally she says and I start laughing too.
We walk across Pont Marie bridge and come to Le Marais, passing by the majestic cathedral of St. Louis.
"Le Marais is crowded on Saturdays," Pauline says to me. "By the way, Victor Hugo lived in this district. There should be his house somewhere here." She looks around, looking for the house, but fails to find it. "Never mind. We'll show you something else."
Pauline and Emma share a look.
"We need to wait for Adam. He should have been here by now." She types something on her phone.
"I thought we would have an all-girl night," I mutter, plastering a smile to my face. Just then, Adam walks out of the subway.
"We're here!" Emma shouts to him.
His gaze falls on me and he freezes to the spot. Looks like I'm not the only person here surprised by the unexpected meeting. I can't say the meeting is pleasant though. He stares at me for too long, letting his eyes travel up and down my dress. It's the very dress I was wearing the day we met in Florence.
"I did her makeup," Emma says. "Do you think it's too much?" She thinks his reaction has something to do with the bright makeup on my face.
Adams frowns and lowers his eyes. "Unexpected . . .but I like it."
"Lili has got amazing eyes. And I love doing your makeup, ladies! It's pure pleasure."
It's Pauline's turn to speak, "Okay, let's go. The sightseeing tour's waiting for us!"
"What are you up to?" Adam asks.
"We've decided to turn Lili into a true Parisian."
"It's as easy as pie," Adam says, smirking. Then he turns to me and adds, "Lili, keep complain about everything, the more the better. First, pretend to be enjoying the moment and then say something like, 'I love it, but . . .' Then mention high taxes, another social protest, stupid politics, trade unions, and so on and so force. Don't forget to roll your eyes and then sigh, mumbling, 'Puta-a-ain-'. Voilà! Don't thank me for the instructions and welcome to the Parisian community!"
Emma and Pauline burst out laughing. I look into his eyes and drown in them. He graces me with his best smile; it's impossible to resist his attractiveness. His eyes are glowing with mischief and his lips are curved in a sly fox grin. Our hands accidentally touch . . . bam . . . and I touch his hand one more time, and he does the same. We walk close to each other; our hands keep touching as if accidentally. I know it's silly, ridiculous, and pointless. I can't step aside. My elbow touches his and at some point, he runs his fingers down my arm. The touch is barely tangible. First, I think I'm imagining things, but then he repeats the move and I know it's real. The touch of his fingers . . . my hears start racing in my chest. I look up at him, trying to catch his look. He looks ahead of him but I can see his jaw tightens and his breathing becomes rapid. Is he as nervous as I am? Does he know something's happening between us? My finger runs up his arm; he stops abruptly and turns his head to look at me. His look is full of pain, disturbance, and misunderstanding. And wild desire and attraction. A hurricane of emotions and feelings. There're so many things in his gaze . . .
"Ta-dam!" Pauline's scream brings us back to reality. We slowly turn away from each other. I don't know where we are or what she's trying to show me. She looks delighted and self-satisfied. I realize it's been ten minutes, no less, that I lost the track of their conversation.
"Just look at that!" she says, pointing at the bakery shop window.
My eyes follow hers, trying to see the reason for her excitement. The shop looks crowded, with an endless line of customers, waiting for their turn to buy something. But the moment I realize what Pauline is talking about, my brows start to climb up my forehead.
"Oh, dear . . . do you see it too?" Emma asks, giggling.
"A penis-shaped roll?" I ask, a little puzzled. Emma and Pauline start laughing even louder.
"Le Marais is a gay district! And Monsieur Legay decided to use his last name and open one of a kind bakery."
"Now you need to go there and ask for 'Une baguette magique'—a French bread named a magic stick. Guess what they'll give you?" Emma asks, giggling like three-year old.
"No way!" I laugh at the 'amazing' showplace. "I'm not going to wait in a queue for a piece of penis!"
"As you wish," Pauline says, waving it off. "Come on, Emma, let's buy 'magic sticks'. And just look at your boyfriend; he's an example of composure! Tell us, Adam, do you often buy French bread here?"
In his usual devil-may-care manner, Adam rolls his eyes and smiles cunningly.
"Pauline, don't you think it would be a little weird to be surprised by the view of another penis?"
I chuckle and Adam gives me a look I can't decipher. I bite on my bottom lip and try to hide my smile.
Pauline smirks and nods. "You're right. It would."
"Buy one for my mom. We'll give it to her as a souvenir from our sightseeing tour."
"Are you sure it's okay to buy her something like that?" Emma asks.
"She'll laugh with us."
"All right, then."
They go to the bakery and Adam and I stay outside.
"What a great way to make money," I say, trying to ease the tension between us.
Adam nods. "It's quite trivial, but as you can see, it works."
"So, you think it's trivial to make penis-shaped rolls and bread?"
Adam smirks. "Like I said, dicks can't surprise men."
Silence falls between us and I feel the tension returning.
"Is that how we're going to do it now?" he asks, staring at me.
I shrug and confess, "I wish I could avoid seeing you at all. But I'm afraid it's impossible."
He reached for his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Why? Don't you care about me?"
I bite my lip and it hurts. My confession didn't do me any good.
"It's not about how I feel about you. It's more about my inner comfort."
He breathes out a cloud of smoke and flips the ash off his cigarette. "Am I ruining your inner comfort, Lili?"
I turn my head abruptly and narrow my eyes. "What exactly do you want to hear, Adam?"
"The truth," he replies without hesitation. "Tell me the truth. Why did you disappear?"
"Was your ego hurt that bad that even five months later, you're still trying to find an explanation for my behavior?"
He walks closer to me and I feel his smell—a mixture of coffee, cigarettes, and his cologne.
"I couldn't be wrong about you, Lili," he says in a whisper.
He stays so close to me. I can see every wrinkle on his face and the droplets of various colors in his brown eyes.
Nervous, I remove the locks of hair from my face and he notices my scar.
"How did you get it?" he asks, frowning.
I take a step back and try to look anywhere but him.
"The wind opened the window and the glass shattered. I stood nearby, slipped on the floor, and landed right on one of the sharp pieces."
"Do you really think I'm gonna believe that?"
I raise my chin in a challenging manner. "Do you have a choice?"
He takes another pull at his cigarette and whispers, "I like this dress."
One short sentence that knocks all the air out of my lungs. Pauline and Emma leave the shop and ward towards us, showing us what they have brought.
"We need to take pictures! Adam, we bought some bread for you as well," Pauline says, squinting her eyes with a smirk in her gaze.
"No way! I don't have an Instagram page but you think I'm gonna take pictures for yours, holding a penis-shaped French bread in my hand?"
"Not in your hand but your mouth!" she replies and then takes a bite of her bread.
"You just cut off his head," I joke and Pauline smirks.
"Then take a picture of us, you Instagram hater," Emma says to Adam, giving him her phone.
The three of us come closer to each other and put the rolls into our mouths. I can't even begin to imagine how ridiculous we look from aside. Emma's trying to suppress her smile and so am I.
"Instagram is bullshit," Adam says to us. "On the count of three . . . one, two . . . say 'che-e-se'!"
"Our mouths are filled with rolls. We can't say 'cheese'!" Pauline replies. She and Emma start laughing again.
I look at Adam. If only he knew how many times I tried to find him on social media, spending nights, scrolling down Facebook and Instagram search pages. I knew he wouldn't be there but I kept hoping to find him. I would send him a message, explain everything, and see him again. I guess he doesn't even know how many Adam Vitiellos live in Paris. I checked one profile after another, sending messages to those who didn't have any profile pictures. When fiftieth in order Adam said he wasn't the one I'd been looking for, I gave up and stopped driving myself up the wall because every new response broke my heart and made me feel helpless.
"Lili, how do I find you on Instagram?" Pauline asks. "I want to tag you in my picture."
"Luna-Lovegood with a dash. My Facebook name is the same," I say with a smile. "I created both accounts when I was ten. Back then, I was crazy about Harry Potter and Luna was my favorite character. That is how I ended up with the names for my profiles."
I've been thinking about changing my last name, but I don't want to have my father's name. When I was a kid, changing it was much easier.
"Found you!" Pauline exclaims. "I tagged you and followed you."
I turn my head and meet Adam's gloomy stare. Now I know I wasn't the only person trying to find someone on the net. He tried to find me too. . . the problem was I didn't have a chance to tell him about my pen-name. We melted in each other and the rest of the world disappeared for the next two weeks.
Adam and I don't speak until the end of the night. The girls take us to the vintage boutiques that sell amazing, old things. Emma decides to try a giant straw purple hat that looks like a Mexican sombrero. We laugh at the view of it.
"Okay, I'm going home," Pauline says. "I still need to do my homework." She starts walking to the subway.
"Adam, will you join us for dinner tonight?" Emma asks and he nods in response.
He decides to stop avoiding me; I can see that from his behavior. He doesn't buy my lies and he wants to know the truth. But I'm not going to tell him anything because the truth won't change anything for us. He's with Emma now. Her eyes are full of love for him; she holds his hand and tells him something I can't hear. They're dating and I need to accept it. Period.
Our parents meet us at home. Mom looks worried and I don't know why. I want to show her the roll but she stops me, saying, "Darling, do you know what time it is? Lili, you're not taking your sessions seriously. It's the second time in a row that you miss your meeting with the therapist."
"Right," I say, feeling a little guilty. "Mom, I'm sorry. It wasn't intentional. I lost a track of time."
"Your therapist is the best in the sphere. Do you have any idea how many people want to get a chance to talk to him? Be respectful to his time, Lili. Or do you want him to cross you out of the list of his patients? You need him and he's the best of the best."
Gerome wraps one arm around her shoulders. "Amelia, calm down, please. Things happen. Youngs can be reckless. They don't pay much attention to their problems."
"I think I'd better go," Adam says behind me.
All I want now is to sink through the floor. He didn't know anything about my sessions or my panic attacks. Emma should have heard about them. When you live with someone under the same roof, it's nearly impossible to have secrets from them.
"Aren't you going to stay for dinner?" Emma asks quietly. "You said you'd stay."
"There's something I need to do. It's urgent."
"Okay, I'll walk you to the door," she says.
But he stops her. "No, Ems. I know where the door is. Enjoy the rest of your day."
Mom gives me an apologetic look. "I didn't know he was here too, Lili," she says. "I thought you and Emma were alone."
"Adam won't tell anyone," Emma says. "He knows how to keep his mouth shut."
"Don't worry, Lili," Gerome says. "Adam's almost family."
I can feel the unwelcomed attention of everyone in the room and feel my cheeks turn red.
"It's okay. Forget it," I mumble, rubbing the scar on my arm. I hope Mom doesn't notice the move, but she does. Her eyes always follow my every small move.
"Lili, you need to call Bertrand first thing in the morning."
I nod. Bertrand is such a draggy man. I think it would be much easier if my therapist was a woman. But I bite my tongue and keep my opinion to myself. After all, Mom did her best to make an appointment with him. She thinks he's my rescue.
"Look what Emma and Pauline bought me today!" I take out a giant roll and wave it in the air.
Mom and Gerome start to laugh. I'm glad it helps to break the tension in the room. I give Mom her gift, singing, "Eat well! And I need to take a shower."
I walk into my room and fall onto my bed, face first. I feel a lump in my throat and I know what I need to do. I look under the bed and find the notebook. I take it into my hands and it's like it's been waiting for my return forever. I grab a black pen and open a new page. My fingers run across the page, writing word after word. My thoughts are racing . . . my memories need an outflow . . .