A Party

Three days had passed since the incident and I had never once seen Marco again. However, the memory of him didn't want to leave my head, nor did the pain of the gunshot wound on my left shoulder.

Thankfully, the shot only grazed the periphery of the shoulder, not penetrating the flesh or bone. So I didn't need to go to the hospital and avoided the doctor's question of where I got this gunshot wound. And without me answering, they would have guessed that I got it from a gunshot incident in a cafeteria. If that was the case, the police would join in. They would question me, Marco's name would inevitably be mentioned, and the accident I had a few days ago would also be revealed.

I'm not safe. I've had almost two run-ins with the police in my day here. And both of them were related to Marco. According to what I heard at his house when he called Isaac, Marco is indeed a suspicious person. Ninety percent of me was convinced that Marco was a bad guy who was always being chased by people and the police, but the remaining ten percent was the fact that I wished for him, I missed him, and I was crazy for thinking about him.

I closed my laptop in annoyance. I opened dozens of social media accounts named Marco and none of them showed that it was him. Maybe if I knew his last name, the search circle would be smaller. Unfortunately, other than the fact that he had a friend named Isaac (who I also searched for and couldn't find), I didn't know anything else. In fact, Isaac didn't even mention his last name either.

"I wonder what your savior man is like that he could mess you up like this," chided Kim who had just come out of the bathroom.

Savior man. I lied to Kim that there was a man who saved me from the incident in the cafeteria. I wasn't completely lying—Marco did save me from that—it was just that I didn't say that he was also the subject of the incident.

"You'll understand my situation if you see him in person."

"A very mysterious type of man. I mean, why did he call me with a private number in the past anyway?"

"Well, that's it."

"Or maybe ...." Kim looked at me with a strange expression. I took it seriously, until I had to be annoyed that she was smiling while saying, "He doesn't want you to know his number?"

"Damn you!" I threw her a pen cap as she turned around and burst out laughing.

"Never mind. Forget about him, dress up pretty, and find another guy at the party."

That night, Kim's coworker was throwing a party and she invited me to join her. She joked that there was nothing wrong with spending the last night here partying. There was nothing to lose, she said, and there might be something memorable that would make me forget about him.

The long sleeve bodycon mini dress is hanging on a hanger. It's charcoal-black in color and has features that leave both of my waists exposed. Kim bought it for me, as an inducement for me to come with her. And she knew I wouldn't be able to refuse the invitation because I didn't want the money to go to waste. Really, a typical-Kim way.

***

During the party, I stayed away from Kim. I chose to stay out of the way a bit, observing how radiant Kim was among the people. She's the kind of person who likes to interact with many people at once, while I'm not that kind of person. Sometimes I marveled at how high Kim's confidence was, how she could easily blend in with people, and how she was able to bewitch people to notice her intelligence.

"Are you alone?" Someone suddenly approached my table. His right hand held a glass of the same drink I was holding.

I slightly corrected my posture, trying to greet him properly. "Technically, I'm with a friend. But in reality, I'm alone."

"Your friend is a man?" he prodded.

"My friend is that girl over there." I pointed at Kim with my chin. "We're 180 degrees apart on things like this."

"Miss. Chan is shining," he commented.

"You know Kim?"

He laughed, passed his glass to his left hand then extended his right hand to me. "I'm Fred, one of her coworkers."

I accepted his right hand. "Leandra, her best friend. By the way, you didn't join them?"

Fred shook his head. "We're 125 degrees different." He then grinned widely when I rolled my eyes. "What?"

"Forget it."

There was silence for a while. An awkward atmosphere enveloped both of us until Fred finally had an interesting idea.

"I know a great place here. Want to check it out?"

And when I nodded in agreement, he smiled happily. We put our glasses on the table and started to leave.

Fred led me out of the party hall. We were just about to get into the elevator when a drunk woman suddenly bumped into him and spilled the entire glass of whiskey she was carrying.

"Jeez!”

"Oh, I'm sorry." The woman was shocked, but then laughed. "Sorry! I'm sorry ...."

Fred looked annoyed, but fortunately he didn't do anything improper. He turned to me. "I need to clean this up first, excuse me."

"Yeah, no problem."

There was a quiet swear from Fred as he walked quickly away from me. I was about to head back to the party hall when the elevator in front of me chimed and revealed a man.

His sharp eyes clashed with mine. His expression was as shocked as mine.

His dark brown hair, his black coat, his signature lips .... All my feelings were mixed up in an instant.

"Marco?"

191122, Anne Joyce