Chapter 7 – A Fine Mess

And so here he was. Susan had taken her leave, patting the bewildered Jonathon on the shoulder and assuring him everything would work out and leaving him with a card titled "Learning Through Play School – Susan Sto Helit, Instructor" and admonished him to contact her if things got out of hand.

He knocked on the door.

And waited. She was home, he knew she was. He had seen her go inside.

He knocked again, a bit more insistently.

He waited another minute, then knelt down to the letter slot. I'm not going to just wait out here like this, he grimly told himself. I know she is upset, Susan told me, and she is not going to sit in there alone and stew in it. Letting her do that is not what I should do.

"Myria, it's…it's Jonathon, Jonathon Knäcke. Let me in."

Silence.

"Myria, I know you have been through some…things. Miss Susan told me some of what happened."

He thought he heard a sob through the door, though it was hard to tell. "You aren't alone you know. I… I care what happens to you. I would not have said," but Susan threatened me with bodily injury "but I would very much like to be your friend Myria." He was sure he heard a gasp this time. She had to be just inside the door.

"Let me in, Myria. You don't have to be inside there by yourself."

That was what did it. He was talking about the room, the house. But that isn't what she heard. She wasn't living in the house or the room. She was living in the dark emptiness behind her eyes, cut off from everything and everyone else. His words were a floating branch to a drowning man, and she clung to it with every ounce of will and sanity she had left. Tears streaming, she reached up from the floor and unlocked the door, one bolt at a time, then slumped back next to it, wrapping her arms around herself with eyes closed.

Jonathon entered slowly. She felt and heard the door open and close. He locked it, which was somehow a comfort. Then he was kneeling in front of her; she could sense him there. She opened her eyes and saw in his face… concern, she thought. Pity? Fear? She was still not good at reading faces sometimes.

"Myria, don't… don't cry. It's ok. Oh my, you are all banged up, aren't you." He held out his hands. "A horse eh? I don't think that is from falling, and I don't think there was any horse, was there?" Myria blinked at him.

"Wha…" she croaked, swallowed. "What did Susan tell you?"

"Probably just enough, but I suspect not nearly the whole truth."

She kept her arms folded. "If you knew the truth, you would not want to be my friend, you would not even want to know me." She shivered. She didn't believe he would stay, but her eyes had an unspoken plea. It almost broke his heart.

"We can worry about that later. Right now, let's get you off the floor, milady." He gave a crooked grin when he said that, unlike his former deference. Tugging at her arms, he got her hands free and pulled her to her feet, helping her to the sofa. He smiled again as he looked over the drawing room, empty except for the plain sofa, a couple of chairs and a table. And the painting. His smile broadened. It was a remarkably bad painting. But he had not commented on it before. If he had known it was an attempt to copy a portrait from the royal museum, he would have been either amused or horrified.

The feral tom that was periodically present appeared to want no part in her emotional breakdown and was nowhere to be seen. That's cats for you. Myria on the other hand was a mess, he had to admit. Of course had he seen her up close two hours earlier, he would have thought this a huge improvement. Now she just looked ill-used. She was dressed plainly, probably overcompensating for her earlier excesses. Her normally straight black hair for instance had the hinted beginnings of tangles. Her face was pale with sorrow instead of her normal alabaster beauty, except for her eyes and nose, which were red-tinged. He gathered the white throw from the back of the chair and tucked her into the corner of the sofa, pulled out his own kerchief, and wiped her cheeks and held it in front of her.

"Blow."

She looked at him..."Whuh?"

"Blow… your nose, trust me you'll feel better." She just looked at him. "Gods, air, Myria, close your mouth and blow air out through your nose." She considered his words, shrugged a bit, and did as he said. And remarkably felt slightly better. Bodies are just stupid, she decided. They leak fluids whenever they get worked up, and make a mess of everything. What good can it possibly do you to leak water from your eyes? She said as much.

He stared at her, gooey kerchief in one hand, and thought two things, one that it was a strange question, and worded strangely too. The other was "Er, well… that is a good question. I'd never thought of it. I suppose I always thought it was just… just what happened. It doesn't have to have a reason does it?" He looked thoughtful again. "Of course, it does accomplish something."

"What good can it possibly do?"

"Well, on the one hand, I think it helps kind of get the emotions out. You know, keeps 'em from bottling up in there. It's a miserable man that has to sit and stew in his own sorrows. And on the other hand, a lady crying her eyes out… that's like a magnet for a friend to come tend to her. See what can be done." He smiled, and an ache in her chest eased a bit.

"I – I see. Yes, I understand. It is a communication thing. Yes, and so you are taking care of me because I was distressed."

"Well yes, but not just because you were crying. I came to see you before I knew that, you know."

She tilted her head to one side. "You called me Myria. You never called me that before."

"Well, I was told on good authority that friends did not call each other 'My Lady'," and on pain of…well pain. "You are not cross with me, are you?"

"No!" she looked alarmed. "No, of course not. I do not mind at all. I think I enjoy it actually. But I meant what I said, you should not want to be my friend. I don't know how to be a friend. I'm not even who you think I am." She seemed close to crying again.

Sometimes, the proper and intelligent thing to do is not the thing to do. The logical thing would be to agree that he didn't know all about her, that he wasn't a hundred percent sure who or what she was. He knew Susan had held back things, but he didn't believe she meant to harm him. The proper and intelligent thing to do was to explain all that, and work through it all.

Humans are not proper and intelligent creatures in general. And that is because often, being improper and rather dumb works better in a pinch. They can also be impulsive. He had been lying to himself and to Susan; that he wanted to be a friend. The truth was he had a rather unhealthy dose of infatuation.

So he told the truth and he lied, without words and without letting his common sense get in the way. He leaned in quickly and gave her a most chaste and gentle kiss. In all frankness, as fairy tale kisses go it was pretty sad. The merest brush of closed lips. "Shush, Myria."

And she did.

She had little choice. When he had moved his face toward her, she'd had no idea what to expect, but something in the back of her mind did. It might have been fight or flight, but it turned out there was a third built-in option. Her eyes closed of their own accord. Her breathing slowed, and she felt… exquisite. A sensation like fire, like…like chocolate smelled, like the fresh bread had tasted, roared across her lips and seared through her. Fireworks exploded into her mind and she sat still, forgetting to breathe, as she watched the pretty lights in the darkness.

But she wasn't alone. Even in the darkness behind the eyes, she could feel his presence next to her, and a warmth spread through her. She opened her eyes and realized only a few seconds had passed and he was looking at her carefully, appearing a bit flushed himself.

"Um…better?" Now it was his turn to consider whether to kill himself.

She looked at him, felt a giggle coming on, and instead grabbed his head in both hands and tried to kiss him back…and…

"Oh dear… I think you may have overdone it, Myria." He shook her a bit. "Myria?" Yep, out cold just like that first time with the bread, but smiling, and she was breathing and no fuzziness. He leaned back and let out a slow shuddered breath. Then he smiled and shook his head. "I think I may have bypassed the whole 'friendship' bit, Miss Susan. Hope you don't mind terribly." Laughing at himself, he arranged Myria more comfortably, and retucked the blanket around her. He found her knapsack and discovered to his wonder the tin he had given her earlier contained…hmm…the wafer batch he had just finished that afternoon. Well, well, well.

Then he curled up in a nearby chair, and dozed off himself.