The Consolation Prize

Chapter Four

Monique was drenched in the pouring rain.

Her clothes were clinging onto her body like second skin, whilst her brown hair turned a shade darker and was matted on her forehead. Her black leather shoes were soaked in the canal water as she trotted hastily on the sidewalk. She cursed underneath her breath for forgetting to bring an umbrella. Her phone gave a weather forecast that it would rain before she left but she still quite had the luxury to forget the most important thing to shield her whenever it rained.

She still wondered what Oliver called her for, rather, she wondered why Oliver called her in the first place. Ever since the walkout she did a week ago, she hadn’t heard of him, as well as Nathaniel, the blue-eyed boy who she couldn’t take her mind off from. There were occasions when she was jarred from her sleep, mostly because her mother’s voice haunted her mind, echoing and repeating like a broken record. But sometimes, she would wake up because the imagery projected inside her dreams were too real, most especially two blue eyes made her heart skip a beat. She knew they belonged to Nathaniel and she couldn’t admit to herself she missed his presence. She wanted to talk to him about Game of Thrones just to take her mind off from the reality that always had a way of destroying her.

When she stepped inside Starbucks, the famous green logo with white etchings of a girl with long hair or god knew if it was her sea legs, the cold air-conditioning of the building made her shiver. The whole place wasn’t bustling with customers and she could immediately make out Oliver’s brooding frame from afar. Her skirt were dripping with water droplets on the smooth hardwood floor, her body slightly trembling as she sauntered towards him. His lips were pursed together, a small stubble forming underneath his chin.

He was swiping something on his phone but when Monique stood in front of him, letting him acknowledge her presence, he immediately snapped from his reverie and placed the phone inside his pocket. His face betrayed no emotion, which contrasted to the vulnerability he showed last week.

“Oliver,” she called softly and he nodded in response.

“Sit,” he said in a firm tone, his voice deep. Monique obliged, the legs of the chair creating a scraping sound as she planted her bum on the smooth woody chair. She clasped her hands together, her torso trembling from the occasional whooshing of the air-conditioner. “I am so pleased to see you come,” he said. His voice was a monotone. He sounded like a robot programmed to tell her those words. She only nodded.

“What do you want me here for?” she asked timidly, almost looking away when his green eyes pierced through her, like a laser slowly melting her.

“Read this,” he answered in a stronger manner, sliding the iPad towards her. The headline was in bold letters, and she could hear the sirens ringing inside her head.

It read:

Is Monica Jones having a secret love affair?

Her heart got stuck on her throat, her eyes widening as she saw a picture of Nathaniel and her hugging each other in the light of day. She remembered that moment, when she walked away from her parents and Nathaniel was the only person who ran after her and told her words that made her slightly better. She swiped further, her heart pounding loudly against her chest, as if a wild animal was stuck inside.

Monica Jones, the future CEO of Jones Law Firm, and Oliver Waite, the CEO of Waitechnologies, decide to postpone their wedding and move it on a date they are about to decide yet. But the question is, is it because of Monica Jones’s secret love affair? The picture boldly highlights the sensual touches Monica is giving to her what seemed like another lover.

Horror settled at the pit of her stomach. Another picture flashed on the screen, and it was Oliver and Monique entering the building. It was when they decided to tell her parents that Oliver would postpone the wedding, nothing more. She swallowed something on her throat deliberately, deciding not to finish reading the sham of an article. She pushed the iPad back to Oliver who had now his jaw clenched.

“Absolutely splendid,” he sarcastically said. His bushy brows were drawn together in anger. “I can’t believe the media did this.” Monique was unsure if he was angry at her or if he was angry at the media. She waited for another minute for him to lash out on her but there was surprise evident on his features. “You’re not mad that they put you in this article without respecting your privacy?” he asked.

“I-I thought you were mad at me,” she said softly. She forgot she was shaking vehemently because of the cold. She was too focused on what Oliver felt when he saw the article.

“Here.” Oliver threw her his coat gently. “You seem to need it more than I do.”

“Thanks,” she muttered timidly, tucking the wet strand of hair that tickled against her ear. There was a pregnant pause that hung in the air. She waited on who would speak next. She waited for Oliver to tell her she could leave, not that she was itching to be anywhere but be in here with him. She tapped her fingers on the table, creating a rhythmic pattern.

“Monica used to do that,” Oliver spoke, and his eyes clouded in grief. Monique halted tapping her fingers, planting an elbow on the table and placing her chin underneath her palm. Oliver’s eyes were almost welling in tears and she wondered, how much had he given himself to her twin sister? “I always get annoyed with it but she never stops. And now that she’s gone, I miss it.”

“We’ll find her,” Monique assured but the words sounded unconvincing from her mouth. “She might be still in the country somewhere.”

Oliver seemed to believe in her words though because a look of hope glimmered across his features. “I love her and if there is anything I can do, I’d do it for her,” he said painfully, as if he was stabbed with a knife and then was plunged on his chest, not just only once but a hundred thousand times. A corner of her lip curled upwards. If only Monica was here to hear Oliver’s words. How could she disappear like that? How could she leave Oliver hanging? She never took a dislike towards her sister because Monica was so kind and generous to others.

She was the sweetheart of their town but not with the blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Instead, the one with the shimmering brown eyes and glowing brown hair. She would carry a basket of cookies that she baked with Monique and they would distribute it to the little kids at the orphanage. Monica always wore a smile on her face but Monique now realised her heart wasn’t on her sleeve.

A surge of slight anger coursed through her veins and she wanted to push it away. How could Monica leave like that? She wanted to yell at her on how much pain she had costed others, and how much pain she had inflicted on her fiancé.

“I love her, too,” she replied, finally, “but I will never forgive her for leaving us without telling why.”

*

When Monique turned the lights of her apartment on as she struggled on balancing her groceries, her mother was seated on her jean couch, her legs perfectly crossed for a chubby woman like her. She was wearing a black dress that hugged every curve of her body, and her bright lipstick beamed against the fluorescent light. She jumped in surprise, almost losing her grip on her small groceries.

“W-What are you doing here?” she stuttered, immediately removing the stray cloths lying on the table-top as she placed her groceries on it in haste. Her legs were shaking like a new-born goat trying to walk on its feet. “I-I thought you’re going to Australia for a board meeting.”

“I’d like to pay my daughter a visit.” Monique cringed at her mother’s words as she emphasised the word. “You seem to be in the tabloids for the past twenty-four hours.”

Her mother looked relaxed in her position, but the hazel flecks of her eyes said otherwise. “And I thought they were good news,” she said. Monique almost let out a breath of relief but then she spoke again. “I thought they were but then, you just created the worst image of yourself which can taint my image as well. Is that blonde boy your lover now, huh?”

She almost flushed. “N-no,” she answered weakly. “He was just comforting me after you forced me to become Oliver’s girlfriend.” She didn’t sound like she was capable of beating her mother. Her words were delicately spoken and she knew that she could never win in an argument with her mother.

“Are you saying that it’s my fault why you’re in the tabloids now?” she accused, her eyes glaring at her sharply. Monique cowered in fear. “Oh my, how dare you have the audacity to talk to me like that?”

She gulped the remnants of her breath. “I’m sorry,” she apologised weakly. She felt her mother rise from her seat, her heels clicking on the floor. She bowed her head low, using her brown hair to shield her face whilst her eyes were planted on the bunny-printed mat.

“Look at me,” her mother commanded in an authoritative voice. Monique held her chin up. Her brown eyes met her mother’s angry hazel ones. Her mother’s nose was scrunched in disgust, and her hand flew to Monique’s cheek, creating a large smacking sound that echoed across the room. She felt the pain ringing on her skin but she bit the insides of her mouth, restraining a lone tear from falling scalding on her cheeks.

Celestine walked past her. Monique glanced at her mother’s retreating figure and before her mother reached the front door, she turned around and threw the deadliest glare ever that could bury your soul six feet under. She said, “Do something about it. Or else, I will make your life hell.”

She opened the front door with much haughtiness, then slamming the door shut. Monique flinched.

She felt the first roll of tear slide on her cheek as she knelt down and picked up the haphazardly thrown cloths on the ground. Another tear slid in, and another and another until a loud sob echoed on her throat. Her vision had gone blurry whilst her throat bobbed in pain. Her shoulders were trembling, clenching her fist and punched it on the hard floor.

“Aw,” she winced in pain but the pain was nothing than the pain her mother gave to her. Was she a mother in the first place? Or was she a mother because she gave birth to her? “Stupid, stupid Monique.”

She slumped on the ground, her legs bent to the back. Her back was slouched as she hugged the cloths to her arms, ringing herself back and forth. “Monica,” she whispered under her breath, “where are you?”

She knew Monica wouldn’t answer. She wasn’t there to help her. “Please come back,” she begged even though it was obvious Monica wouldn’t hear it. “I need you. Oliver needs you.”

She wiped her tears using the back of her hand. “Why did you run away without me?!” She was already screaming the words, but they were just words that kept bouncing across the room. “Why did you leave me? Why?!” She let out the most agonised sob she ever had.

She stood up and threw the glass centrepiece in anger. It crashed in shards on the floor like her, but the difference was it wouldn’t feel any pain. She was crashing, falling and the pain was almost consuming her whole existence. She grabbed her phone and clicked Oliver’s name on the contact list.

On the third ring, he picked up and without even a formal greeting, Monique said, “I will be Monica.”