The afternoon sun glares in through the window onto my presswrite. I'm not sure why Riveirre asked me to come to this party. She hasn't talked to me in the sixteen minutes she's been down here, and she probably won't. These people will only be here for a few hours; she could talk to me anytime.
Then again, she's already clearly stated that I'm hard enough to deal with when it's necessary. Why bother with me when it's not?
She slips past me and through the door, once more in her form-fitting leather pants and dark red top, collar high against her neck. She walks smoothly and confidently, unconsciously swaying to the music. Her long, wavy hair gently moves with her.
Through the window, Jacin approaches her. A sly grin coats his face, dark joviality hiding in his eyes. I don't like how blatantly he flirts with her—he's got to have something up his sleeve. Something about him just seems... off.
Of course, she doesn't notice. When he takes her hand, she beams and hurries down the steps with him, beginning to dance. I shake my head. Her involvement with him will end like bleach mixed with ammonia—seems harmless enough until it suffocates you.
I go back to typing, the beat from outside moving through me.
One, two, three, four. Tap, tap, tap, tap. The music lulls me into a trance; the world is nothing but the notes and the beat, me and my presswrite. I work mindlessly, paper slowly darkening as the sun sets outside.
Someone approaches me. "Sean?"
I glance up at Riveirre but, having just started a measure, don't stop typing.
"You know, it's an awful pretty night to be stuck inside all evening."
Is she just going to criticize my lack of sociability? I already came to the stupid party for her, and she's ignored me until now.
She extends a hand. "Would you honor me with a dance, Doktor Rahkifellar?"
My fingers miss a beat. Eleaviara Riveirre actually wants me to do something with her that she doesn't need me for? Riveirre wants me to dance.
But I haven't danced in years.
'See, sugar? Do you feel the beat?' She swayed back and forth, humming along to the music that scratched out of the gramophone. The sound filled our living room. She took my hands, encouraging me to dance with her.
'Just back and forth, Mom?'
'If that's what you want, sugar. Or,' she said, grinning, 'we can do this!' She twirled me, and I laughed.
'Do you want more cake?'
I smiled at her but shook my head. 'Not right now, Mom. This is goo—'
The door bangs open and—
Can't think about that night.
"No."
Her previously carefree attitude evaporates. She takes a half-step back, lost hand still hovering in the air. It doesn't matter though—Jacin comes back over and hands her a drink. She starts talking to him again. She's fine.
I turn back to my work.