Chapter 7
She woke slowly, groggily. With a grunt, she rolled over onto her side, trying to force her eyelids open. It was as though someone had glued them shut. Finally, she pried them open and stared at the ceiling. Suddenly, she was extremely cold. She glanced around the room, finally standing and pulling a sweatshirt over her head. Must be the lack of hair. Probably can't keep myself as warm without it, she thought with a smirk.
With a heavy sigh, she yanked open the refrigerator door and rummaged through. For some reason, her green juice didn't seem as appealing right now. Which reminds me…She stood and let the door shut on its own. The towel was still sitting in the sink, begging to be rinsed out. She obliged, wringing it out to almost dry and hanging it on the towel bar above the sink. It would go in the laundry later. She turned to continue rummaging through the fridge and jumped back.
"Shit, Riddick," she gasped. He was leaning against the kitchen doorway, just watching her.
"Scare you?" She sighed and leaned back against the counter. "Sorry."
"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" she asked, pulling the fridge door open again and picking through.
"Not much. We're not landing for a couple more days – chronological time." She sighed, her breath fogging from the cold air. "Figured we could just relax for a while." He shrugged. "Not like we can really do any repairs anyway."
"Well, we could, in theory." His eyebrow rose. "But you don't want to do the 'superficial crap' until everything else is done."
"Hey, if you want to start that stuff, you're more than welcome," he said, sounding defensive. "Not my kind of thing, but if you want to, you can." She smiled.
"What, you can't see yourself painting and decorating?" she asked with a smirk. He stared at the ceiling for a while.
"Nope," he said. "Can't say I could picture that." She shrugged.
"I guess you're the type that could live with rusty walls, huh?"
"Well," he said, "there's a difference between fixing rusty walls and painting walls, you know?" She finally settled on block cheese and tossed the package on the counter. "You're just gonna eat that plain?" he asked.
"Sure, why not?"
"Just cut it up and eat it?"
"How would you eat it?" she asked, pulling a knife from a drawer and slicing it into thick sticks.
"Melted into chili," he suggested.
"That's what shredded cheese is for," she said.
"So what's block cheese for?"
"Crackers, cheese trays, and sticks," she said, taking a bite. She paused, turning back to him. "We have the dumbest conversations, you know that?" He grinned.
"It's a unique relationship," he returned. She shrugged.
"It's a unique something, all right."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Huh?"
"A unique 'something'?" he asked.
"Um… I don't know how to answer that," she replied. His eyebrow rose. "I don't think I really know what you're asking, actually."
"What do you consider me, Jack?" he pressed.
"Another human?"
"Is that your answer or are you fishing?"
"What do you want me to say, Riddick?" she asked, tossing the knife into the sink. "Tell me what you want to hear."
"I want to know what I mean to you." She felt like someone had dropped a house on her chest, unable to find air. She just stared at him. He shook his head and left the room, leaving her staring at the doorway after him.
The rust was finally starting to go away, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn't figure out what Riddick's deal was. What he means to me? Why the hell would he be asking me that? she questioned herself. Every now and then, her thoughts would take over, leaving her sitting in the floor with her hand poised, scrubby pad pressed against the wall, unmoving. Then she'd snap out of it and continue scouring it away as though nothing had happened. That just came out of nowhere. Her scowl deepened. What does he want to hear? She stood, staring down at her work.
"Better, but still not gone," she said to the wall with a sigh.
"Hey Jack?" She turned an ear toward the voice down the hall.
"Yeah?" she yelled back.
"Where'd you put my pliers?" he asked. She thought for a minute.
"They're not in the tool box?"
"No."
"What about the kitchen drawers?"
"No." She sighed and stood, heading into his bedroom. Her feet stopped moving in the doorway, her eyebrow arching.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked. He turned to her with a frustrated expression.
"Do you know how the fuck these things work?"
"They screw into the wall, and then the bar snaps into them," she answered, looking over the curtain rods. "You're hanging curtains?"
"I've been meaning to for a while," he said. "Every now and then we'll pass something too bright for me, and it's just easier to block it out than try to find a way to cover my eyes." She stifled a laugh at his efforts to get the thing to work.
"Here," she said, standing on his bed next to him and holding her hand out for the screwdriver. "Allow me." He complied with a heavy sigh. "You know, you could just weld these things up," she suggested.
"I thought about it, but it seemed like too much work." She nodded, smirking.
"Give me the rod," she commanded, holding her hand out again. She held onto the wall to keep from falling off the bed as he leaned over to grab the curtain rod from the foot of the bed. She didn't see his grin.
"Does it fit?" he asked. She nodded, heard a click, and turned with a wide grin.
"See?" she said, pointing. "It wasn't that hard." He sent her a look and reached out, testing its sturdiness. She smoothed out the curtains to completely cover the small window. "These are nice," she commented. Black fabric – some kind of synthetic, she supposed.
"Think they'll work?" She nodded, stepping backwards on the bed to get a better look. He slid off the bed, and watched her lose her balance. She grabbed for anything, with the exception of the newly hung curtains, but her fingers didn't find anything. With lightning speed, he reached out and grabbed her around the butt, pulling her toward him and away from the floor.
She felt herself stop falling, but the room was still spinning. Her hands pressed against his chest, her nose inches away from his. He just looked down at her, his arm still around her.
"You okay?" he asked quietly. His breath ruffled the hair falling in her eyes, and he reached up to brush it away from her face. She just stared right back up at him.
"Why do you still wear your contacts?" she asked quietly. His eyes fell away from hers, and he released her to step away from her and turn away. She stared at his broad shoulders, still waiting for an answer. "Riddick?" He shook his head, starting for the door. She stopped him, darting in front of him and placing a hand on his chest, pushing him into the wall. "Riddick." His eyes met hers. "Tell me." He sighed.
"I don't know."
"You're a horrible liar."
"And you're pushing your luck," he retorted, pushing past her.
"Jesus, Riddick," she groaned. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He paused in the doorway, his back still facing her.
"What's wrong with me?" he asked, turning slowly. "You're the one that doesn't know how you feel about me." She blinked and looked away.
"That's a legitimate 'I don't know,' Riddick," she said quietly.
"Is it?" Her eyes found his for a brief moment and then focused on the floor. "Or do you just not want to tell me because you don't want to piss me off?" She didn't move. "Or maybe," he continued, "you don't want to tell me because you're enjoying this little excursion, aside from my company, and the money you're making, and you think if you tell me and I don't like it, I'll dump you at the next stop." Her eyes stared angrily back at him.
"I'm not telling you because I don't have a fucking clue, Riddick," she snapped. She shoved past him, and stopped a few steps down the hallway to turn to him and continue. "And just for the record," she licked her lips, the fire in her eyes growing. "You dumping me at the next stop wouldn't be a new experience." He blinked, as though that response wasn't expected. "Maybe you should be answering that question yourself. Why the fuck did you have to barge back into my life, anyway?" She shook her head and continued down the hall. And God damn it, I don't have a fucking door. She passed her room and headed to the bathroom, slamming the door and twisting the lock. He knocked a few seconds later.
"Jack?" She ignored him and turned the shower on, peeling down and stepping under the water. "Jack, open the door." More knocking. She sunk to her knees, letting the water beat on her back, resting her forehead on the bottom of the tub. "Jesus Christ, Jack, open the fucking door!" He knocked harder, rattling the hinges. She shook her head, holding her stomach, willing the tears away. They didn't listen, instead, breaking free and mixing with the water running down the drain. She could hold back a sob, and finally gave in completely, shaking under the stream of the hot water, letting it all out. By the time she had the strength back to stand, the water was running ice cold, and her knees ached from her weight in the same position for so long. Weakly, she reached out and shut the water off, crawling out of the tub and wrapping a towel around herself. It was quiet in the hallway.
The steam had cleared from the mirror, but she didn't look at her reflection. She just leaned against the wall and stared at the door, wondering if he was still out in the hallway, just waiting for her to come out. Slowly, she dried off and dressed. Her hand shook as it closed around the doorknob, and it took all her strength to turn it and pull the door open. He wasn't in the hallway. She sighed. She couldn't go to her room and be alone, since she still didn't have a door to close, and there wasn't really anywhere else private except for his room, so she went there, closing the door quietly. She curled up on his bed and closed her eyes. Her chest ached from crying so hard, and she was sure her sinuses would be screaming in a short while for snorting so much water, but she was too tired to care. She was just starting to drift off when she heard a soft knocking on the door. She turned toward the wall and closed her eyes again when it creaked open.
"Jack?" She tried to keep her breathing even. "I know you're awake." Still no reply. She heard him sigh and felt the bed give as he sat down, still far away enough that she couldn't sense him close to her. "I'm sorry, Jack." He waited, but didn't get anything from her. He rubbed his forehead and then his eyes. "Do you know how hard it is for me to say that?"
"Do you know how little I care?" she responded quietly.
"Well, at least you're talking to me," he noted. Nothing more. "I, uh…" He glanced at her. "I can put off the next drop and take you home," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. She felt her lip tremble and her eyes start burning again. He is not going to make me cry again. She didn't respond, so he continued. "It'll be three days." He didn't specify that it was chronological time. "I'll go ahead and program the course," he finished, standing. She let him leave and close the door before she turned onto her back and stared at the door.