Chapitre 9: CLAUDE
The part of the night I dreaded the most started when one of my uncles from California asked about the upcoming Lumina Ball. It was an annual ball for the stars, where every celebrity, both famous and neophyte, gets to walk the real red carpet and showcase their best looks by the best designers in the world. It is basically the biggest event of each year, and everyone makes sure to tune in on their TVs and mobile phones to get a glance of the elegant looks of the stars. The Lumina Ball happens every first night after Thanksgiving, which in this case will be tomorrow. I got an invitation way before the venue was announced, but my mind hasn't decided yet.
"All five of us got the invitation already, and we're all going, except Ken," my mother proudly announced. In the industry, it's an honor to be invited way ahead of the other famous actors and actresses. It means the organizers put you on top of their lists.
"Why isn't he invited? If I may say, he's the youngest architect to be on the front cover of Louvré magazine. He's practically a star," my Californian uncle rebutted. He was also invited to the gala since he's a music producer.
The Louvré magazine is the most famous career magazine in the States. It features architects, photographers, engineers, all of whom at the top of their games. My brother was a good architect for his age, if not the best. And he just signed a new big project last month that if pulled off properly, can be a next New York landmark.
Ken chuckled lightly and removed his arms around Barbie and placed his hands on the table. "You know I never liked your stuff, Uncle Tim. Besides, there's only five invites." He chuckled once again, setting a friendly atmosphere.
My uncle grinned like a devil. I never really liked Uncle Tim. To put it a bit politely, he loves shaming me in front of the Colemans. To put it plainly, he's a moron. He's that kind of uncle who only comes to Thanksgiving for the drinks and then ends up ruining the whole celebration. He glanced at me too swiftly to be noticed. But I did notice, because he always does that.
"Why don't you ask for your little sissy's invite, eh? She doesn't need it anyway." Some of our relatives chuckled. My family didn't, especially Ken. But I expected him to defend me, too. Instead, he just kept quiet and glared at Uncle Tim. Is this still a part of the game he's playing at me? The "learn to live your own life" game? If yes, then I don't wanna play it anymore!
There wasn't one in my family who stood up for me. Every year, it was Ken. But now, my dad just looked down on his plate, my two other brothers were busy writing hashtags on their phones, and my mother couldn't care less. I decided to respond this time.
"I have my gown already. I'm going," I answered monotonously. I felt silence covering the room when I spoke up. I understood them, because all my life, I never did. I was just this quiet disappointment who's always hiding behind Ken's shadow. I told you I haven't decided yet if I'm going to the gala tomorrow, but I already had my gown made last month.
Uncle Tim looked at me surprised for a while, but has gotten back to his senses immediately. "You know no one would be waiting for you there, or would even be looking at you," he said mockingly. I felt my cheeks turn hot. I was maddened by the words he said to me, or the phrases he had said about me growing up. I've always hated this asshole, this family, this dinner, and I'm sick of just hating them within.
"But fans would rather see my face than some music producer's whose name they don't even know." I really meant what I said. I tried my best for the words to not come out outraged, and trust me controlling my tears not to fall down was the hardest part. I've lived my life feeling like I didn't belong to this family, and having no one back me up except for my successful brother. And now that I'm leaving in a few days, at least I needed to straighten something up. And that is how they treat me in this house. I'm done crying, and I'm done acting like a victim. I really am a victim, but I didn't want to drown myself in that thought anymore. I wanted them all to know that I hated them. They won't be seeing any more of me in a few days anyway.
Uncle Tim's grin faded and he looked at me dead serious. That didn't threaten me though, not now. Not anymore.
"What did you just say?" His voice was deeper than earlier, and I had a feeling that I angered him. Which was odd, because this is the very first time I rebutted at him and his face turned red at the moment I first did it. I should have done this ages ago.
"I was just saying," I started calmly, "that no one actually cares about you. Do you even have fans?" I said mockingly in a single tone. All of my relatives at the table just sat there in silence, shocked as I was. Even Ken had stopped eating. There was a deafening silence.
Uncle Tim seemed to have been triggered by that phrase, he started to stand up while his deadly gaze was fixed at me. My father was prompt to rush to Uncle Tim and stopped him. He calmed him down, and I heard him say just let me be because I'm just a "kid". I was more startled by the fact that when he stood up, I didn't flinch. Not even slightly. I didn't know if this was a result of Ken's lies to me, or the thought of me leaving in a few days, or just because I wanted to end this injustice inside this mansion. Whatever it was, I was on fire and I thought for a moment that I love this personality. Reckless. Brave. Doesn't give a sh*t.
Ken decided to clear the air and he went to the speaker. He put on some music and everyone went back to chatting. I caught Uncle Tim looking at me and I smiled at him, but not the polite kind. That's for you, asshole. Ken asked me if I wanted more pasta on my plate but I said I'm actually full and just wanted to go to bed. He said he'd walk me up but I refused. He insisted, though. I hope he's already feeling some distance between us. And I hope he'd ask.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone