The curse of the wolf

Feeling shamed

*Anaïs*

“We could also just eat in. I could cook something nice,” I say, looking over the table at my fiance Mathis, as he has started talking about where to take his cousin for dinner.

He gives me a look like my suggestion is so dumb it has to be a joke. “My cousin is used to the best. I want to impress him, Anaïs. We should get a reservation at a restaurant with at least two Michelin stars.”

“It’s just a lot of money,” I half mumble. I know Mathis will, of course, pick up the full bill for everyone. “I mean Christmas is coming soon too.”

Mathis looks around the room as I speak, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. It needs a cut, I notice.

“I can afford it,” he says in that tone like I have offended him. To be honest, I hate that tone. “I make good money.”

He is a real estate agent with a firm that sells high-end properties, and he is very proud of it, which I totally get. He has worked hard for it. I just feel like he needs to point it out a bit too often, like he feels it puts him above others.

With a half sigh, I decide am not in the mood for a discussion. “I know you do. It’s not that I don’t think you can afford it. I just thought it would be more relaxed and cozy to stay in, that’s all.”

“My cousin has always tried to best me.” He gets an annoyed look on his face. “The last time I visited him, he took me to a Michelin restaurant. I have to do better. Don’t you get it?”

“I guess,” I mumble. Truth is, I do not, not really. I never felt his need to outdo others. I just strive to be happy and to be the best version of myself. “Do you think we can get a reservation? I mean, it’s in two days.”

Another one of those looks. “I do have connections, you know… I can get us reservations.”

“Of course,” I mumble, still not wanting a discussion. “It’s no problem then.”

Sometimes I wonder if Mathis is the right guy for me. I met him right after I moved to Paris to study art. He is everything I have ever been told to want in a man: stable, well-educated, from a nice family and he has his life and career planned. On top of all that, he is handsome, and he swept me off my feet.

We have dated for almost three years now. Sometimes I feel I am just letting myself get pulled along with the tide, with what I am expected to do. Changing up the path seems such a mess.

While sitting in my own thoughts, tuning out Mathis’ stories about his cousin I get this feeling of being watched, so I look around the cafe, but everyone seems occupied with their own things, either talking or working on laptops, no one seems to pay me any special attention.

Then I see him, or I assume it is ‘a him’, due to the size and build of the person, but because of his hoodie, mostly covering his face and casting the rest in deep shadows, I can’t actually see. Despite this, I feel like my eyes are drawn to him.

Large hands, definitely a man’s hands, close around the cup in front of him. He lifts the drink, bowing his head a bit more, and then he just kind of sits there, completely still, like he is savoring the warmth seeping through the porcelain and the smell of whatever he is drinking, as it wafts around his face.

There is something heartbreaking about those simple actions that, at the same time, seem so very masculine.

I have this sudden feeling that I have seen him before, but on the other hand, don’t all large guys hiding in hoodies kind of look the same?

“Earth to Anaïs. I am actually talking here,” Mathis snaps his fingers in front of my face. “What are you staring at?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say, returning my attention to him. “I was just lost in my own thoughts for a bit.”

He sighs and puts down his coffee cup. “You really need to focus, Anaïs. And I do not mean just now, in general.”

“In general?” I look at him, not really sure I want his answer.

“You know what I mean,” he says with another one of those annoying smiles.

I take a deep breath before saying, “If I knew there would be no sense in me asking, would there?”

His face morphs into that expression I think of as his fatherly face, and I just know he is about to say something I will hate. “Anaïs, I love you, you know that but you have no aspirations, no drive to achieve something… better.”

Before I can say anything, there is a scream outside, then a weird sound, and all hell seem to break loose. People by the windows scramble from their seats, some throwing themselves on the floor, some running for the back door, and some acting like headless chickens.

“What the….”. Mathis says, looking irritated that people are acting like this, like it is somehow offensive towards him.

Then I realize what the sound is… shots. It might be simply because people are now screaming that he is shooting, it might be because the sound comes closer and I recognize it.

Mathis seems to have gotten it too. At least he jumps up as the whole room erupts in panic. I get to my feet too, seeing a person through the window. He has a large gun in his hand, and a rifle over his shoulder and he is heading straight for the cafe.

“This way,” Mathis says, moving towards the back door, and not knowing what else to do, I follow him.

Am I scared? Of course; anyone claiming they are not in a situation like this is lying, but somehow my brain feels weirdly clear. It might be the adrenaline kicking in.

“Move, f**k off.” Mathis halfway screams, trying to shove people aside. I can’t help noticing that he sounds kind of deranged, a bit scary even.

“Mom… mom?” A small, scared voice calls.

I turn my head to see a little boy around five years old standing alone in the middle of the room, looking about to panic. People running for the exit either ignore him or push past him, putting him in danger of being trampled.

“Mathis, we have to help him,” I say, grabbing his arm and pointing toward the kid. “He is all alone”.

“What?” He looks, but then he moves on. “Not my kid, not my problem.”

I shake my head, calling after him, “We can’t just leave him.”

“I can.” He simply says. “You can stay if you want, but I am getting out of here. I can’t die like this.”

And with that, he leaves me, pushing his way toward the door.

“Hi there,” I say softly to the little boy. “I am Anaïs. Come with me, we will find somewhere safer.”

“But mama.” He cries as he looks up at me with large blue eyes, his lip quivering.

I try smiling, even as panic floods me as I hear the first shots echo through the inside of the cafe. “I know sweetie, but we have to run… we will find your mom after.”

He doesn’t look sure, but I all but drag him with me. Right now, it is all about getting out of here and surviving.

But when we reach the back door, or as close as we can get, I realize it is a lost battle. Everyone is trying to get out at the same time, and there is what can best be described as a pile-up.

“Sorry, please… I have a little kid here.” I desperately try to get someone’s attention, but everyone is too caught up in their own fear and panic.

I try pushing through but to no avail and the little boy has started to cry for real now, calling for his mother.

“Please, someone take the kid, at least.” I hear myself beg.

“Here, give him to me.” A warm voice suddenly says from somewhere in the crowd.

I grab the boy, lifting him blindly towards the voice and someone takes him, lifting him from me. The hustle and bustle prevents me from actually seeing the person. But I do catch a glimpse. I think it is a dark hoodie.

With the boy safely out of the way, I decide to look for another way out. But as I turn from the door, I find myself face to face with the shooter.

And I can’t help but wonder, is this when I die?