"So…1876, huh?"
Wren cast a sideways look at the man who sat uncomfortably next to her in the Jeep. She kept at a low speed, a little under the speed limit, to keep him as at ease as possible but they were at sixty-five and he looked like a cat in a cage. He nodded, his clever eyes analyzing the many buttons and following the white lines that whizzed by. She could practically see the wheels in his brain turning, steaming away for a conclusion as to why this did that or why this made that sound. She was tempted to explain but didn't want to spoil his fun.
"As far as I can remember."
"Oh. Do you happen to remember your name?"
He thought for a few minutes, fiddling with the seatbelt and the windows.
"Erik, its Erik," he paused for a moment. "Mademoiselle? Does this 'car' run on an engine like in a train?" Erik asked curiously. Wren looked over at him in surprise before nodding.
"Sort of. Except it doesn't run on coal. Hey, how the hell did you figure that out if you're from another century?" She asked in suspicion. Erik merely gave her a secretive glance before letting his lips quirk in amusement.
"I had the same idea a long, long time ago. I thought it was a failure so I forgot all about it. I suppose I shouldn't have?"
"Uh, no! You'd've been about fifty times more richer than the king of…South America or something." Erik gave a quiet laugh which made her turn and look at the weary man. "What? What's so funny?"
"You have a wonderful way of speech, mademoiselle. That and South America does not have…ah, never mind."
"No, what?"
"Non, non, never mind."
"C'mon, what the hell? What were you gonna say?" she asked in a light laughing way, annoyed but fascinated. Was this man from another century who had lost his memory, insulting her intelligence? Granted politics or world history (whichever category this fell into) was not her specialty, but still…
Erik merely laughed again before looking out the window, staring as the line of trees opened up to a vista of grey green waters and cloudy skies. Wren glared at him from the corner of her eye, playfully annoyed.
Contemplating his lack of knowledge of current technology, Wren decided to show him what she had in her arsenal.
Reaching over, she grabbed the volume knob and with a flick of a wrist she blared the music at a more than moderate level, allowing the thudding music of SPF1000 to mount. Erik jumped, clasping his hands over his ears, his heart leaping up in his throat, pounding hard. His blue eyes widened considerably and he looked about as if he was under attack.
Wren laughed hard, tears in her eyes before turning down the radio. Erik slowly removed his hands, staring at her incredulously as she slapped the steering wheel and giggled.
"That was so fucking hilarious!"
"Was it? Glad I could amuse you," Erik grumbled, glaring at her as she calmed down, her eyes slightly teary, running her makeup.
"Sorry, but you were pissing me off a little. Anywho, you hungry?" she asked, turning her radio to a low thud, listening to 'You're Gonna Be My Angel'. Erik nodded and sunk in his seat before looking at her in disgruntled annoyance.
"Is it so common for ladies to have such foul language, mademoiselleWren?" he inquired in half contempt and disgust. Wren turned a shocked and outraged look on him before nodding. Was he really going on about her word choices now?
"Hell, yes it is. Welcome to the future. And just so you know, I have very good language, thank you, compared to some of the whores out there!" she exclaimed in a very self-dignified manner. Truth be told, she didn't normally speak this way. It came out as a self-defense mechanism to not appear as shy and timid as she normally felt. The vulgarity felt especially strong when attractive men were nearby. It was better than stuttering or becoming bashful which her normal response was.
Erik rolled his eyes before smirking and chuckling amusedly. Wren glared at him as she pulled through the off-ramp of Brookings, looking for the Taco Bell. His somewhat condescending manner of speech toward her was quickly raising her temper. There was nothing worse than being looked down on for her. It seemed like everyone did it and normally it pissed her off pretty easily. But this was insulting, especially when it's by someone that she's doing a favor for.
"You know what? You need to stop that whole look you've got. So I'm not all, 'Hey, look at me, I'm sophistic-mated. I eat caviar and raise my pinky when I drink my tea'," she growled heatedly, drastically flipping out and knowing it. Wildly swinging into the parking lot she made her back wheels skid and squeal in protest. Erik clutched the 'oh shit' handle and leaned back, trying to not fly through the windshield. To be honest, part of her was just enjoying him freaking out.
"S'excuser, mademoiselle! S'il te plaît, s'apaiser!" Erik hollered, struggling with the seatbelt that locked and constricted his broad chest. Wren growled and swung the car into the drive through, frustrated that she couldn't understand his French. Slamming on the brake in front of the order menu, she caused the Jeep to jolt hard enough to send Erik's forehead into his window.
"Zut! Sacré! Infecte pute!" he swore, covering his throbbing brow with a hand, feeling a large lump growing. Wren turned and glared at him. He similarly glowered at her in response from under his nursing hand.
"I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm sure it's not very nice! Don't condescend to me!" she snapped before turning back to the speaker.
"'Ello, 'elcome to Tako Bell. Ceen I take yoor orer?" a heavily Spanish accented voice crackled over the speaker. Wren rolled her eyes at the stereotypical-ness of it all and looked over the plastic covered board.
"Uhhh…two Stuft steak Burritos with guacamole and sour cream. And…two medium cokes," she responded, pulling out her wallet from a purse on the passenger floorboard. Sifting through, she listened to the read-back and pulled forward, drawing out a twenty dollar bill.
Taking a deep breath and letting her simmering temper cool down, Wren realized that she over reacted a bit. Perhaps she was vulgar in comparison to women of his time or even perhaps in her own. This whole thing just unsettled her and made her edgy. Ready to apologize for her behavior, she glanced over at Erik and blinked in surprise.
The exchange over the intercom had deviated his attention away from his injury and her wrath. His eyes had narrowed in clever analysis, studying the drive through set up, brow furrowed in thought. As they waited for the cashier to open the window, she waved a hand over his gaze, distracting him. His vision slide back towards her, giving her shivers at its intensity.
"You alright?" she asked softly, before remembering the large swollen bruise on the side of his forehead. "Um, sorry about that. I just didn't like the way you were talking to me. I get angry too fast sometimes and let it get the better of me. I'm sorry."
He nodded to her apology and turned to gaze outside. "I also allow my temper too much freedom, mademoiselle. I apologize if my words made you feel belittled."
Retrieving and paying for her food, Wren drove them to a parking space, rolling down her windows and turning off the engine. She dug through the bag, pulling out a grilled burrito and handing it to him, satisfied that they were back on good terms. Setting a large cup in his holder she started on her food.
"What is this?" he asked confusedly. Wren looked to see him staring in amazed curiosity at the open wrapping. She swallowed and took a drink of her coke-a-cola.
"It's a burrito. You know, Mexican food."
"Mexico?"
"Sort of. This is like Americanized Mexican food, meaning it's been fried in fat and shit," she chomped on hers again. There was that damn vulgarity again. She really had to work on that. "It's good, don't worry."
Almost timidly he nibbled on the tortilla, biting into the soft, doughy material.
After chewing a moment, he frowned, eyeing the internal contents of the now opened rolled food. She watched silently as he poked one large, clever finger into the burrito, pulling out a scoop of beans and meat sauce. Carefully he eyed it before licking at the finger.
For a blatant moment, Wren found herself staring at him, at the way his wet, pink tongue scraped off the sauce, before disappearing into his tempting mouth. She felt her own watering at the simple movement. How could anyone be so sensual in such a stupid act?
"Mademoiselle?"
Wren shook her head, furiously, her cheeks flushing at being caught before looking up at him, at all of him, not just his mouth. It was hard to look at him as a whole for she wanted to inspect every inch, to feel the smooth lines of his face. He just looked so…edible himself.
Embarrassed by her thoughts to the point of madness, Wren chomped into her food to appear busy and forced a hard swallow. Clearing her throat she gave a grunt at him, trying to appear preoccupied by her burrito. It didn't sound intelligent, hell, it sounded like a mating call of a Neanderthal but it was all she could manage.
"Are you sure your husband would not mind me staying at your home? I do not believe this is at all appropriate, mademoiselle," he inquired politely but sternly, as if trying to gently reprimand her for being too generous. Before the sentence was even completely finished, Wren gagged, choking on a bit of ground beef which managed to lodge itself in her esophagus.
Apologetically, Erik patted her back timidly, watching her as if her response was surprising. Finally, after many an embarrassing moment of coughing and hacking up a lung, Wren managed to give a weak laugh.
"I'm not married! I don't even have a boyfriend!"
A slight frown crossed his brow. He gestured to her nose.
"Then why is your nose pierced in the traditional marriage stud of the east?"
"Dude, okay, nowadays, this," she pointed to her piercing, "Does not mean I'm married. It's just cool looking. I've never even had a long term relationship past a year, okay?"
For some reason this seemed confusing and appalling to him.
"If I may ask, how old are you?"
"Erm, twenty-three and a half. My birthday's in August."
Again he was inappropriately disturbed, eyeing her in open curiosity and amazement. Blankly, she remembered that in his time, women were married off at seventeen or so. At her age, she would have been considered an old maid and a complete embarrassment.
Wren stopped attempting to eat and instead fiddled with the edge of her skirt, suddenly ashamed of herself. Erik said nothing but instead took to studying her intently with his brilliant blue eyes. She was starting to feel angry again but this time it was almost desperate, as if her status was now being questioned by the world. For some reason, she felt like she needed to defend herself from his scrutiny. When she could no longer stand his silent gaze she blurted out the pathetic reality of it all.
"Okay, I know I'm starting to get up there in years and it's sort of pathetic that I'm not even dating. And, yeah, my friends are all married or are marrying, two of them have kids and they've got families and houses and…and…I know I should be doing those sort of things," she explained desperately, her hands moving in exaggerated movements. She felt as if she couldn't even pepper it with swear words because it was so true. Why on earth was she telling the truth of what had been bothering her to a complete, brain addled stranger?
"And I know it's sort of sad that I'm living alone in a little apartment and I'm working full time and going to college and I've got nothing else…and…and…." finally she drifted off, unable to find anything else to really excuse herself. Despite her convictions, she couldn't look at him. She vaguely wondered if these confessions were for her or for his scrutinizing stare.
When he said nothing, just continued to stare, she managed to look at him, no longer interested in even eating anymore. His eyes were slightly glazed, distant and thoughtful as he considered her, eyebrows soft and mouth tender in pondering. Wren sighed dejectedly and sank in her seat.
"So, yeah, that's why I'm not married and why it's okay for you to stay for a while. It's dumb but what can I say? It's how it is. I don't like it but…" she shrugged and stared off at the distant ocean, her honeyed brown eyes sad. Finally she heard him move slightly and clear his throat.
"I apologize for asking such a personal question. I will refrain and think more thoroughly of what I say before saying it," he murmured soothingly, as if he was the one who had rescued her from the beach. Wren smiled softly, not really happy with the response.
"Don't worry about it. I just wasn't prepared for that. No one has ever asked me if I was married before. Never looked the type for it, I guess. I just…I can't seem to find anyone worth being with."
He still looked at her thoughtfully, as if her explanation did not fully cover his confusion. Was it that common for people just to get married back then? Why was this such a hard thing to understand? Wren's mouth felt like it just wanted to run without her consent. It was his stare that made her feel compelled to explain further.
"Men today just seem so petty and stupid. Guys just want a pretty, stupid tree branch with makeup to entertain themselves with. I'm just not that," she explained dryly, her own insides smarting at that. She sat up a little and turned to him, displaying herself as she was. "I mean, look at me! I'm not small, I'm not slender or feminine. I have a brain, which apparently marks you as untouchable. My hands," she held them up, "are scarred and burnt and rough from working nine to ten hours then going to school. I'm just not…well, in the end, I'm not married and there isn't anyone waiting at home that might beat you up."
Before she could protest or lower her hands, Erik seized them in his own, enclosing her cold fingers in his warm, soft ones. Wren watched in stunned, amazed silence as he looked down at her palms. He gently ran his thumb pads over the burn scars, pink on her wrists and brown on the inside of her hands. Shivers ran up her back and the underneath of her legs as he studied the calluses and scars. What was strange was that he did not do it as an attempt at seduction but merely in study.
After a long time, he finally looked up at her, a small smile on his handsome face. For it was handsome, despite the deformity, which he didn't even bother to hide any longer. Wren hardly even noticed that side; it wasn't quite as important as she imagined it should be.
"I see nothing wrong with your hands, mademoiselle, in fact, I think they are better than many," he said gently, his eyes intently searching her own confused one. He seemed slightly puzzled as if trying to remember something dreadfully important. "They are not slender or frail, but strong and characteristic. They work, they know, they feel and understand. Scars are not ugly but they reveal a person's life and what they have suffered. For that is what life is, non? Living past suffering? Who wants flawless, delicate hands who know nothing…who feel nothing…who suffer not at all…and can accomplish nothing?"
Unable to form a true intelligible answer, Wren merely nodded, painfully aware that she was being complimented by him. Or compared. To whom, she couldn't be for sure. She clenched her fingers a little, confused by the kindness of his words. He finally focused on her, realizing she had something to say.
"It's too bad that people don't understand that sort of thing here. And it's too bad that I don't really believe you," she admitted in a sad, sardonic tone. Relishing the feeling of his warm, comforting hands over her own for one final moment, she slid her cold ones free, turning to wrap up her burrito for breakfast.
Erik said nothing, his hands lying still in his lap, watching her intently as she turned on the Jeep, pulling it into reverse, blinking away her confusion.
"Let's get out of here."