Chapter 6: In More Ways Than One
His sister's voice becomes static in the background – a force of habit – as Allen examines the crystal in the palm of his hand. It had fallen out of an old chandelier in their living room and rolled under the sofa. It would have stayed there forever had it not glinted (or winked, as Allen liked to think) and momentarily blinded him.
The stylist-in-training raises it above him, beyond his shadow, where the sun's rays can reach. Light enters as one and spontaneously leaves in a dazzling array of colors. He twists and turns it between his fingers, watching as the light blinked, nay winked.
"Allen, are you listening?" his sister huffs. She towers above his seated form, blocking the light. "It isn't often that I grace you with a story of my love life."
But it is, he thinks, too often. How many times has he heard destiny, fate and soul mate escape his glamoured sister's mouth? The same number of times she came home, tear-stained and shattered. She fell and then lies broken. He has grown tired of it. Tired of hearing her ramble about great love, of hearing her cry until all she has are hiccups and sighs, of listening to himself as he asks her why. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?
Because love is a gem and I'm smart to keep valuables within reach, she'd say with her head held high, always. It isn't smart at all, he thinks. Because when it's stolen from you, you'll be left emptier than you were before.
But this, he doesn't tell her because she's been enchanted – bewitched by an emotion she doesn't understand. What's worse is that surrender is her free choice. It's pointless to argue with someone who has lost reason.
So he breaks away from her shadow, he stands up. Love is a gem, even when she doesn't say it, her words ring inside Allen's head. He closes his fingers around the crystal in his hand. With his palm facing down - directly above the trash bin - he unfurls his fingers, one by one.
"Allen!" His sister shrieks.
But it's too late. The crystal has fallen and shattered into pieces.
Throughout the years, I've seen countless women fall asleep at my side. They've always looked the same: a hand under the pillow, a hand on top of it and a ridiculously satisfied expression on their faces. They lie there – carelessly vulnerable – and every time, an alarm goes off in my head. It's that warning that drives me to peck a kiss on their soft cheeks, turn off the lights and close the door. Walk away, on the lonely moonlit street.
I stare down at Rio now, aware of the unsteady rise and fall of her chest under the covers. My first thought is this: She's different from those girls. Curled up against herself and loosely cocooned in her blanket, it's as if she knows the world isn't safe even in her dreams. But then I look at her face that is still so young and still so naïve with the ever-present upward tilt of her mouth's corners despite the circumstances. Across her skin is varying tones of flesh from what I presume to be working in the field. Beneath her closed lids, her eyes are restless still in sleep. Without opening her eyes, I can imagine – no, sense, the unmistakable blue. Even in my memory, it is vivid and electrifying. It is as deep as the sea and unfathomable as the sky. The sky and the sea combined.
But guilt gnaws on me when my gaze catches her flushed cheeks and the thin layer of sweat on her forehead. Her fringe sticks to her heated skin while stray strands find a way to her tender lips, swaying with every labored breath. I thoughtlessly brush it behind her ears, trailing the tips of my fingers on the way. When her eyelids start to contract, I know she is a second away from consciousness. Leaning into her ear, I whisper what I've been itching to say.
"Stuuupid."
She stirs under the worn sheets, rolling onto her back. I watch as her eyes flutter open like butterfly wings – so unbelievably hypnotic. I stand back and wait wordlessly for her to get her bearing. When her eyes are wide open, it immediately latches onto me.
"Allen," she coughs, her voice raw and hoarse from disuse. The sound of it is dangerous, coaxing desires.
She smiles up at me, lazily, and offers me a feeble 'good morning'. I say nothing in response, still waiting for the full weight of the situation to befall on her. I can tell the exact moment when it does, when she bolts right up. The thin blanket falls off her, leaving her uncharacteristically surprised. Despite pretenses, I still have it in me to muster a smile. So she does have a sense of self-preservation after all!
"Before you start panicking," I begin and am about to gesture at her fully clothed form when she runs to the window. The mid-morning sun hides behind cotton clouds, making the landscape gloomier. Snow languidly falls. Trees stand humbly with few of their green ornaments while the rest of the land is buried under a layer of white. With the world falling silent, it isn't hard to imagine we're the last two people on earth.
Her back is to me as she examines the view. For a moment, she seems as if she's struck with wonderment. Has she never seen snow where she's from? Then she quickly turns to me, anxiety coloring her expression. And again, I try to explain but she cuts me off with a question: What time is it?
"What?" I ask, indignantly, more for her sake than mine. "A man is inside your house and you ask what time it is?"
"My crops! My animals!" She doesn't seem to have heard me at all as she shuffles clumsily towards the door. Suddenly, I am angry and bizarrely wounded.
"Hold your horses, princess." I grab her arm (which is surprisingly muscled thin as she is) as she passes by me.
She jerks her away abruptly. Her clouded eyes dance around me. "Why are you so hot?"
"I'm amazed you only noticed my charms now-"
She waves me away impatiently. "More importantly, why are there two of you?"
"Goddess, you're worse than I thought." I sigh.
"What?" I roll my eyes; she's really slow on the uptake… or maybe not. Even now, she's slowly inching her way to the door as if I was stupid enough not to notice.
"Rio, you're sick." I tell her (in my most degrading tone) before hefting her over my shoulder and bringing her back to bed.
After I insisted she drank her medicine, I finally get to tell her my long-winded explanation. That I thought the town was bizarrely peaceful and surely something was amiss. That, because I was off today and there wasn't anything to see in this town, I went to her farm only to find her dog pawing at her door. That when I knocked no one answer, I thought that she could have been died over night, so I just barged in. Locks don't exist in this town, apparently. Then, as it turned out, my worries weren't as farfetched as I thought.
"So, this is what you get when you run across the town while a storm rages on." I conclude. She nods absentmindedly, her eyes fixated on the door.
"Thank you." She says without preamble. She gives me a timid smile then quickly looks down at the cup of tea I brewed for her. Her thumb traces the rim of the cup and every now and then, her eyes jump back to door and I.
She opens her mouth but I cut her down with a resounding no. "No, princess. You can't leave this house."
"Princess?" she repeats. "But-"
"No." It feels good to be the one cutting her off.
She's trying hard not to pout, which actually just makes her look pettier and a tad bit cuter. "If I don't take care of them, they'll get stressed. Eventually, they'll get sick."
"But right now, you're the one who's down with the fever, princess."
She dips her head to the side. "It's not as if I hadn't gone out sick before."
Something in her voice feels oddly familiar. That and the petulant face she's making chips at my buried conscience.
"Fine, you win, princess." She springs out of bed instantaneously and I have to push her back down. "That doesn't mean I am letting you go out. You'll stay right here and that's final."
"So what exactly do I win then?"
When I'm sure she's settled down, I take my hands off her shoulders. "A privilege."
"Just for today, I'll lend you my hand. Be grateful. I'll do your chores for you but in exchange, you have to promise you won't take a step out of this house. Got that?"
"That's too much! I can't ask that of you."
"It's alright. It's partly my fault anyway. I should have thought to lend you some clothes in the first place." Despite saying that, I did think about it but just the thought of her wearing my clothes was… dangerous.
She thinks about it for a moment. Her mind is racing with the possibility. "Do you even know how to take care of livestock and poultry?"
"Don't underestimate me, princess. There's nothing I can't do."
She hands me her rucksack weighing a ton, she gives me instructions on how to brush the animals and milk the cows.
"Fortunately, I've scheduled not to water the crops today, the barns and coops have been cleaned yesterday and all the wool have been sheared two days before. All that's left are the produce and the daily needs of the animals." She beams up at me.
She walks me to the door. "If you need any help, don't hesitate to call me."
As if I would need help. It's just farming. How hard can it be?
A hundred chicken pecks and a chewed-out suit later, I am leaning against her door. It seems all my energy has been sucked out of me. It's been a while since I heard my stomach grumble so loudly. Heck, I don't even remember if it grumbled loudly at all before this.
Of course, I can't say that to her. I'd die a thousand times before I admit it. So I take a moment to pull myself together. How does she go through that every damn day? To think, she even has time to go out to forage and talk to people. And she has all that damn watering to do! Where does she get that energy?
I lean my head on the wall and slump through the ground. The bone-chilling cold does nothing for my tired bones but I melt into it anyway. I might have fallen asleep right there and then if it wasn't for the familiar smell of…
I burst inside her house and take in the atmosphere. It's a lot cleaner than it was before. Her bed is fixed with no creases in sight. All the items in her storage have been organized as I peek at the open chest. The table too is set with two plates. Rio stands over a pot cooking on the stove.
"All done?" she asks, a ladle in her hands. I notice too that she put her hair in a ponytail. A haphazard ponytail, but a ponytail nonetheless. She almost looks like a housewife…
"I thought we agreed you wouldn't do any work?" I ask a bit bewildered.
She beams at me. "No, we agreed I won't get out of the house and I haven't."
I take a sit at the diner table. Genovese pasta greets me there and I'd be ecstatic if I wasn't too busy refusing the urge to fall onto the table. I suppose I should scold her but I don't have any energy left except to tell her, "You are sly, princess. Do you realize, princess, how troublesome you are?"
She hums to herself, genuinely thinking about it. "A handful?" After she takes the sight of me then, she smiles apologetically. Soon, she is spooning two bowls of soup, she joins me at the table.
"Herb soup?" I almost laugh.
Rio cocks her head to the side. "You don't want to? Well, I suppose you won't after eating eat everyday."
"No, no. It's just…" I struggle to find the right word. "Amusing. Strangely enough, I haven't gotten tired of it yet."
"I'm glad." She says before I take in a spoonful.
The heat is a wonderful respite from the cold. The flavors burst in my mouth: thyme and rosemary. And yet, despite having used different herbs, the taste is still achingly familiar. Then, it hits me.
"You. You're the one making the soup. Not Dunhill." I stare at her in disbelief.
She looks taken aback herself. I sound like I'm accusing her of a crime. In a way, I probably am. "I thought you knew especially after yesterday. It seems odd to mention Dunhill now that I think about it… you really didn't know?"
"Because, you've never really looked at me before. How could I think that?"
My voice sounds like defeat and I hate it. But what I hate more is the fact that she doesn't say anything. She won't say anything because she knows exactly what I'm taking about. She didn't see me at all.
I want to question her, shake her but I can't even make my eyes meet hers. I'll only be subjected to her pity and that so much worse. I can only look down at the table. The Genovese pasta is at the center. Then how did she know it was my favorite dish? From Dunhill, maybe. But why did she bother making it now, for me? The bowl of herb soup sits in front of me and it's like a shock goes through my body.
She might not have looked my way but she knew I was there. That was proof, wasn't it? I'm grasping at straws here but I want to hold this hope like a candle within me.
I take a leap into the abyss. "What did you mean by 'nice to meet you'?"
She is silent for a few seconds – an eternity. "Precisely what it sounds like."
"We met during the summer. It's winter." I say, matter-of-factly.
"Yes."
Somehow, I know she won't answer me so I try to pin her down with my stare. She beats me to it though as she locks me in her gaze. Her eyes telling me I had the answer.
What changed? Between that first date and yesterday, what changed?
Again, Rio's right because I do know. While I was trying too hard to impress her the first time, I had given up on that pretense yesterday. Only by chance though, as long as I'm being honest here. Because if she hadn't tried to go back in the rain like an idiot, I wouldn't have lost my composure.
I wouldn't have asked her to stay.
So, did she intend to do that? Is she really more cunning than she looks? I look at her now, feel the weight of her gaze and I know she knows more. She knows there's a lot more about me, more than I intend to show. That's when, for the first time, I'm scared to have her eyes on me.
She must have sensed it, my fear, because it feels like she just backed down as she turns back to her food. The rest of the meal is spent with idle chatter, surprisingly enough, with her asking about her cooking skills. She's back to her air-headed self. Or maybe that was her real self. What do I know of this woman anyway? I let myself be swept away with it regardless. By the end of it, I feel myself fall back into routine. I can't let this woman unnerve me. I won't.
"Your hair is a mess." I comment.
Her hands crawl up to her messy ponytail. She laughs.
"I can comb your hair for you."
She perks up at the suggestion. "I think I have a comb or brush th-"
Rio starts to walk towards the dresser when her knees buckle under her. She falls backward, too close to the sharp edge of the wooden table. It happens so fast but slow at the same time. A falling crystal flashes before my eyes just as reflex takes over and I dive in after her. I pull her into my arms and we hit the floor as a bundle of tangled limbs. Her body presses into mine - soft and pliant. I bat those thoughts aside and concentrate on the more pressing issue: She's hot (literally and slightly figuratively), burning up. How could I forget she was sick in the first place?
"I'm… sorry," she whimpers, her breath tickling my neck. I think of telling her that it's not her fault she had a fever but then, I'm not sure what she's apologizing for. I push myself upright, cradling her with me. With a hand under her knees and another scooping her by the shoulders, I place her back on the bed. Gingerly, I tuck her in. I lift her head and pull her hair from under her to keep them from getting anymore tangled. She watches me as I do. "The brush-comb is in the middle drawer, I think."
"Let's leave it for another time, princess."
"Promise."
"Promise," I repeat.
She falls asleep then but unlike earlier, she's on her back with her hands clasped together under her chest. When she looks like that, it's not impossible to mistake her as the sleeping princess from those kid's books. She might be the princess that's waiting for a prince's kiss to wake her up. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted to try. Except, now I know she's unlike those princesses or the other girls, for that matter. She's dangerous – in more ways than one.
The End.
A/N: Sorry I haven't updated sooner. I was busy with my other oneshot for Tales of Vesperia called 'Beautiful Contrast'. Please do check it out if you have the time
We're almost at the climax of the story and I'm so excited to deal with all this inner turmoil! Hope you look forward to it! Please tell me what you think and leave a review or even PM me ;)
To Harvest moon: Thank you very much! I like making Allen struggle a bit too. Kind of a payback for his jerk-ish ways haha. Hope you like this chapter!
