Brunch in Nice
Sand under my feet, breeze brushing my hair, the ocean drifting back and forth along the crowd: it seemed like a tempting picture to be a part of.
I jumped into my sandals and wool cardigan, ready to execute my morning plan -far from sightseeing and perfect views-. Sunglasses covering my black eye, the smell of Pinot Noir and gin still in my breath, phone and some coins in my pocket. Life was about to change, and this time I meant it.
May is a beautiful month for long walks at the beach, especially on the coast of the South of France. Nice is known for its colors and contrasts, their stunning streets, amazing views from the Castle Hill, museums full of culture and history.
The city is filled with spots for wine-lovers, art curators, and adventured diners. I remember writing these on the “pro list” when we decided to start our next chapter in the south.
That morning I was convinced to stroll the Promenade and make it mine — a tradition I was accustomed for the past four years-. Today’s walk was mandatory: I had lots of thinking to do, many decisions to make.
Maybe I’ll try Edith Piaf, Maybe I’ll try Paradis…
I begin my journey with the usual: headphones to pretend the world is no longer there. Maybe I’ll try Edith Piaf, romanticism and classics are a favorite; or Paradis to pull the dancer in me -once the caffeine kicks in of course-.
Which tunes go better with sadness and anger? What is the soundtrack of a disappointed lover walking the beautiful streets of Côte d’azur and ready to change it all for good? I’m about to get very artsy, before the darkness traps me in between thoughts of revenge and choices I would never be able to take back.
Tourists taking pictures in every corner and I can’t help but wonder: what do they do with all those photos? Sometimes, I visualize long, painful deaths for slow walkers and people with poor timing.
Judgement and misery cloud my mind while I skip through dozens of newly self-proclaimed photographers. At this point, the ocean was no longer blue; Piaf did not sing as graciously, at least in my mind; and no matter how hard I tried, the adrenaline kept rushing through my veins, taking me from zero to ten out of ten. I made an effort to control the rage. I failed.
As I walk on the beach, a constant fear of regret covers my mind. “No! He doesn’t deserve mercy” I said to myself. Little have I forgotten from the night before, when I walked into our bedroom and realized my man, the one I have given soul and body to for the past 12 years, the one I deeply love and can never get enough of, the one I swore devotion to –yes, that one- was laying in bed, naked, with another man.
My mind was filled with jealousy, it wasn’t me in there. I was envious of their desire, I wanted that for me. One last time inside of me.
It was disgusting and thrilling at the same time, their bodies fused into one and I could smell their passion all over our loft. My mind was filled with jealousy, it wasn’t me in there. I was envious of their desire, I wanted that for me. One last time inside of me. I was relieved there was finally an explanation for so many nights of loneliness.
Suddenly it all made sense but the more I understood, the more I wanted it all over. My gut feeling was right: we were not exclusive anymore, but I wasn’t involved in the decision.
I was outnumbered in my own place. The tear-provoking scene was as painful and ripping as possible, and it left me with no choice: running away quietly. I was helping them keep the secret for another day.
Two pills and some grapefruit didn’t do it for me. A throbbing headache serves as a constant reminder of the evening I had the day before: catching my man loving another soul.
His dreams are no longer next to mine. My body no longer arouses him. We went from a power couple to a total lie and I was a 1st row witness of the disaster.
I’m walking towards the south-end of town, to his favorite spot for brunch: a cute Moroccan café with the best view, and an even better Croque Madame. My hope is to find him there and confront him until he confesses. Would he do it? Would he lie to my face? I swear I could hear my heartbeat at 200 a minute, maybe faster.
Bingo! My eyes couldn’t believe it: they were both sitting in our table, enjoying a morning coffee and waiting for their perfectly cooked breakfast to arrive. He had a thing for green trousers during spring and I don’t know of anybody that looks better in olive.
They seemed happy and in love, like I could have sworn we were until yesterday. It was clear to see they had more than just a carnal connection. There was so much chemistry between the two of them and I can hardly remember the last time I saw him laughing this hard, it was sickening.
At that point, it was pretty clear to see: their lives and mine could not co-exist anymore. Their being was an antonym to mine. Their love was not possible in the same world I breathe.
My hands started shaking as I opened my backpack to take a kitchen knife from inside. I was no longer myself and my mind was no longer there. I hid the weapon behind me and walked slowly towards their table.
I remember seeing this all in slow-motion and thinking to myself: how does it feel to kill somebody? To take their lives away with your own bare hands. I was about to discover it.
“Excuse me? Can I have some extra sugar?” were his last words, as I get closer from the back and whispered in his right ear: I will always love you. Next thing I know, there’s blood everywhere and I hear screaming coming from all angles. My hands -still shaking- were blood-covered while I stabbed his stomach repeatedly until my muscles gave in.
His eyes stared at mine the entire time, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Like his last breaths were of too much value to waste them speaking. He decided to leave this world asking for sugar and I gave him the sweetest of all ends: closure. Nothing I had ever done felt quite this way.
My replacement was brave enough to run for his life and is probably on his way for help.
As I turned around his lover was gone -the same one he changed me for- had left him dying in a public place, stabbed to death, gasping for forgiveness and salvation. My replacement was brave enough to run for his life and is probably on his way for help — or the airport, who knows.
As I dry my tears away, my no-longer-paralyzed body comes to a conclusion: nothing that will ever happen to me, can erase this moment from my mind, let alone save me from it.
I ran as fast as I could towards the ocean, as I dabbed my wet hands against my already sweaty garments. My life was fated to loneliness and punishment. My love was gone and why should I not?
I headed north and reached the highest point of the hill. I could see the entire city from there — astonishing! The blue ocean and green mountains were my witnesses. Police sirens and La vie en rose were the soundtrack. It was a one-way ticket: jumping from the cliff would make me reunite with my lover, and finish all the pain at once, so I did.
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