Fire hairs

The soft music creates a very romantic atmosphere in this restaurant, and it’s my first time in one of these. I look at every detail as the maître d’ escorts us to our table, from the dimly lit chandeliers to the band playing while a familiar woman’s voice sounds hypnotically everywhere.

I search for her with my eyes and find her on a small pedestal, away from the band, her lips moving softly, leaving sweet words floating in the air, destined to enamor anyone. But it’s her red hair that catches my attention when she finally tucks some strands behind her ear, revealing her features, and I recognize her. It’s the girl from the bar. I walk without paying attention to anything but her; I collide with a chair when her eyes meet mine, and I have to hold onto Dante’s arm not to fall to the ground.

“Shit,” I mutter, feeling my face burning with embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” Dante inquires, concerned.

“Yeah, sorry, I got distracted and didn’t see where I was walking,” I explain, wishing the ground would swallow me whole.

I feel like everyone is staring at me. He just nods, and under the watchful gaze of the redhead, we continue walking to our table. After selecting the food, Belén, who had been completely silent until then, speaks up:

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Dante; well, at least officially and while you’re both dressed,” she adds, making me choke back a scream.

“The feeling’s mutual, Emma has spoken wonders about you,” he replies, like a perfect gentleman, taking my hand under the table.

“She probably gave you a very censored version,” she jokes, unable to hide the pride shining in her eyes, “anyway, it brings me great joy to see my friend happy.”

“I feel very lucky to have met her, even though the situation wasn’t the best. Maybe it was the way it was supposed to happen.”

The waiter arrives with the wine, shows it to Dante and he nods. Watching him pour the wine with that particular tilt brings back memories of Mauricio’s smile while doing it, and his eyes completely unfocused while attacking me, causing a chill to run through me. Automatically, I release Dante’s hand and my breathing quickens.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking at me strangely.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I just remembered something that gave me the creeps,” I whisper, taking his hand again.

I thank the heavens that he only stays silent, not delving into what I don’t want to tell, and only focuses on gently caressing my skin until I can breathe normally again.

By the time the food arrives, I am fully recovered, able to make small interventions in the conversation between Belén and Dante.

“It’s a mix of jazz, blues, and soul. Obviously, the songs she’s singing aren’t hers, but her voice definitely suits everything,” I point out, fascinated by the singer.

“That’s exactly what I was telling Dante, although I only recognized the lyrics from Amy Winehouse,” Belén says, happy that I finally say something.

“I didn’t know you liked that kind of music,” Dante inquires, even more interested.

“I listen to everything. In fact, I go from classical to dark metal without any problem. When my songs are on shuffle, that’s when the neighbors think maybe I’m missing a screw,” I assure, laughing cheerfully.

“I need to go to the bathroom. Shall we go?” Belén asks.

“Of course,” I reply, getting up and taking my bag.

The lyrics of “Wake Up Alone” reach me like a whisper, and the music that accompanies it makes me want to be on the dance floor with my new love, feeling that I have finally overcome that phase of mourning for the lost relationship. How many nights did I spend with drinks and solitary tears accompanied only by this song? Countless, but thanks to Dante, they have come to an end. I no longer drown in tears, I no longer believe myself unworthy of receiving love. Finally, I am free from all those mental restraints that kept me in the shadow of a heartless monster. I deserve to be happy and feel loved, regardless of my age, weight, or clothes.

We enter the bathroom, and the door blocks out her voice. We look at each other attentively in the mirror, touch up our makeup, and Belén finally allows herself to tell me what she thinks of him:

“I think you need more time together, outside of the bedroom, but you look very happy by his side. He’s good for you, Emma, but please, this time, don’t let your life revolve around him.”

“No, I learned from my mistakes. I won’t fall into that unhealthy dependence again. Although, about spending time outside of the bedroom... for now, it’s better to pass, ha ha.”

“I just want you to remember that you are the one shining, it’s not that he gives you a shine, you have everything inside you, you just allow yourself to show it now.”

I embrace her, tears fighting to escape, but I hold back, I don’t want red eyes today. She separates from me and adds:

“Well, aside from that, I have to admit that you grabbed a big prize, a sex god surgeon who looks at you like a dazzled deer? You must have something special between your legs,” she jokes, making me burst out laughing sincerely. “Well, let’s go back before he thinks I kidnapped you.”