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CH 4

"You don't want to go home," he slowly repeated, gazing at her. She could not look away from him.

"I—No. That sounds bad, that's not what I meant—It's just, I don't really have any blankets, so I'm sleeping on vinyl, and I…" She had been staring at him so long that her eyes began to water—either that or the lump in her throat had got to get her and she was going to cry. "My roommates are awful and I don't want to be alone there after tonight."

Erik was quiet for a while. She watched him, his eyes gazing over the top of her head, one hand in his pocket and the other at his side, messy black hair, water spots from the rag making a darker black on his shirt. He looked down at her and caught her staring and she quickly looked away, embarrassed.

"Why are you sleeping on vinyl?"

Further embarrassed, Christine reached for the door handle and pulled it open. "Alright, thanks Erik, let's go. I'm fine."

"No." His arm swung out and pushed the door shut. She looked up, startled, relieved. "It's alright. You can stay, I understand. I just wondered where the vinyl comment came in."

"Oh!" Christine felt herself exhale heavily, relief blossoming fully in her stomach as the dread of a night alone with her memories of the evening faded. "Thank you. So much. I'm sorry to be such a burden; I can sleep on the couch. I just really—I feel like it might take me awhile to fall asleep tonight," she laughed nervously.

"Completely understandable." Erik turned and began to head back down the hall towards the bathroom. "I'll find some blankets."

Christine swung in a circle awkwardly where she stood. One hand gripped her upper arm tightly. Was this a good idea? I mean, I'm kinda proud of myself for asking, but I think I may have asked just to prove I could… She limped back to the couch and stiffly sat down. This is gonna be so awkward. It wasn't worth it.

Footsteps approached from the hallway. She looked up; glad her thoughts were safely hidden away in her skull. Erik entered with an armful of blankets and a pillow pressed to his chest. His chin poked over the top of them so he could peer around and he came around the back of the couch and dumped them down on the cushion next to Christine, her back to him. She couldn't even see him and she swallowed down her annoyance with herself and his confusing, obviously unwilling acquiescence to her request. "Thanks," she said drily to his retreating footsteps.

"What?" Erik turned around. She was looking down at her lap and he blinked against the image of her profile, the smudge of her lashes above her cheeks. "Those aren't for you." She looked at him. "You get the bed. I'm not gonna make you sleep on the couch."

"Oh! No, that's okay!" Christine began to unfold the blankets and swung her legs up onto the couch. Wince. She leaned back against its arm. "Very comfy." Her lips quirked as she looked back at him. "I'm all settled in now… Guess I'll have to take the couch.

"Really, though," she became serious as he approached her. "I'm fine, I've already put you through enough…" Erik was reaching for the blanket. "What're you doing?"

He slowly pulled it off of her, careful not to damage her bandages. "Get up."

"No!"

"Christine…"

"Really." She felt like she was pleading now, he was too close, he was standing over her and she felt vaguely threatened and guilty for thinking ill of him and pissed at his rapid changes in action, or her inability to figure them out. Why do you sound so annoyed but still help me? Why are you making the effort? Who gives a damn? "Really. I'm fine."

"Stop doing this." He leaned back with his arms folded.

"Oh, yeah, I'm the bad one now," she muttered.

"What?" Erik sat down on the edge of the coffee table. "Yeah, you are the 'bad one'. I know your pride must've been immensely hurt by that fall, but I think it's time you gave up on it—I really don't care. Now come on, get up."

Christine's mouth opened and closed, eyes mutinous on his blank face. "My pride?"

"Yes." Erik reached out and took the pillow and kept that by him, too.

"Just because you feel the need to control everything doesn't mean that everyone's going to go along with it! Now, I appreciate that you're trying to be helpful and polite and all that, but I think I know when I'm fine, and I'm fine right now! God, I can't believe I'm even arguing with you about this!"

"This is just what I'm talking about," Erik said matter-of-factly. Christine set her jaw and fairly felt like she would leap out the chair at him. "You refuse to accept help from people. And you say I have control issues? You only let me help you up to a point."

"And why shouldn't I? It's not like I even know you, beyond that you're incredibly rude."

"You're spending the night." Erik raised his eyebrows.

"I—Oh my God! You know what, you can think what you want, twist everything I do however, I don't care." Christine studiously looked away. Then, "And I don't owe you or anything after this."

Erik laughed derisively. "Wow. Okay. Don't worry, you'll be the last person I think of when I happen to need help."

Christine snorted. "Good."

Some moments passed. Erik sat; chin in hand, gazing at the floor. Christine stared straight ahead stiffly.

Finally, "Well?" Christine turned toward him impatiently.

"What?" Erik asked.

"Are you gonna sit there all night?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Ugh!" Christine cried in exasperation. A smile was beginning to pull on her lips at his bored expression and the entire situation and she tightened them, trying to control it. This isn't funny. "Why can't you just be the bigger person? Just let me be immature and ungracious about this!"

"I guess I'm too incredibly rude for that."

Christine huffed and stood. "Alright. Fine. Enjoy your uncomfy couch." She started towards the hallway.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Erik hurriedly stood and followed. "My room is this way." He slipped around her and led the way, opening a door on the right end of the hallway.

It was large and dim, one lamp creating a gold glow in the far corner. His bed was huge and navy blue, the headboard a large wood-paneled bookcase stretching the width of the bed, glass cupboard doors enclosing overwhelming amounts of books. A wooden roll-top desk sat at the opposite wall, closed tight. Sheer red floor length curtains covered up the view from the balcony across the room. Christine looked around with her mouth open a little.

She turned around and the grin broke forth on her lips. Erik found himself smiling back at her and didn't know why.

"This is really nice," she said, turning back around. "Are you sure…?"

"Christine, I-"

"Wait," she turned back around suspiciously. "I know why you-"

"Please don't insult me by finishing that sentence. That is not the case."

"Okay…" she moved towards the bed and stiffly sat down, pulling the shorts' elastic band away from her injured hip. "Well. Thank you." She looked around, up at the ceiling.

"Always," sarcastically. He turned to go.

"Erik-"

He turned back around. The smile was back on her face, so big, her cheekbones shadowed in the lamplight; he felt his breath suck in and he was smiling too and this all was suddenly so silly, why was he so pissed at her, was it really worth it? No, it couldn't be. "What?"

"I'm sorry I was such a stubborn ass."

He kind of nodded at her, softening, and turned again.

"I really dislike being helped." He stopped and stood, back to her, rigidly gazing ahead. "It's not my pride—well, maybe it is. I really dislike it, anyway. So I'm sorry I was such a pill. I know I told you that but really, I mean it."

She saw his head turn down. He stood like that for a moment, then, "Why are you sleeping on vinyl? You never told me."

"Oh," Christine laughed and looked down. "My mattress is vinyl, and I only have a sheet to sleep with, so it gets all twisted and so on and I end up sticking to the vinyl. It sucks."

Erik turned half towards her. "Why do you only have a sheet, girl?"

Christine shrugged. "Well, it's not like I could bring my whole bed from Oregon, could I? I thought it'd work better than it is. Oops."

Erik shook his head. "You realize I'm going to have to give you a blanket now, don't you?"

She kind of laughed and he watched her smile at him. "I might actually accept that. Then I could get a decent sleep and be able to put up with you better."

Erik snorted. "Yeah, good luck. At least it's a start." He turned back to the door.

"Goodnight, Erik. And thanks."

"Goodnight Christine."

After the blankets had been spread over the couch, after he had let himself relax and the lights were out and the freezer and AC had begun to hum, after he had stretched out his body, he closed his eyes. Christine's smiling expression cropped up against his eyelids.

His lips quirked up unconsciously.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christine awoke the next morning lying awkwardly on one side, trying not to put too much weight on anything in her sleep. She groaned softly at the red light filtering in through the curtains and shifted, body aching and stiff. Sleepy fingers reached up and tenderly prodded her ribs and hipbones, which seemed to flash against her touch in pain. Ugh.

She rubbed her eyes and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, lifting up her shirt to take a better look. A long, lake shaped purple-black bruise stretched over her left hipbone and up her side, interrupted by a weepy bandage on its lower end. Christine looked around the room for a bathroom. She was nervous about leaving and seeing Erik again. Mornings are too… intimate, that sort of thing. There wasn't one so she went over to the balcony, procrastinating.

The curtains felt like silk and she pulled them aside, sunlight bright and harsh in the room. It was hot on her face and she blinked and squinted. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony.

The white tiled floor was smooth under her bare feet and the edges of the terrace were sleekly bordered in a glass guardrail. Christine leaned against it. She wasn't quite sure where she was, but she looked down upon a city, sleepy in the warm sun. The roads were empty and she could see the white peaks of churches. From her spot, the building continued on, gleaming like a mirror and curving away from her. She couldn't see what was next to her. The height allowed her a view of the Mississippi, though, which she hadn't seen before.

She gazed across it to the other side for a long time, the train tracks that ran along one side, the golden-pink gleam of the sun on the rippling surface. A barge swiftly went by. Christine flipped her hair over one shoulder, stretched her arms and peered at one scraped elbow. I am so lucky. She looked up again, across the city, breathing it in, the emptiness, the freedom, her own health. Thank you. I am okay. She turned to go and stopped as she saw Erik leaning against the glass door, mug of coffee in his hand. He had a baggy black t-shirt on and gray plaid pajama pants, barefoot.

Her mouth was slightly open, unsure what to say, how long he had been there. Did I do anything weird while you were around? And why were you around?

"This is my favorite view," Erik came to stand next to her. "How're you feeling?"

"Alright," Christine shrugged.

"Oh," Erik nodded, took a swig of coffee. "I heard the door open and figured it was safe to enter. Sorry if I startled you."

Christine nodded slowly. Really? She gazed studiously at the view. She felt that she could picture herself right now, picture the discomfort—body intent on gazing west, intent on ignoring his presence, and maybe if she were an actress, she could pretend she was some scarred individual, gazing out across the city of her youth, uncomfortable only due to the memories it provoked, but—

"If you look that way, you can see Huey Long's 'castle', as they call it," Erik pointed in the other direction and Christine crossed the balcony. "He was the inspiration for All the King's Men, have you read it?"

Christine shook her head. Long's castle, from what she could tell, was a large, cube-like building which had all the decorations of a castle with none of the romance or taste. It looked like a building with turrets.

"You live in Baton Rouge?"

Erik nodded. "Probably should've mentioned that. It's nice to have some distance between me and work."

"Hmm," Christine replied thoughtfully. Damn. Long car ride ahead.

As if he could read her mind, Erik said, "It's only about thirty minutes away, really." He turned to go back inside. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Christine replied, turning back to the view. She stood there for a moment before returning inside, the AC cold and slightly unpleasant as she shut the door. Back to real life.

Erik's kitchen was another extension of his modern home, everything sleek and metal and silver. Somehow, however, it evaded being impersonal. Maybe it was the window by the square black marble dining table, which was bathing the room in gold, sunlight glinting and reflecting off nearby buildings. Christine sat down on a stool at the island in the center and watched Erik open his cupboard; pull out a glass mug. As he reached up, she gazed at his arms. They were fair but firm looking, and as he stretched for the glass, his black short-sleeve fell back, exposing something thick and pale and shiny on his upper bicep. Christine blinked. It was a gaping and jagged scar. Puckered, stretched tight on his skin.

Christine leaned back and contained her gasp. She didn't want to think how it had been caused. It didn't look natural. What kind of accident could have made that? For some reason, she didn't blurt out a question about it. For some reason, she thought it wasn't that kind of situation.

Erik set the coffee cup down steaming in front of her and she wrapped her fingers around it, watching her hands. When Erik's back was turned, she looked at him cautiously. What happened to you?

Christine, stop being dramatic.

But she couldn't deny that she felt a little bit too sick to be exaggerating things. There must be a reasonable explanation. It's just a scar.

Why do you feel like it would be the absolute worst idea to ask, then?

Erik turned back around with a plate with hardboiled eggs and toast on it and set it in front of her. He sat down on a stool across the island and reached for an egg. She felt his eyes on her face as he peeled it but he didn't say anything. From the corner of her vision, she saw him pull down on one sleeve.

She closed her eyes momentarily in regret.

She reached for a piece of toast and didn't look up at him.

Erik cleared his throat.

Christine continued to look down. "You have a very nice apartment," chewing.

"Mmm," he replied.

Christine looked up. He was watching her. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh," she looked back down and slowly peeled off a chunk of toast. She looked around the room slowly, desperate for something to talk about. He caught you judging. He caught you again. Why can't I just be blank.

"Damn!" she realized suddenly, glancing at Erik. "I'm not going to be able to run for awhile because of this." She groaned.

Erik narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Alright? Oh noo..." sarcastic.

"Yeah…" Christine muttered. Now what am I gonna do with my time. Also, so much for that effort…

The rest of breakfast passed in silence. Christine gathered her sweaty, bloody clothes and Erik let her remain in his borrowed shirt and shorts. He drove her home and the ride passed in silence, Christine staring out the window at passing oaks and fields and run-down houses and nice houses and increasing amounts of fields, green, bordered in fences, on and on. They reached the street leading to Christine's apartment block, past the red-trimmed sign indicating that this area was one of LSU's proud research centers. Erik took a left and pulled towards the Spanish-style building, stopping near her room.

Christine turned toward him. "Thank you for driving me…"

Erik nodded, his body angled towards her. She felt self-conscious in her huge clothing suddenly.

"Thanks for everything," Christine laughed awkwardly and looked down. "The clothes, and breakfast, and helping me… Thank you so much. I really do owe you." She looked up. "Thank you."

Erik smiled kind of, lips tight, closed. "You're welcome. I'm glad I was there."

"Alright," Christine opened the door. "Have a good one. Thanks again," she turned back. I'm sorry I was such a huge douche. But she didn't say it. Because she wasn't. She was still confused slightly and wanted to think, combine everything into one event.

She stood and closed the car door and stepped onto the curb. She was sticking her key in the lock when his car finally reversed and left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a day spent aching around her apartment, shifting positions on her bed so frequently that she soon wanted to scream, then attempting to watch old Saturday Night Live skits outside as an alternative and getting too hot, Monday came as a welcome relief—there was no need for Christine to entertain herself. For the most part. She limped the three blocks to work and was grateful that three-quarter sleeves and shorts covered the worst of her injuries. Knee scrapes were no big deal and she fielded little to no questions.

Crouched beside one of the black countertops, she was squinting at a tiny vial while slowly pipetting liquid out of it with a syringe. The lab was relatively quiet today, as was usual on Mondays. The entire center seemed to flow on the whims of its researchers, and if they didn't want to work on Mondays, well then, by God, work would not be done. Christine liked it. Someone had turned on the Fray at the back of the lab and—while not her favorite band—she hummed along.

"Hey."

"Hmmm?" Christine didn't look away from the vial. If the nanoparticles clumped at its tip got sucked into the needle of the syringe, they'd be damaged and useless and she'd have to start over. "Sorry, just a min."

"No worries," it was Aaron, a nicer grad student in the lab. Slightly overweight, dark skinned, Aaron sometimes talked to Christine about his girl problems. She mostly laughed and listened.

"Okay," she carefully capped and set down the vial. "What's up?"

"Can you go pick up some packages for me in Middleton? I really need them, but this trial's about to finish stirring and we're the only ones in the lab right now."

"Yeah, sure," Christine discarded the syringe in the sharps container. Middleton is Erik's territory.

I just saw him yesterday. Too much. Too much contact.

And thus a resolve to hide was born.

Enter stealth mode.

She slipped outside, the heat at first a welcome warm up after the chill of the air conditioning. Two blocks later, sweat was beading on her upper lip.

The main door to Middleton swung shut behind her, silently; the building wrapped her in its musty bookish smell and light danced on the dust motes above the glassed-in center directory. She stood over it and peered for a while. I think I'm falling in love… With a building.

Christine, stop that. No more crazy.

She found the room for the main office and headed down a dim hallway. Perhaps this building was hardly in use in the summer and that was the reason for its gloom. In any case, she didn't really mind.

She reached the office. No one was there. It had a main mahogany counter, a ways behind which one of those gray felt dividers stood, blocking the rest of the room from view. She could see a hallway passing different offices with windows further down the room, across from the divider. Behind the front desk were several windows with a view of the immediate grounds: green lawn and bushes with bright orange bell-shaped flowers. Christine didn't know what they were. She looked around, down the hallway, leaned over the counter. The room was well lit, and a coffee mug was sitting behind the counter in front of her. In fact, she thought she heard the hum of a microwave from the back and smelled spaghetti. "Hello?"

Nothing.

Footsteps. But from outside the office, down the hallway. She suddenly remembered. Shit! Stealth mode stealth mode! She looked around the room wildly. They were coming closer. She stood straighter, took a deep breath, leaned casually against the counter. Just act normal. You work here, you can go where you want. If he thinks more of it that's his prob—

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