Rhone
Make a clean break. That was her idea of leaving people. No warning, no sad good-byes. No tears. Sydney changed her last name, and had saved enough up to not have to work for awhile. She bought the apartment in Rhone, Colorado and just left. Left all the lies and betrayal behind. Nothing was worth staying there for.
Especially the company who caused her the torture. SD-6. All that was left now was a painfully sprained wrist. Sydney had dealt with her share of pain, so when the doctor ordered her not to use it, even for driving, she ignored him.
Her wrist was throbbing and swelling by the time she got to the driveway of her new home. And she practically cried when she realized it was on the third floor of the building. It was nicer than she expected, though. When the ad said apartment, she had pictured a couple rooms in a crowded building. Instead, she got a whole floor. The top floor, with a small lake directly behind the small yard in the back. The downside to this was there being no elevator, only exterior stairs.
There was no way that she was going to drag her stuff upstairs with one arm, so she dragged herself up to check out the inside of the place. Two rooms, two baths, a small living area, and an open kitchen. She was surprised to find it unpainted and almost empty, with only a bed and a brown leather couch. And even more surprised to find a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. Expecting whoever put it there to show up soon, she make a pitcher of tea and opened some windows. Then went to explore more.
In the master bedroom, she found a screen door leading out to a large deck. She could already imagine a fiesta theme with multi colored stripes. Lost in the pretty picture, she almost screamed when someone tapped her shoulder. She whirled around, and took a defensive stance when she saw a tall man standing there. And realized the uselessness of it with her wrist.
"Hey," the man said. He wasn't threatening her. "I'm Michael, from the floor below you. Just came to offer my help with moving in."
She signed with relief and stuck out her good hand. "I'm Sydney, and that's nice, but I'll.I'll get it, thanks. Did you want something to drink?"
He blinked at her, then frowned at her other hand. "Umm." His eyes darted up to hers. "Sure."
He followed her to the kitchen. "So, is your apartment the same make as mine?" She flowed easily into conversation, one of the benefits from being stuck in boarding schools all her life. One of the few.
He smiled a wide easy grin that lit his face. "Yup. So is the one on the bottom. Although mine is more. furnished. And you have higher ceilings."
She laughed and handed him a glass. "You just wait. Don't worry, I have ideas, so this place will be beautiful. Soon enough." She laughed "I did expect this place to be a little more than it is, but hey, it's like a clean slate." She took a sip of her drink and looked up at him. Gorgeous green eyes below thick dark blond hair topped that happy smile. From the looks of it, he was good in shape. "So, Michael, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a musician. I write songs, and play guitar sometimes."
Sydney blinked, surprised. "You must be pretty good."
"How can you tell?" His smile faltered a little. "You're not a reporter, are you?"
She cocked her head to the side and smiled again. "Nope. I can tell, because if you can be in Rhone and still get business, then you must be in demand. What's there for a struggling musician in Colorado?"
He laughed at that. "Sorry, I just got to be.careful, you know?" He looked at her with purposefully sheepish eyes.
Her focus on him sharpened. Perhaps because she did know. Or maybe it was the puppy dog eyes. "Yeah, I guess I do." He looked surprised at that, perhaps about to question her, but a call came from below.
"Sorry, my roommate is moving into the first floor apartment today. I need to help him. But listen, I would like to talk again soon." He looked rather annoyed.
"Sure. My apartment is open at all times. It was nice to meet you." She smiled again.
He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
After a few minutes taken to finish her drink, Sydney went down to her car and grabbed her purse and a binder filled with the decorating ideas. Excited to get started, she neglected to lock her car door. She trudged up the stairs again and mentally planned each room. She would order all new furniture tomorrow.
Sydney found a wooden table and an umbrella with multicolored stripes in an design magazine, and marked the page specially. It would go great for the patio.she would throw little parties out there. A distracted smile lit her face.
It was such a friendly thing. Friendly was something Sydney had never gotten as a child. Memories ran through her, memories of her stern father, Jack, and striving to do better so he would love her more. And then of him sending her to the God forsaken boarding schools. It didn't help that she grew up just to work with him in the world's most stressful job, which eventually led to her sprained wrist.
She eventually roused herself out of her reverie enough to go to grab some stuff from her car, only to find it all neatly stacked outside her door with a note attached. It simply read, "You lied. You're welcome."
Sydney couldn't explain the jump her heart gave, so she just smiled and dragged it in to unpack. The rest of her stuff was being delivered the next day, and what would be ordered might take weeks to arrive.
Insomnia plagued Sydney that night, so she baked cookies, and breads. Sometime after four, she gave up on the idea of sleep and got out some running gear. She jogged to the beat of Aerosmith, and to the painting of sunrise. She got back in time to sign for the rest of her stuff and spent the rest of the day setting it up in the spare bedroom.
Around dusk, Sydney heard a knock at the door. "Open!" she called. It is always polite to greet a caller at the door... Michael and another man popped their heads into the room. "Damn." she muttered as Michael's eyes widened. A full grand piano now took almost all the space of the spare bedroom. What was left was a mini recording studio.
"Dude." The guy muttered. Then turned to her. "Hey. I'm Eric. Call me Eric. or Weiss. That's what Mike calls me. I'm on the first floor, feel free to come and visit."
"Uh. thanks. Same to you." She paid no mind; she was focused on Michael's unreadable expression.
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. "Well, I'm moving in, I'd better go." Speaking to no one in particular.
Sydney blinked and turned. "Take a plate of cookies!" she yelled out.
A muffled, "Score!" came back.
Michael's mind reeled at the discovery. Was this good or bad? After a few moments of indecision, he decided good, and grinned down at her. Her face relaxed.
"Surprise.sorry about not mentioning this earlier." she said quietly.
He was still grinning as her said, "It is kinda major. But makes sense. You must be a damn good player. You know, if you can be out here in Rhone and still be in demand."
Sydney paused. She smiled up at him. "Why haven't I heard of you before?"
"I'm. I'm." Pause. Blink. That came out of the blue. "I'm called Hayden Marcel." Her eyebrows went up. Okay, so she had heard of him. What a surprise. Another pause. "Whatcha working on?"
She smiled at that. Then gestured at her wrist. "I'll try to play if for you, but I'm not at my prime."
"Do you write the words for your songs?" When she shook her head, he got a devilish look in his eyes.
So Sydney sat, and she played. When she let the final chord fade out and looked at him, his eyes were shut; his face completely sweet. He slowly opened them, not the least bit embarrassed about being caught that way. "Did I say good? I meant heavenly. That was beautiful, Sydney. Really beautiful."
"You want to write words to my song?" She joked.
The devilish look was replaced with a sheepish one. "Actually. I already did. It didn't take long, unlike normal. But my idea for your song is more for you to sing." Michael was talking extremely fast, hoping she wouldn't catch what he was asking.
For a second she didn't. Sydney smiled up at him, then processed his words. "Wait, what?"
He laughed nervously. Then his handsome face turned serious. "Sing for me Syd, sing our song. It doesn't matter what your voice sounds like."
Instantly the shocked expression returned to Sydney's face. 'Lighten the mood!' her panicked mind screamed. "I don't expect you to know this about me, but I don't like to sing. So I just don't."
Michael was shocked at the ache he felt when her smile fell. And surprised as hell when he realized his hand was cupping Sydney's face the instant she stopped talking. His lips hovered just above hers for a moment before dropping one sweet kiss onto her mouth. When he leaned in again, she turned her head so that he brushed a kiss onto her jaw.
He studied her for a second, then opened his mouth, only to be
interrupted by the doorbell.
"Deliveries," Sydney softly murmured. She went to sign for the rest of her belongings. When she rejoined Michael, he had a determined and unfocused look about him.
"There's this place I go, in Montana. I really think it's great for inspiration. I'm leaving in two days." He turned to look at her, smiled, "Come with me."
"Montana." Her mind reeled as he nodded to her. She paused for a second before getting up and rushing out.
"Sydney, where are you going?" He sounded confused.
"Out. somewhere," was her instant tense reply.
She struggled with the doorknob until a strong arm reached around her and opened it She gasped and practically fell out of the apartment. Michael grabbed her around the waist to steady her.
"Get away!" she yelled, turning and tripping. She fell, cutting open her foot.
"Look what you did!" They both said, simultaneously. Sydney looked down, and watched blood ooze out of the gash.
It only took one wave of nausea to knock her out of consciousness.
***
She woke to a warm sensation, in a bright room. Too bright. Damn, who was torturing her this time? Or maybe she was in the hospital again. She mentally went through her entire body, checking for pain. When none made itself apparent, she opened her eyes.
No, not a hospital. An appealing room and a cheery fire.
She instantly panicked and sat up. A blanket fell away from her, revealing her single pair of boxers and a tight tank top. She calmed herself and heard a familiar baritone voice accompanied by an acoustic guitar in the background. Michael.
It all came rushing back pretty quickly.
Strangely, all Sydney could think about was how nice it was of him to take care of her. And how sweet it was of him to put her up in his place. So by the time he popped in to check on her, she was in an extremely good mood, and liked him a lot more.
Michael smiled at her smile. He could tell what was going on in her mind. "Good morning." He could also pretty much tell when her mind was made up on the idea of Montana. He cackled inwardly. "Feeling steadier?"
She blinked drowsily, then turned a deep shade of red and pulled the blanket up. No use, she thought. He changed you out of your clothes. And took care of you.
"Um, yes, thank you. For taking care of me. so what can I do to make it up to you?" Her voice was still deeper with sleep. Oh, crap, I really hope that didn't sound like I thought it sounded like!
Even Michael tensed and reddened at that statement. He cleared his throat. Paused. Raised an eyebrow, making his face adorably evil looking. "Montana? Record our song?"
Relief pumped into Sydney. "I don't know." Michael put on a pitiful face, making her laugh. "Yeah. Okay, sure." She smiled.
"Really? Really, okay then. We leave tomorrow morning. Do you need help packing?" The evil face morphed into an extremely excited one.
"Um, no, I can handle it. But, what should I pack? I've never been to Montana." She said as she made to get up. That didn't last long, as the cut on her foot was unreasonable tender. Sydney limped to the front door.
"I think you have issues with accepting help. As it happens, I am already packed and have the rest of the afternoon to help you. So help you, I will!" Michael's face lit in his happy grin.
Sydney frowned. "I do not have issues with accepting help. And just to prove it to you, will you help me pack?" He laughed and picked her up off of her feet.
"Michael!" she murmured. "I am perfectly capable of walking. Put me down." The fact that she was laughing didn't help with the seriousness of the statement.
"Hey, I thought we were working on your issue . I'm helping you. So shut up!" He deftly made his way up the stairs and opened her apartment. He flopped her onto the bed and grabbed a suitcase from the open closet.
"Now, darling, what shall you wear? After all, Montana is much cooler than Rhone, and you want to be fashionable!"
Make a clean break. That was her idea of leaving people. No warning, no sad good-byes. No tears. Sydney changed her last name, and had saved enough up to not have to work for awhile. She bought the apartment in Rhone, Colorado and just left. Left all the lies and betrayal behind. Nothing was worth staying there for.
Especially the company who caused her the torture. SD-6. All that was left now was a painfully sprained wrist. Sydney had dealt with her share of pain, so when the doctor ordered her not to use it, even for driving, she ignored him.
Her wrist was throbbing and swelling by the time she got to the driveway of her new home. And she practically cried when she realized it was on the third floor of the building. It was nicer than she expected, though. When the ad said apartment, she had pictured a couple rooms in a crowded building. Instead, she got a whole floor. The top floor, with a small lake directly behind the small yard in the back. The downside to this was there being no elevator, only exterior stairs.
There was no way that she was going to drag her stuff upstairs with one arm, so she dragged herself up to check out the inside of the place. Two rooms, two baths, a small living area, and an open kitchen. She was surprised to find it unpainted and almost empty, with only a bed and a brown leather couch. And even more surprised to find a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. Expecting whoever put it there to show up soon, she make a pitcher of tea and opened some windows. Then went to explore more.
In the master bedroom, she found a screen door leading out to a large deck. She could already imagine a fiesta theme with multi colored stripes. Lost in the pretty picture, she almost screamed when someone tapped her shoulder. She whirled around, and took a defensive stance when she saw a tall man standing there. And realized the uselessness of it with her wrist.
"Hey," the man said. He wasn't threatening her. "I'm Michael, from the floor below you. Just came to offer my help with moving in."
She signed with relief and stuck out her good hand. "I'm Sydney, and that's nice, but I'll.I'll get it, thanks. Did you want something to drink?"
He blinked at her, then frowned at her other hand. "Umm." His eyes darted up to hers. "Sure."
He followed her to the kitchen. "So, is your apartment the same make as mine?" She flowed easily into conversation, one of the benefits from being stuck in boarding schools all her life. One of the few.
He smiled a wide easy grin that lit his face. "Yup. So is the one on the bottom. Although mine is more. furnished. And you have higher ceilings."
She laughed and handed him a glass. "You just wait. Don't worry, I have ideas, so this place will be beautiful. Soon enough." She laughed "I did expect this place to be a little more than it is, but hey, it's like a clean slate." She took a sip of her drink and looked up at him. Gorgeous green eyes below thick dark blond hair topped that happy smile. From the looks of it, he was good in shape. "So, Michael, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a musician. I write songs, and play guitar sometimes."
Sydney blinked, surprised. "You must be pretty good."
"How can you tell?" His smile faltered a little. "You're not a reporter, are you?"
She cocked her head to the side and smiled again. "Nope. I can tell, because if you can be in Rhone and still get business, then you must be in demand. What's there for a struggling musician in Colorado?"
He laughed at that. "Sorry, I just got to be.careful, you know?" He looked at her with purposefully sheepish eyes.
Her focus on him sharpened. Perhaps because she did know. Or maybe it was the puppy dog eyes. "Yeah, I guess I do." He looked surprised at that, perhaps about to question her, but a call came from below.
"Sorry, my roommate is moving into the first floor apartment today. I need to help him. But listen, I would like to talk again soon." He looked rather annoyed.
"Sure. My apartment is open at all times. It was nice to meet you." She smiled again.
He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
After a few minutes taken to finish her drink, Sydney went down to her car and grabbed her purse and a binder filled with the decorating ideas. Excited to get started, she neglected to lock her car door. She trudged up the stairs again and mentally planned each room. She would order all new furniture tomorrow.
Sydney found a wooden table and an umbrella with multicolored stripes in an design magazine, and marked the page specially. It would go great for the patio.she would throw little parties out there. A distracted smile lit her face.
It was such a friendly thing. Friendly was something Sydney had never gotten as a child. Memories ran through her, memories of her stern father, Jack, and striving to do better so he would love her more. And then of him sending her to the God forsaken boarding schools. It didn't help that she grew up just to work with him in the world's most stressful job, which eventually led to her sprained wrist.
She eventually roused herself out of her reverie enough to go to grab some stuff from her car, only to find it all neatly stacked outside her door with a note attached. It simply read, "You lied. You're welcome."
Sydney couldn't explain the jump her heart gave, so she just smiled and dragged it in to unpack. The rest of her stuff was being delivered the next day, and what would be ordered might take weeks to arrive.
Insomnia plagued Sydney that night, so she baked cookies, and breads. Sometime after four, she gave up on the idea of sleep and got out some running gear. She jogged to the beat of Aerosmith, and to the painting of sunrise. She got back in time to sign for the rest of her stuff and spent the rest of the day setting it up in the spare bedroom.
Around dusk, Sydney heard a knock at the door. "Open!" she called. It is always polite to greet a caller at the door... Michael and another man popped their heads into the room. "Damn." she muttered as Michael's eyes widened. A full grand piano now took almost all the space of the spare bedroom. What was left was a mini recording studio.
"Dude." The guy muttered. Then turned to her. "Hey. I'm Eric. Call me Eric. or Weiss. That's what Mike calls me. I'm on the first floor, feel free to come and visit."
"Uh. thanks. Same to you." She paid no mind; she was focused on Michael's unreadable expression.
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. "Well, I'm moving in, I'd better go." Speaking to no one in particular.
Sydney blinked and turned. "Take a plate of cookies!" she yelled out.
A muffled, "Score!" came back.
Michael's mind reeled at the discovery. Was this good or bad? After a few moments of indecision, he decided good, and grinned down at her. Her face relaxed.
"Surprise.sorry about not mentioning this earlier." she said quietly.
He was still grinning as her said, "It is kinda major. But makes sense. You must be a damn good player. You know, if you can be out here in Rhone and still be in demand."
Sydney paused. She smiled up at him. "Why haven't I heard of you before?"
"I'm. I'm." Pause. Blink. That came out of the blue. "I'm called Hayden Marcel." Her eyebrows went up. Okay, so she had heard of him. What a surprise. Another pause. "Whatcha working on?"
She smiled at that. Then gestured at her wrist. "I'll try to play if for you, but I'm not at my prime."
"Do you write the words for your songs?" When she shook her head, he got a devilish look in his eyes.
So Sydney sat, and she played. When she let the final chord fade out and looked at him, his eyes were shut; his face completely sweet. He slowly opened them, not the least bit embarrassed about being caught that way. "Did I say good? I meant heavenly. That was beautiful, Sydney. Really beautiful."
"You want to write words to my song?" She joked.
The devilish look was replaced with a sheepish one. "Actually. I already did. It didn't take long, unlike normal. But my idea for your song is more for you to sing." Michael was talking extremely fast, hoping she wouldn't catch what he was asking.
For a second she didn't. Sydney smiled up at him, then processed his words. "Wait, what?"
He laughed nervously. Then his handsome face turned serious. "Sing for me Syd, sing our song. It doesn't matter what your voice sounds like."
Instantly the shocked expression returned to Sydney's face. 'Lighten the mood!' her panicked mind screamed. "I don't expect you to know this about me, but I don't like to sing. So I just don't."
Michael was shocked at the ache he felt when her smile fell. And surprised as hell when he realized his hand was cupping Sydney's face the instant she stopped talking. His lips hovered just above hers for a moment before dropping one sweet kiss onto her mouth. When he leaned in again, she turned her head so that he brushed a kiss onto her jaw.
He studied her for a second, then opened his mouth, only to be
interrupted by the doorbell.
"Deliveries," Sydney softly murmured. She went to sign for the rest of her belongings. When she rejoined Michael, he had a determined and unfocused look about him.
"There's this place I go, in Montana. I really think it's great for inspiration. I'm leaving in two days." He turned to look at her, smiled, "Come with me."
"Montana." Her mind reeled as he nodded to her. She paused for a second before getting up and rushing out.
"Sydney, where are you going?" He sounded confused.
"Out. somewhere," was her instant tense reply.
She struggled with the doorknob until a strong arm reached around her and opened it She gasped and practically fell out of the apartment. Michael grabbed her around the waist to steady her.
"Get away!" she yelled, turning and tripping. She fell, cutting open her foot.
"Look what you did!" They both said, simultaneously. Sydney looked down, and watched blood ooze out of the gash.
It only took one wave of nausea to knock her out of consciousness.
***
She woke to a warm sensation, in a bright room. Too bright. Damn, who was torturing her this time? Or maybe she was in the hospital again. She mentally went through her entire body, checking for pain. When none made itself apparent, she opened her eyes.
No, not a hospital. An appealing room and a cheery fire.
She instantly panicked and sat up. A blanket fell away from her, revealing her single pair of boxers and a tight tank top. She calmed herself and heard a familiar baritone voice accompanied by an acoustic guitar in the background. Michael.
It all came rushing back pretty quickly.
Strangely, all Sydney could think about was how nice it was of him to take care of her. And how sweet it was of him to put her up in his place. So by the time he popped in to check on her, she was in an extremely good mood, and liked him a lot more.
Michael smiled at her smile. He could tell what was going on in her mind. "Good morning." He could also pretty much tell when her mind was made up on the idea of Montana. He cackled inwardly. "Feeling steadier?"
She blinked drowsily, then turned a deep shade of red and pulled the blanket up. No use, she thought. He changed you out of your clothes. And took care of you.
"Um, yes, thank you. For taking care of me. so what can I do to make it up to you?" Her voice was still deeper with sleep. Oh, crap, I really hope that didn't sound like I thought it sounded like!
Even Michael tensed and reddened at that statement. He cleared his throat. Paused. Raised an eyebrow, making his face adorably evil looking. "Montana? Record our song?"
Relief pumped into Sydney. "I don't know." Michael put on a pitiful face, making her laugh. "Yeah. Okay, sure." She smiled.
"Really? Really, okay then. We leave tomorrow morning. Do you need help packing?" The evil face morphed into an extremely excited one.
"Um, no, I can handle it. But, what should I pack? I've never been to Montana." She said as she made to get up. That didn't last long, as the cut on her foot was unreasonable tender. Sydney limped to the front door.
"I think you have issues with accepting help. As it happens, I am already packed and have the rest of the afternoon to help you. So help you, I will!" Michael's face lit in his happy grin.
Sydney frowned. "I do not have issues with accepting help. And just to prove it to you, will you help me pack?" He laughed and picked her up off of her feet.
"Michael!" she murmured. "I am perfectly capable of walking. Put me down." The fact that she was laughing didn't help with the seriousness of the statement.
"Hey, I thought we were working on your issue . I'm helping you. So shut up!" He deftly made his way up the stairs and opened her apartment. He flopped her onto the bed and grabbed a suitcase from the open closet.
"Now, darling, what shall you wear? After all, Montana is much cooler than Rhone, and you want to be fashionable!"