A deep purring interrupted her slumber and she turned around in the sheets. The bed was warm and the light coming from the window hurt her eyes, so she sank deeper into the covers, avoiding both the purr and the cruel light of day. However, her wishes were not granted, for she now was the animal's main object of interest and the sound became more persistent, combined with a paw clawing her exposed hand. Not lifting her head from the pillow, she opened her eyes and was greeted by two marvellous sapphires, that stared at her curiously.

"Hello, kitty..."she managed to mumble with a raspy voice, her mind not yet awake. How heavy the covers seemed, she didn't have the power to get up, so she stroked the feline and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. A trace of cologne she didn't recognise traveled through her nose to her brain, its final notes lingering around her as she stretched lazily. She finally sat up and observed her surroundings; a messy room she'd never seen before, with books stacked everywhere, be the bookcase or the floor. Next to her, a medical book lay open, inviting her curiosity to have a look.

Dissections. Detailed descriptions and pictures of human bodies on surgical tables, cut open like Frankenstein's monster and making her shudder. It was too early to puke.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand and her stomach turned. If it was Raoul, she definitely did not want to pick it up. Their argument was fresh in her memory still and the feeling of injustice had not left. Her boyfriend had wrongfully accused her of cheating on him with her music teacher, a claim she could not bring herself to deny. Tell him what, exactly? That it wasn't possible because her teacher was an Angel? All she had to do was wait until his frustration had died down and then she would work to try and build his trust once again. That is, if he did not realise his mistake and apologise to her, which he definitely should do.

Nonetheless, she decided to check who it was. An unknown number had texted her.

I had to leave early and did not want to wake you. Hope you are feeling better. There's breakfast waiting in the oven. Stay for as long as you wish. -Erik

She smiled. How sweet of him. Saving his number in her contacts, she stood and tried to make herself look somewhat presentable, should he or Nadir return home. As promised, coffee and a couple of muffins waited for her on the kitchen table, as did a plate of scrambled eggs in the oven, to be kept warm. Eating what she could, she refilled her cup for the second time and walked to the living room, wanting to do a little digging.

Scattered around were mostly everyday items, like a jacket she recognised as Nadir's thrown on the couch, and books. Many, many books. Some about law, others of medicine and multiple of foreign languages she did not understand. Was it...Farsi? Then it must have been Nadir's. A few in a Slavic language she thought to be Russian, but could not really recognise. She remembered Erik liked a Russian tea. Perhaps he had lived in Russia or was part Russian.

Thinking about him made her realise something; she practically knew nothing about him other than his being Nadir's friend, liking tea and being an atheist. Bizarre combination of information, indeed. Whenever they met, the conversation had always revolved around her and he never mentioned anything of his life. Ah, he also liked music, how could she have forgotten that? Returning to his bedroom, she found pieces of sheet music on the desk, scribbled in red ink, unintelligible for the most part. A wall piano sat by the opposite wall, also drowned under piles of papers.

As she bent to see the title of a book at the bottom of a pile, her eye was caught by a wooden box, half hidden under the bed. She felt bad for searching through a stranger's belongings and recognised it was terribly rude, yet her curiosity urged her to continue despite her guilt. After all, it wasn't as if she was opening drawers and such. Just looking over what was left in plain sight. Sliding the wooden lid off, she discovered three masks, replicas of the one he always wore around her. The material felt like fabric, yet it was firm, most likely restricting any facial movement. She took the time to examine one of them closer, as she never could when he was wearing it. Black, open only to reveal the mouth and chin. The mask was moulded to fit a very thin face with sharp features, such as high and pronounced cheekbones and brows. She placed it over her face and tried, even for a moment, to fill his shoes. She couldn't keep it on for more than an instant. The claustrophobia wouldn't let her face be shielded by something so sturdy and dark. She quickly placed everything back in its place and left the room, wanting to forget that terrible feeling.

It could have been an injury. Or a birth defect. And the mask betrayed a sharp yet not unattractive visage. Perhaps a burn that only damaged the skin, leaving the bone structure unharmed. How she wanted to know, but would never dare question him, since it could be linked with bad memories. Maybe if she learned what field of medicine he was studying, she could have an idea of what the nature of his injuries were. It would make a lot of sense for him to be into plastic surgery or something about genetics. That's what she would have done if she had a problem with her appearance, learn how to treat it or, at least, understand it. No, no, she was getting ahead of herself. She shouldn't be projecting herself on others' lives. Perhaps he merely found medicine interesting and his choice had nothing to do with his face.

Shaking her head in order to clear her mind, she decided it was time for her to see what she'd do with her own problems. Raoul hadn't called and she dreaded going back to their flat, in case he was still very angry. She called Meg.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Meg, it's me."

"Christine!" Always bubbly Meg. "Raoul called to see if you were here. I told him no." Great, that would make him even more suspicious.

"It's alright. We had an argument."

"He said you didn't come home at all last night. Is everything okay? Where are you?"

"I'm at a friend's house. Meg, was he angry with me?"

"No, I don't think he was. Sounded more sad than angry. But he was calm."

That was good. At least she could talk to him without shouting again.

"Okay. Sorry for the mess. Call you later?"

"Don't think about it, happens to everyone. Take care, baby doll." She blew a kiss and hung up.

Baby doll. Christine found her nickname ridiculous, but it had stuck to her since they'd met in high school, so she didn't really want to change it. Nicknames were Meg's way of saying I love you and Christine couldn't be mad about it.

Picking her things up, she stood by the door and scrolled through her contacts. Erik. It seemed like a nice addition among numerous french names. And no surname. For her, he was merely Erik, the only one she would ever know.

I just left your place. Thank you for everything.

She thought about adding an emoji to make her text more playful, as if last night was a usual occurrence and hadn't really hurt her. But she felt he was much too serious to exchange smiling faces. And last night had hurt, she could not even pretend otherwise. She sighed and closed the door behind her, trapping last night's memories behind it.