Whatever Jules had been expecting, an almost immediate call hadn’t been it.
The HoloCaster suddenly began to vibrate in her hand, and in her shock the writer dropped it on the floor. Sliding off her stool, she knelt down and searched for it in the dim light, all the while muttering a series of soft swears. If Lysandre Labs had done anything right, they’d made an incredibly drop-proof device.
Finally she found it, still ringing, and clicked the answer button just as she began to get up-only to hit her head on the edge of the counter on her way up.
Tonight was not being very kind to her, it seemed. Being…more than a little tipsy probably didn’t help.
“Zut alors!…euh, allô?…Sylvie?” Oh Arceus…why did her throat feel so tight suddenly? Sylvia didn’t need to know how emotional this was making her! It was just a phone call; if anything, the other woman was calling her to tell her to stop. Despite her seemingly boundless confidence, Jules was positive those were the words she was going to hear:
‘Don’t call me anymore. It’s over.’
She had to…she had to get a hold of herself! After reaching up to take a sip of her wine, she started again, this time sounding more self-assured.
“It’s been awhile, mon amie. Over a year, I guess. So I wanted to make sure you were doing alright. Is school treating you well?” Why did it feel like someone was squeezing her heart? The anticipation was killing her.
It was... ringing for much longer than Sylvia had anticipated. But now that it was, why wouldn’t it? Why wouldn’t Jules hesitate? Sylvia had dropped her without warning--without explanation. And just because one texted... that didn’t mean they were open to a call, n’est ce pas?
Perhaps... perhaps she should hang up. Her hand came up, hovering over the holocaster and yet... she couldn’t do it. She was paralyzed in indecision--on the one hand, hanging up would spare her the embarrassment, yet on the other, she had to hope. She had to believe that Jules had wanted to speak to her. That the texts were not just a fluke.
And yet, when the answer came, Sylvia choked on air, finding herself at a loss for words; flabberghasted by the sloppy display of emotion coming from the other end.
This didn’t bring Sylvia a lick of relief.
She had done this. She was solely and entirely responsible. And her shoulders, her head... all of it dropped as Jules began to save face. Sylvia didn’t even try; merely lowering the Holocaster as her soft little sobs began to pick up volume.
“Je... J-je suis... désolé! Je suis trés trés désolé, J-Jules!” She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like this. But her holocaster fell the few inches to the bed, freeing her hands to wipe at her pouring eyes. “I-I... I was so awful to you! I l-left a-and! I didn’t! T-ell you wh-!! Why! Parceque! I w-was so afraid... th-that my parents... were g-going to b-b-bring me back home! Jules... I... I was performing s-so poorly...! B-because I was distracted bu-but... I’m still distracted! I m-miss you so m-much and I... you... you h-had to s-suffer because I was FOOLISH and...!!!”
And... she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak anymore. Rather, she simply sobbed, unpoised and undignified, wiping at her eyes like a toddler. She hadn’t even asked for it, but Sylvia was certain that she would be denied the forgiveness that she sought. And why wouldn’t she be? She certainly didn’t deserve it. Especially not waiting until now to come looking for it.
