Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

one

“Fifth latte?!” Bea exclaims on the other line. “That's it. Drop the controller and come with us. We're picking you up in twenty.”

“Bea, seriously it's not that se—” I whine, the line cutting off before I can continue. 

The tv stares back at me in silence, the red game over screen taunting me. I roll my eyes and sigh, throwing my phone across the couch and getting up my feet against my will. 

I step into the shower, squirt some shampoo and conditioner in my greasy hair, washing off the reek of bed and couch on my skin. After, I pull a lacy tank top over my head and put on some cargo pants. I throw on some pink eyeshadow and blush, topping it all off with a glossy lipstick. 

My phone goes off again around nine thirty, Bea's name flashing across the screen. I swiftly pick it up as I throw on a jacket over my arms. “Illa, we're downstairs. Let's go.” She says.

I chuck my keys into my purse and look around the living room one last time, the playstation still on: the monitor displaying my previous game over. I sigh, switching it off before heading out.

Bea is parked right in the apartment building's driveway, Gina sitting on the passenger seat as music plays in the stereo. I shoot them a defeated look before throwing myself in the backseat. Bea drives away.

________________________

Bea pulls into the jazz bar parking lot: a square, modern establishment, glowing in the middle of the quiet town center, with glass panel walls and windows, faint music pouring out from the door. I sigh and step out of the backseat, the cold night air a splash of relief on my face. 

The streets are almost deserted— except for the 7/11 with piercing fluorescent lights on the other side of the road. A few more cars are parked in the bar driveway, people slipping into the main entrance. 

We step into the bar, greeted by the stench of cigarette smoke and liquor in the air, the chatter of patrons softly buzzing through the room. The stage is a floating beacon of light amidst the dim audience floor, a guy standing there, playing soulfully into a saxophone. We find a seat close to the stage, the chair cold against my back as I lean, my hands on the table. Bea is right. I haven't gone out in so long, it feels so awkward to be perceived now. Like I'm breaking an imaginary promise I never made to anyone. 

My knee bounces under the table, the five cups of caffeine I've had all day still coursing through my veins. 

“This is nice.” Gina mumbles with a smile, ever so softly swaying to the sax. “We always come here on the weekends. It's good you finally tagged along.” 

“Yeah, she'd rather play videogames all week than touch some grass.” Bea rolls her eyes. 

“C'mon guys, it's not that deep. I was just lazy and didn't want to get ready. Besides, I'm here now, aren't I?”

Bea shoots me a look of doubt and I digress. She knows me too well for me to get away with a lie. I guess it wasn't just laziness. I physically could not drag myself off of my couch if not for medschool, my body stuck on the couch cushions either sleeping, playing, or eating. 

“It's because of Elliot.” Bea reveals, an exasperated sigh escaping me.

“Don't.”

“Elliot? Your ex? You've been broken up for months though?” Gina shakes her head in confusion.

“He's engaged.” 

“Bea, can you stop? It's not about— It's not about Elliot.” I trip over my words, lying through my teeth. I suck in a breath, the mention of his name stirring something in me I've been trying to suppress all week. “I've been sick and I've been trying to get better. That's it.”