CH6
Thank you YoursAnonymous for your lovely review. I'm not a Rob fan either! I wrote the chapters in fairly quick succession so I'm glad you think they tie well. I'll do my best to keep that up! (EDIT I did not keep this up it has been about six months and I'm so sorry)
Shoutout to new followers blakeflynn17 (you're following my other one too?! Wow, thanks!) and Dkk5.
And of course hello to those of you who have been here a while too. Thanks for all the support!
I wouldn't be surprised if it was over 6 months since I last posted, and whilst I hope not too many of you noticed the absence of Rob/Christine/Eric's stories, I'm on a train back to my hometown and thought, why not. Because my dissertation totally isn't due in a month (cries inside). Hope you are all extremely well.
'So you still haven't slept with him?' Christine asked, amazed.
Meg laughed. 'I guess I do have a reputation! No, we just sit in bed in our pants and watch movies together. I think I'm going to stop asking him to come over, I don't really feel much of a spark. We'd be okay as friends I guess but I don't know. He's very intense to talk to'. She shrugged her shoulders.
Christine bit her lip. It would be kind of rude of Meg to have strung Rob along like that – as a friend or as a lover – and then to just stop speaking to him. She thought he was actually quite nice! And he showed such concern at the bruises.You just feel special because he noticed you, and that's a new and exciting thing for you Christine told herself darkly.
Pushing the negative thoughts from her mind, Christine asked Meg when Rob was next coming over.
'Not sure, why? Fancy watching a movie with us or having a Chinese?' Meg seemed pleased at the prospect, assuaging Christine's worries about butting in on her friend.
'Yeah that sounds nice, let me know when is good!' A smile on her face, Christine made herself a cup of tea and went back to her room. She didn't have any classes until five pm and she didn't have much work to do so she was sort of at a loss for what to do and she hated being idle.
You've not heard from your stranger in a while. Christine went and checked the box by the back door – nothing was there. With disappointment, she sighed and decided to go to uni and do some work there, where she wouldn't be distracted.
Christine trundled down the path to the Commons building of her university, shoving her curly brown locks out of her face roughly. It was just starting to rain and she had her laptop with her, so she was eager to get her work handed in and get home before the potential storm started. It was very cloudy for May, but with the lambs running round the field that ran parallel to campus, there was no mistaking the season. The rain picked up significantly; Christine scowled and sped up. Suddenly, she was dry and in the shadow of someone who smelled like Lynx body spray.
'Hey what's the hurry? Stay a while' Rob chuckled. His closeness made her a bit uncomfortable following last week's attack but it was really raining quite heavily now.
'Oh hi! Thanks. I was worried my laptop was going to get wet'. Christine smiled up at him with genuine gratitude.
'No worries' he said, with a smile that reached his eyes. He was really a bit intense, like Meg had said.
'Which way are you headed? Let me be your shelter' (AN – had to sneak a cheeky song lyric in there for the Lloyd-Webber fans!). He chuckled, though there wasn't really anything funny about his question.
'Just to Commons to print off my essay and hand it in' she replied and waved a hand in the direction of the leaf-themed building.
They started walking at a leisurely pace, until Rob spoke again.
'I don't believe what you said about how you got those marks you know'. Christine stopped walking, shocked at his nonchalance. Her sleeve had probably slid up when she had pointed towards commons, but it must have been on his mind a while for him to decide that he didn't believe her explanation.
She hadn't told anyone because she hadn't wanted a fuss. Embarrassing as it was, she would rather Rob think of her as kinky than as a victim. But if he was going to ask her such questions out in public like this, it might be prudent to tell him quickly and then not speak about it again. Like ripping off a plaster.
But at the last minute, she crumbled.
'I'm not ready to talk about it. Please don't ask me again'. She sounded pitiful and she hated it. Rob said nothing, only nodded. But then, he stopped walking and stared into her eyes intensely.
'But – tell me-' he put his hand on her arm – 'are you safe now?'
Christine smiled sadly and nodded. They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. But later, in bed, Christine's mind started whirling.
Was she really safe? What if she was in danger and she didn't know it? She thought that a stranger leaving music for her was sweet and innocent. But what if it was actually something more sinister? What if – and this disturbed her most of all – what if she was being watched?
Eric
Christine arrived home at half past three, looking drained. There was nothing on her social media that implied she had had a bad day – in fact he would have thought she would be pleased to have handed in her assignment. And by the looks of it, she had a new umbrella. Although it looked quite expensive and Eric knew Christine would never have justified such an expense….it was borrowed then. A snarl of jealousy rolled up in his throat before he could stop it, though he knew it was irrational.
He should have been pleased that someone had kept her dry. But he wished it could have been him, holding the umbrella above them both, where he could smell her hair and press himself against her body. The thought made him want to compose or write some poetry or play his piano or…Eric rolled his eyes. Again? Really? Taking himself in hand and glancing at his locked door, he thought about her sweet smelling hair, her soft skin that smelled of her mango scented body wash…
It didn't take long to achieve his goal and with a small frown of distaste, Eric wiped the worst of it off with some tissues and then headed for the shower.
It was cold again, but he didn't mind. It was exhilarating to stand under the powerful stream of water and empty his mind, letting it fill with music. For her.
He would leave her something tomorrow, he decided. Something pretty and light, to lift her mood and hopefully take her mind off whatever was clearly troubling her.
As Eric walked back through the basement to his room, he passed Nadir's door, which was slightly ajar. Nadir listened to the radio often, as he needed to stay up to date with current events for his degree in Business Studies and Politics. The news was on, and the Southern-English accent announced that the man who had been beaten last week in an alley on St James Street had died of his injuries in hopsital.
Eric knew instantly that this was the man he had beaten following the attempted attack on Christine. The night she had glimpsed his face and not run away in fear, perhaps too paralyzed by terror to run, or the drugs prevented her legs from working the way she wished them to. Or maybe, she hadn't seen enough. But a small part of Eric was hopeful enough to entertain the notion – however briefly, that maybe she hadn't minded. Any rescuer would have been welcome given the alternative.
There was no part of him that cared that he had killed someone. The chances of getting caught were unlikely. He had almost killed someone before, in a bar fight many years ago. This was no new concept. He had always known, since seeing her that first day, that he would both die and kill for Christine. She was perfect in every way and anyone that attempted to infringe on her happiness deserved to have his wrath come down upon them.
That first day, the first time he saw her face, was the day she moved in. It was the 6th of October, 2015, and it was raining. Her mother had driven her from Cardiff in a blue, battered old ford focus. The car was full of her things – a shelving unit that they would have to put together, books upon books, clothes, photographs of friends from back home that she would later realise that she would probably never speak to again. University was just like that, she would say later. She had gone through the front door to collect her keys, but like Eric's place, her room was not street level and located in what they all referred to as the basement, though it was the same level as the garden. So once she had the keys for that external door that led down some steps from the street directly into her room, the two of them, Christine and her mother, unloaded the car down those stairs. Before deciding where to unpack her things, they located the two plug sockets in the room and took them into account. And thus, the small hole through which Eric could observe this tender beauty was uncovered when they moved the wardrobe out from in front of it.
'There's a hole in the wall here I think Chris' her mother had said, peering through it. Eric had flattened himself against his wall, heart racing.
'Oh yeah. I'll get some plaster and cover it over I guess'.
So the next day, armed with some plaster from the local hardware store, Christine peered through the hole. And Eric saw the most beautiful eye – green with hazel and tawny flecks near the centre, so innocent and inquiring. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And after, he knew he had to see it (and its matching friend) again and again until he had his fill, but knew that he never would. God knew what he would do if she moved away, or when they graduated in two years' time.
Later that night, he couldn't stand it any longer. She had gone out to the pub with her new housemates and come back a little tipsy, humming to herself as she got ready for bed. How was he supposed to sleep when this nymph was next door? Knowing what he was doing was incredibly illegal, immoral and intrusive, Eric grabbed a pencil and poked the plaster away, just a small hole. He prayed she would forget and not notice it. And she did not notice.
Rob – present day.
Shaking his blonde hair out of his eyes, Rob tried to concentrate on the task before him. This essay was due in two weeks' time and so far all he had done was do the reading for it, which was not as far along with it as he would have liked to have been. He just couldn't get Christine off his mind. Things with Meg had long fizzled out – not that there had been much fizzle in the first place. They would just strip down to their pants, thinking maybe to blow off some steam, but there was just no desire there. She was attractive, sure enough, but for some reason she just didn't arouse him. Perhaps because there was no love there, although he had been with someone outside of a relationship before – but whatever the reason, there was just no spark, and every time they would just laugh and watch a movie. The one time he did get an erection it was not mentioned; they were too far gone as friends to sleep together by that point.
But Christine interested him. She was pretty in an unconventional way – not someone you would notice if you walked past, but if you looked, her eyes had a way about them and her smile, though her teeth were none too straight, was infectious. He wanted to speak to her again, she made him feel good.
He would ask for Meg's advice on where he could run in to her again, it was too early to ask her on a date. But this new prospect made him smile, and with a course of action decided on, Rob could finally work on his essay.
Christine
Music had appeared again. It was an easy enough piece, which made Christine wonder what the point of it all was. She was enjoying building up her repertoire, and had no desire to perform, but the anonymous nature of these gifts was starting to concern her. Her encounter last week showed her that it was not always safe to assume the best about people and situations.
So this time, Christine did not take the music. She left it where it had been put for her, on top of a plastic box in front of the house. Rain was scheduled and she was going to stay home from class in case whoever was leaving the music knew her movements. Surely they wouldn't let the music get wet after going to all the trouble of putting it there. It was in a plastic wallet but of course, the top portion would be soaked through if English rain was to be relied on.
After standing at the window as long as she had the patience to, Christine turned around just to flip the kettle on, and when she turned back again, the music was gone.
