Foto bij 700 - Emma

Way past ten, and still no sign of Lucien. I'm still in my dress and my high heels, having called off the dinner reservation, and with that there's also about seven calls to Lucien in my call history. None of them were picked up, making me even more worried.
Unsure of who to call, I called Kenna first, but when I heard Emilia happily chatting in the background I was too afraid to admit the terrible thoughts that were running through my head - of Lucien either dead in a ditch or in a bed with a bitch, so I just asked her to go out for lunch tomorrow and pretended nothing was going on.
I could have called Brie, but knowing him he'd either worry with me or tell me I'm crazy, so I didn't. I've drank four glasses of the wine I originally bought for the both of us, and smoked even more cigarettes whilst waiting for Lucien.
Every time I went out onto the balcony I left the door open, the house now significantly colder, only to make sure I'd hear it the second Lucien came home.
He didn't, though, which now leaves me frustrated and eating slice after slice of the lemon cake I baked.
Frank is circling around my legs, hoping to catch some of my scraps, even after I've fed him hours ago, still expecting Lucien to come home.
Over four hours late, and not a single message. No text, no call, not a single form of communication. Even if his phone died, he could've e-mailed me through the school's wifi, but my inbox stayed entirely void of any sign of Lucien.
Pissed off is a polite way to describe the way I'm feeling right now. I'm fuming, both with worry and frustration, because whatever explanation he has for showing up this late will cause a flood of emotions to come over me.
Whether he was held up for some terribly sad reason or he simply forgot to text me, this will end up in me crying. The only difference between those two situations is whether or not I'll be doing it in his arms.
I'm picking at my tights, a small hole now having turned into a massive one from when Frank tried to climb my leg as I was pacing the kitchen, cancelling our reservation. In the glass of the oven I can see my make-up having smudged slightly from me rubbing my face in frustration, and my hair definitely looks less nice from the amount of times I've run a hand through it.
"I know," I mumble when Frank walks circles around the kitchen. "It's weird, huh?"
He just meows, but it feels like enough of an agreement that I feel more reassured in the amount of emotions I'm feeling right now.
For a second, I contemplated messaging Piper. To ask if she knew where he was, if he was with her. But I was afraid that if he hasn't been with her all this time, he'd get word of this and see it as another attempt of me to paint her in a bad light, as me being jealous.
Which I am. She's gorgeous, and they spend a lot of time together. Just because he doesn't realise she's flirting with him doesn't mean she isn't, which frustrates me even more.
I'm blasting some female empowerment playlist, both trying to keep myself awake and trying to keep from crying, about to get changed into my pyjamas, when I hear the familiar sound of keys dangling at our front door.
The clock in the living room shows me it's almost eleven, which means almost five hours after Lucien was supposed to be home.
Frank is the first one to sprint to the front door as soon as he hears it open, but I can't bring myself to do it, especially when I hear him yell out a cheerful "I'm home!"
I don't reply, just turn off the music. The candles in the living room have long burned out, and the smell of lemon cake has disappeared after cold November winds blew through the appartment, especially now that half the cake is gone. The balcony is covered in a small layer of snow, reminding me of nice memories we have, though they can't cheer me up right now.
The only thing I feel right now is anger, especially after hearing him be cheerful and happy.
"Em?" His voice sounds unsure and far away, as if he's checking the bedroom for my presence until he wanders out into the livingroom.
I'm still standing, sitting down making me feel too weak, my arms planted in my sides.
"Hey, there you are," he smiles as he sees me, a brow quickly raising when he sees my stance.
"Like I've been all day," I tell him, my face blank, not a single emotion bleeding through. "Like you should have been five hours ago."
I want to yell at him immediately, tell him I had plans for us. That I made reservations, I dressed up really nice, I did my best to fix whatever went wrong between us, and he went and screwed it up.
That I don't know where the hell he was, but he'd better have a good explanation as to why I waited here for him for five hours.
Frank is still circling Lucien, but he hardly gets any attention, because Lucien is only looking at me now. "What's...?"
"What's wrong? Lucien, you are five hours late. I thought you were fucking dead!" I lift my hands up in the air, dropping them just as fast out of frustration. "Like dead in a ditch somewhere, or God knows what else! And then you just walk here like nothing's fucking wrong? I...," shaking my head, I take a deep breath, though it can't flush out any of my anger. "I tried so fucking hard and you're five fucking hours late! Where the fuck were you? And don't tell me you were with Piper, I swear to fucking God."

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