Melody de la Douleur

TEMPTATION

TEMPTATIONI am finishing my new design this afternoon. Usually, I do spend long hours in the studio, even when school hours are over. I do not mind to stay here. The silence in the school, especially after the school dismissal hour, always helps me finish the work without the distraction of elements from the outside. And beyond those elements at least, include all that is not myself.

My design is reaching the step of sketching. Next is coloring. But before I can add color on top of this fragile paper, I have to check everything carefully and meticulously. I begin to scan the curve of the outer shape, which is strapless and slightly expands to the limit’s ankle. Part of the top is winding layers of cloth, tightening at the waist with a big ribbon placed on the right side. The plan is that I am going to paint the top with a soft yellowish hue, making it look obviously as silk. Furthermore, the skirt will bloom to the lowest limit of normal. But this skirt is not like any other skirts, with the center parting and striking. And of course, 5 centimeters from the hip must be covered with a denim mini-skirt made of golden yellow. This split skirt is also hard to make, with sakura patterns on where the petals are arranged in such a way so that they will be clean and not colliding in an odd angle. I have to be extra careful when coloring this section with red and pink. Yes, this skirt will look great with the reddish sakura. And the last is a pair of boots. I'll give it a dark brownish color, like a sakura’s tree trunk.

Perfect.

Now I can begin the process of coloring. Although it is a bit inconvenient, but this step needs to be done. If I were to miss even for one part, then everything will be destroyed. The picture in my mind will never be realized. And that means I have to start all over again.

I prepare my sketching tools and start to take the three racks of wooden colored pencils out of the storage closet. Colors are also important to be prepared in accordance with the palette. I usually set it up, starting from red to black. With a new wooden colored pencil in hand, someone takes the most crucial time to interrupt my work.

“Annalyss, what a coincidence. I need a little help to submit some files across. Can you help me put it on the St. Lathios’ registration table? I'm really desperate now. My family suddenly called me to come to an impromptu-held event. A cousin of my distant family came to visit and you know, I felt very uncomfortable to refuse their request after visiting all the way from Almatania. Well, can you help me? I will be really, really relieved if you do. Because the head of the foundation will definitely be angry at me if I do not hand over the forms that were supposed to be to given him since a week ago. Today is the last deadline he gave. So...Can you do it? Now?” Mr. Barnas’ voice is loud in my ears, even from the exit doors ─ which I should have locked when I entered to prevent unwanted guests, like now.

Help by walking as far as 50 kilometers? Just to drop a stack of paper? While you have fun at your family gathering?

Give me a break.

With clenched teeth and colored pencil still in hand, I spin my chair around and smile the most generous smile that I can display. I bring that colored pencil with me so that I have something to crush on when my annoyance has to be muted.

“And good afternoon to you too, Mr. Barnas,” I say to that messy-looking and panting figure. “Oh, is that so? Then you're lucky because the head of the foundation is still generous enough to give you that additional time. I just do not understand why you did not submit those file forms before the deadline of your extra time runs out,” I express with a slightly darker tone. Only Mr. Barnas is never too sensitive to notice it, which ends at an advantage ─ as well as a disadvantage ─ for me.

He replies, "Yeah, that's how it is. I'm always busy with my full teaching schedule. Many students are asking for extra time on some of the classes that I take over. The other teachers also require my time sometimes. Not to mention my time is balanced by the division at home. My family is still very dependent on me, even though I've moved out of my parents' house. Everyone wants a bit of time with me. Busy, busy, busy.”

I have stopped listening when he said 'yeah'. “Dense schedule, Mr. Barnas? Yeah, right. You are a substitute teacher. Everyone knows how much spare time you have. The only ones who ask for additional time to you are just a bunch of stupid girls who are just too stupid to ever put you on the list of their idols. But you still did not get to finish the job? Even after all of the full-timer teachers at St. Luthias handed over their forms? You really, really suck.” But of course, I don’t say this out loud. I’m still sane.

"Oh, is that so, Mr. Barnas?” I ask, my fake smile never leaves my face. Whatever he says, I can always use the interrogative sentence without sounding odd. Hence, it has always been my favorite pattern. To anyone I am speaking to. "Too bad, then," I added.

Mr. Barnas frowns, clearly not understanding what I meant. But before he can inquire any further, I get up from my chair and ask, “Where are the files that are needed to be delivered?”

“So you're willing to help me, right? Thank you so much. I owe you. Please put these forms at the registration table at St. Lathios, before 5 p.m.,” he says excitedly as he hands me a pile of files. I take it and look at my watch. The time shows 04. 37. I do not have much time, then. No wonder why he looks so panic when entering.

Mr. Barnas only made half a step out of the studio when I called him.

“Mr. Barnas?”

“Yes?” He turns around with glasses hanging on his face.

“You're forgetting something.”

“And what is that, Annalyss?” he asks, still clueless.

“You forgot about the school rules.” No one is allowed to enter the exclusive corridor other than teachers and school staff.

“Oh, yeah. You're right,” he says, reaching inside his pocket. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I inspect the identification card. On the left side frame is the face of Mr. Barnas, while on the right is some personal details such as his full name, age, address, blood type and contact phone number. When I turn the back of the card, a lavender butterfly looked like it is perching on it.

I degrade the card and shift my gaze back to Mr. Barnas. But he is no longer in place anymore. With a sigh, I put my red colored pencil back to its station and store all equipment and sketches in a safe place, before walking out of the room with the papers belonging to Mr. Barnas at hand, and this time not forgetting to lock the doors. Who knows? Perhaps there are still some vandals who are still at school and by chance pass toward the studio.

I am lucky because my studio is located snugly in the middle of the building. Not too close, but also not too far from the exclusive bridge. I look at my watch again. 4:39. I should not be late if I walk at my half-running speed. I pass by studios without paying much special attention.

The door design is all the same, so it is sometimes difficult to distinguish one studio to another. The school has issued strict regulations that students are prohibited to put the ornaments on the studio door, except with the permission of the principal. Cases of difficulty cleaning the glue ornaments and damage compensation costs in the past have provided many lessons to the school board budget. Therefore, unless the person is a genius with a value of 10 to the top ranking schoolmate and meet stringent requirements regarding the installation of decoration, then he will never be able to get that exclusive permission.

The school building design allows enough light to enter the interior of the building, so even though the light is not turned on, it will not give much influence on the conditions in it. It is all thanks to the arrangement of mirrors that has been laid out in such a way that only requires very little energy from moonlight to illuminate the inside of the building, so it feels like it’s still in the morning.

I look back at my watch. The time left 15 minutes more. I quicken my pace. Pedestrian bridge is only 20 meters away.

“Anna,” calls a voice as sweet as honey. I raised my vision towards the source of the voice. Like the voice, Len’s appearances look as sweet as honey apple candy. With those natural golden curls and that small stature, as well as a pair of wide and round like a doll's crystal blue eyes. And overall, it can be the perfect real-life mannequin. Or even a model, if only he was a girl. But even with that fact, it does not make fashion designers stop persuading him to become their model, or to obtain a declaration of love from a number of male students.

It seems that he just got out of the library, seeing a pile of books in those white and small hands.

“Oh, hi, Len. Not that I was not happy to see you in the middle of the corridor, but I really have to go now. Mr. Barnas wants me to deliver these files before 5 o'clock,” I say casually, not even waiting for his response. The deadline will be over soon, and I have not even passed the pedestrian bridge. And although I do not like Mr. Barnas, I do not want my image in the eyes of the teachers change just because I let one of them down.

“Stop. You know the rules. Only teachers are allowed to get through that route,” says a deep voice from beside me when I try to pass through. Beside the glass doors, a muscular man who was not noticed before standing with his arms folded angrily. Oh, shoot. Apparently they've decided to use manual labor to guard at here.

”I'm here to deliver the files belonging to Mr. Jonathan Barnas to St. Lathios,” I say. Then I show the card that is entrusted to me.

“And how am I supposed to know you did not steal this pass only for your personal interests, just because you're too lazy to walk around the school's front lines?" he asks. The schools must have tightened the security since there are so many cases involving students who sneak into pedestrian bridge and causing damage everywhere. I've read a glimpse at the school’s newspaper. But it is hard to believe that the card does not work this time.

I sigh, before playing a 'card' of my own. “Listen, Mr. Guard. I'm here because I am commissioned by one of my teachers. Mr. Barnas stressed for the files that are here in my hands to get to the registration table at St. Lathios before 5. Well, if you are trying to block my task and make Mr. Barnas unsatisfied, then that's not my concern anymore. That is your affair with Mr. Barnas, because you're in charge of the sanctions that will be enforced to him if these files are not up before the deadline given by the head of the foundation. Oh, wait. Looks like you also have to deal with the head of the foundation later on.”

Hearing the term 'head of the foundation', the guard frightens and allows me to enter immediately. I press the pass card over the scan engine. The glass doors slide open and I step inside. The air conditioner is always turned on in this place, so that the chilling wind greets me right away. The door slide close behind me and I step on the moving sidewalks.

It takes five minutes to get on the other side. This means I only had less than ten minutes to put these files. Oh, Mr. Barnas and his laziness. He should have been in big trouble now, if only he was not able to choose me to deliver them. He is also very fortunate because the location of moving sidewalks and the elevator in St. Lathios building are adjacent, so it does not take long to get to the ground floor. Time still left over four minutes when I get the registration section.

“Good afternoon, Regina," I say.

“Oh, how are you, honey," greets Regina friendly. Regina Reinford is just in her 30s. She is popular among students and teachers because of her easygoingness and gets along with everyone. Regina is once dreaming of becoming a designer. She even sent a job application letter for the same position at St. Luthias before. Unfortunately, the position was already taken by someone else. So they put her here. Compared to the other pupil from St. Luthias, I am the one who is most often to be sent here. Instantly, I become close to Regina.

“Let me guess. Mr. Barnas assigned you again?”

“Yeah, that's how it is." Regina quickly checks the new files on her desk.

“Yes. He is always the last to hand over his tasks. I have expected this,” mutters Regina, flipping through the pages.

“Always?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

”Jonathan and I used to be in the same class for a few times," she explains. She flips a few pages of the two other folders, before piling them in the 'ready' heaps. “Is there anything else I can do for you,?” she asks turning to me, her hands folded on the table.

“No, thanks. That's it. But the real question is, is there anything I can do for you, Regina?” I smile. Regina usually always wondered a bit about the art of design every time I stop by. She will ask about little things like how to set up or create your own buttons, how to create wrinkles, lace and flowers from fabric, and other general matters. Then I will explain as best as possible. She says that I am a good instructor. Therefore, instead of looking for answers in the library or in the internet, she chooses to ask me.

“What are you doing recently?” she asks after I finish explaining about the effects of wrinkles on clothes.

“I’m working on a dress. I got an inspiration while looking at the sakura trees that grow outside my studio. The windows have direct views of the park, fortunately. But, I don’t know. Still feels like something is missing,” I can finally share about this to someone, in the heart a little grateful for Mr. Barnas previous interruption.

“Oh, I'm sure your creation is definitely good. Dress of sakura flower. I'm curious to see the results. An, promise me you'll wear that dress to school when it’s ready,” pleads Regina, knowing that the Design School St. Luthias allows their students to wear their designs.

“I said inspired by sakuras, not made of sakuras. Other people who hear you may misunderstand. But, I don’t know. There are already many students who tried to use the sakura trees that grow in our school garden as a source of inspiration for their designs. But whenever anyone tries, there is also a failure for every time. I think those sakuras serve more as the decoration in the eyes, rather than as a stimulus idea,” I mutter.

“I know, and I've heard rumors. But if there is someone who can do something that is impossible, then it is you, An. I know it. I believe in you,” supports Regina.

“Thanks. I appreciate your faith in me.” I gave her a soft smile, more sincere than the one that I gave to Mr. Barnas earlier. “But do not expect too much,” I add in a voice so low that I am sure Regina can not even hear it. We talked a little more before she has to go deliver the papers Mr. Barnas to head foundation and pack home. We say goodbye to each other and move in the opposite directions.

Elevators are in front of my eyes when I hear a ring strains in my ears. The melody is deep, but light. Simple, but so inviting. I sink into the tune, without realizing that I have even jumped in. The singing is so beautiful, in its own way, that it becomes hard to resist. Ah, why am I feeling uneasy? Certainly not because of the singing voice. What is the reason for my heart to beat so strong to the point that my lungs are almost rattling? I can’t remember. The only thought in mind is to find the source of that voice.

My feet are already moving on their own, running, even before I realize what I am doing.

I can not stop. I am too fascinated by the tone of his voice.

Rows of practise rooms lined along the corridor that I choose. But I know only one is being used. Sound Proofs will not help this time. My eyes travel to every small window on the doors, until I found a tall figure with dark hair. The same melody. The same invitation. This is the sound that I am looking for. Without realizing it, I raised my hand to touch the figure. As the result, the palm of my hand meets with invincibility barrier which apparently is a glass. Even the polished glass is so clear that it almost looks invincible in the eyes.

What is this feeling? Hanging in the heart. Hovering in the mind. There must be something I can do with it. The problem is, I do not know what to do....

Should I grab it? But all of this is so.... false. Transparent. How can I touch something I can not see? Just imagining it in my mind is already becoming such a dead end. It is a symptom of mental dead brain that is so unbearable. My heart is still vibrating, feeling trapped between saturated and happy. There must be something I can do. But what? Black shadows are all in my head.

No.

Not only that, I'm sure.

There's something in my way.

And I know the feeling well:

Fear.

Yes. I'm afraid. On the awry feeling that once again will overcome me. My chest tightens just by thinking about it. I am afraid of causing others misery. But what should I do? I am helpless. My heart and mind crave a dream that is just a dream. While in the meantime logic talks roughly, revealing, ready to berate the imagination that is too high in my head.

It hurts when I have to shut this feeling again. I have tried it. Not just once. And ended in weary. I'm tired of having to harbor this desire. It feels like I am really sick. This disease that I will have to endure for as long as I live. Then when I stop to think about those things, they appear: The brilliant tunes, the intriguing lyrics, and pieces of images that flashes across my mind, clearer light. Then I will get sick again.

When I am not able to lock it up, and let my fingers talk, then I might as well throw myself into the desert. I remember precisely this pattern. Really know how it will end. But I can not fight it. What should I do? How many times will I have to hurt until I really realized that everything is not real? Until I craze?

Oh, what a cruel reality. Who is there? Who will rescue me from this snare of a contrite later on? Oh, if only I can have all the time in the world. Then it will be the most beautiful miracle in the world. Oh, and now it is too late.

I come as close as I can. But when a pair of hungry eyes is reflected by the window, I pull back my hand and step back in a long inhale of air. I suddenly see movement inside in a glimpse, indicating that he is now aware of my existence.

What should I do now? Run? Hide? Pretend to faint? There is no time to round the decision, because the door is pulled in and the figure showed up. I only catch a glimpse of hair in black color and music school uniform, before burying my face in both hands, reflexively panic.

His tone sounds very upset, mingled anger when he says, “Huh. People like you always─” He pauses, before continuing with, “Oh. You're from St. Luthias.” That is a statement. “What are you doing here? And please do not stare outside the window. I became so distracted that I was unable to concentrate in the practice,” he says coldly.

“Uh, sorry,” I say, still burying my head into the palm of my hand. My voice sounds so much heavier than it should be. “It wasn’t my intention to disturb you. It's just....” Just what?

“Just what?" he asks the same question.

“.... It's just that your voice is really hard to ignore,” I say finally. I hope the reason does not sound too weird. I do not know what else to say anymore. It is the only thing I can think of. And it is not a lie.

“Really? Do you like the tone?” he asks in a lighter tone.

“Yes. Initially sounds very simple, but eventually I grew to understand the depth that was given when the song was created. It is as if I can almost imagine the hidden stories and paintings from the melody. The tone composition was interwoven excellently....” I stop, not believing that I just praised someone that I do not know at all. I should not have stood in place to talk to him and should have walked away right away instead. Following the words in my heart, I begin to walk away, eyes still fully covered.

“Hey, are you okay?" he asks. He must be thinking that I am sick, judging by the way I walk that seems like it is not straight anymore. Ugh. But I can not open my eyes right now. Then I feel a warm hand on my shoulder, followed by a slight vibration of surprised.

“Oh my God, your body is cold. Do you want me to take you to the health room?” he offers.

I walk further away in order to stop his hand from touching me. “No, thanks. I can go alone,” I lie smoothly, then immediately walk toward the elevator by depending myself entirely on instinct. I should turn left ten steps, around the lobby to the right until the semi-circle, before stepping to the left twice.

“Wait! Hey,” I hear the voice of the boy from the distance, trying to catch up to me. Shoot, if it is in this speed─ I feel two warm hands draping themselves around my wrist, automatically dropping the cover of my face. “At least let me thank you for the compliment ....” He stops talking when he sees my eyes. What should I do now? He has seen it. Make him forget that he ever saw me? But how long it will last....? Shoot. And I'm doing my best not to get caught ─

“.... Beau," he mumbles in French. His sea blue eyes are still widening. His skin is very bright and clean without any of the acne marks. I am almost suspicious, until I listen to that rapid and regular pounding. I look at my wrists that are still being held by him.

It takes some time for him to stop staring with that look.... as if he has discovered a small version of the sun’s light that is more beautiful. But as soon as he finishes, he immediately lets go of my hand and apologize.

“Sorry, I do not usually do things like this," he says nervously.

Yes, I know. It is one of the side effects. And this is the most fundamental one, I thought, pressing the up button at the panel.

“It's okay. Glad talking to you ...”

“Clovis. Clovis Lynth my name,” he introduces himself in a rush.

“Bye, Clovis,” I say before stepping back into the elevator and quickly hitting the 'close' button calmly. Thank God that this nightmare bubble that is leaking did not contaminate too badly.