She parks her Beetle in front of the building, only to find Eric pacing in front of the entrance.
He doesn't see her, being all caught up in his thoughts, and concentrating on blowing out smoke rings from his mouth. Tris sighs, turning off the headlights and killing the engine. Even from this distance, she can tell something is wrong. Is it Violet again? Because fuck, it's Monday. Clearly not the time for drama.
The sun starts rising behind a bunch of trees, casting an orange glow all over the city. She is early again. All for Violet, the girl who will never appreciate her efforts. And Eric. Partly. Well, it's 50/50.
Tris locks her car, walking up to the entrance in the most un-tired way possible. She even smooths down her NEW pencil dress, which is a dull grey, specially made to match Eric's character. What a perfect couple.
"Hey," she smiles brightly, nearly tripping over the curb. But she manages to gain her balance in time for when Eric turns around. Thank God she chose to wear flats.
Eric nods in her direction, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes lack about six different emotions. He doesn't even look human.
Her smile drops, "Is something wrong? Violet?"
This time he smiles. And shakes his head, "She's asleep."
Tris nods, feeling relieved.
He is not wearing his suit, and he looks too hunched for work. Like all his powerful muscles decided to give up working for one day. Or maybe his posture can be blamed on the fact that he is smoking.
It's too cold to be wearing a T-shirt, especially at this time of morning.
Tris stands there awkwardly until he drops the cigarette on the floor and stubs it out, "I thought you didn't smoke."
Eric looks like he is about to answer, but he simply unlocks the door and let's her walk in first.
They get up to the impossibly quiet apartment, taking off their shoes and jackets. Behind her, Eric places a hand on her back and the gesture surprises her so much that she jumps away. Eric doesn't seem to notice.
"I like your dress," his voice is somber.
She would feel warm and fuzzy from the compliment, but the way he says it makes the warmth fizzle away before the words reach her ears.
"Thank you," she mimics his tone.
And just like that, her mood is ruined.
Another cigarette appears in his mouth, this time unlit. Eric seems to have an itch to light it as quickly as possible, but something tells her he would never smoke inside his own house.
"Get her to school. Pick her up at 3," Eric murmurs, fishing out a lighter from his pocket.
Tris nods, knowing that information already. His mood weighs her down and she wants to ask what is wrong, but they don't know each other that well and he wouldn't answer her questions anyway.
"I'll see you later, then," Tris smiles, folding her arms.
He gives her a curt nod and walks out of the door.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSH
As a normal procedure, Tris waits in the kitchen for Violet to wake up. The coffee she made is too hot to drink, so she sits there on a bar stool, cupping the mug with her hands. The steam reaches her face, making her feel warmer than ever.
She tries to understand why Eric was acting so emotionless today. And if nothing happened with Violet then...? Does he have somebody else he cares about? Or does he just hate Mondays?
There is a thud and a groan from Violet's room at five past seven. Tris smiles as she listens to the child opening her squeaky wardrobe and presumably throwing a bunch of clothes against a wall. For a second, she considers going in there and helping her but that would be a suicide mission. That girl can take care of herself.
And sure enough, she appears in the kitchen doorway a while later, her wild wavy hair cascading down her shoulders. Tris gets up and smiles at her but Violet's shirt insults her before she can. It is a baggy black jumper with the words Suck A Fuck embroiled into it. Tris recognizes the Donnie Darko reference (which is also too aggressive for a child to have watched) and wants to compliment her choice of wardrobe, but instead she sighs.
"Do you really think that shirt is appropriate for school?"
"It's a jumper, you moron," Violet growls, taking a seat on the bar stool near the window.
Tris senses an argument starting to boil and runs a hand down her face. Why?
"Violet, please can you put on something else? You'll get in trouble," she practically makes a praying gesture with her hands, hoping for the best possible outcome.
The child sighs loudly and spends a few seconds sulking. But she gets up and actually goes to change.
Tris runs both hands through her hair. This day is getting more bizarre by the second. Why is Violet listening to her? She is grateful but... why?
Violet returns with a simple black shirt, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Now... what do you want for breakfast?" Tris kneels down, smiling.
"I'm not hungry,"
"Oh, come on," she sighs, "This again?"
"I'm. Not. Hungry,"
Tris stands back up, looking around the orange kitchen, as if to seek help. She won't be ringing Eric again. Not this time. He obviously has his problems to deal with. And she won't start bringing in her own.
"How about an apple?"
"I'll have an apple," Violet folds her arms, leaning against the wall.
Tris prepares Violet's apple. Prepares. She doesn't just hand it to her. She washes it and peels it and cuts it up into pieces, laying them out on a plate. Handing it to her would have been too simple. And she would have felt useless. The least she can do is make herself worth Eric's money.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSH
After taking Violet to school, Tris finds herself in the Coulter's living room. She has not had time to fully explore the apartment, and by the looks of it, it is an apartment version of Narnia. The living room is massive. A flat screen TV is hanging on a wall, a stylish grey sofa parallel to it. There is a furry rug in between them and Tris can't help but go and stand on it. It's as soft as it looks. Maybe she has a rug fetish.
She turns around, looking over a massive bookcase on the same wall as the TV. Only when she steps closer, she realizes that the colorful slits are not books. They are DVDs. All boxes are the same sizes. She should have figured out that no books are ever the same size.
Her fingertips skim over the DVDs, finding that most of them are horrors. No surprise there. And she guesses exactly who the audience is. And it's not a grown man with black tattoos.
A shrill ringing of a phone make her jump. She runs into the hallway, looking around before she finds the main house phone going wild. She picks it up, holding it to her ear.
"Hello?"
"Hi," a female voice sings, "This is Wendy calling from Chicago Academy regarding Violet Coulter. Are you of relation to the girl?"
Tris freezes, swallowing a hard rock in her throat. Then she realizes she has to answer, "Umm, no.. her dad is at work but I am her nanny, so..."
"That'a great," she can tell that Wendy couldn't care less, "Are you able to pick the girl up from school right now?"
"Right now? Why? She doesn't finish till 3."
"There was an incident with a fellow classmate, we're hopping you can take her home."
"An incident? What happened?" Tris stops breathing, listening to the words.
"Aggressive behavior."
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