Part 4:

((part 5 is done already, should I upload it right away or make you wait for it?))

E-

Weeks go by. In the beginning, she keeps her promise of messaging me, about her day, her thoughts, with questions. It is sweet, and I enjoy the thoughtfulness of each message, and take great care to reply with the same care and consideration.

But by the end of the second week, her messages stop without explanation. She simply vanishes. She does not come to the shop, she does not send Darius to fetch me, there is no sign that she ever existed, save for the eight by twelve page of drawings still hanging in my workroom downstairs and the dozens of emails I have in my inbox. I read through them, over and over again, wondering what I have done that sent her away so abruptly.

We were in a heated back and forth about some film and cinematography versus books and novels when she stopped. My browser informed me that she was offline, which had been common throughout our conversations previous. She was often at work, after all, and couldn't spend all her focus on some man through her phone, I'm sure. But she never came back online. I waited. I waited a day.

I sent her a message, a reminder, asking if she was busy. She was still offline, but perhaps her cell phone would notify her? Silence ensued. A day later I sent another message. I have not sent anymore.

I am not sure why it bothers me so much that she has disappeared. I want to believe that, for her sake, she has simply decided I was not worth her time and done the only reasonable thing she could to get rid of me. But I fear worse, I fear that she is somehow harmed or missing, or even worse still. I have no proof, no way of knowing, and Darius has been too busy in the shop for me to send on an errand like stalking a girl for me. And as I cannot leave myself..

I force myself to act on the assumption that she is removing me from her life. It's the reasonable assumption. This is a safe, quiet city, and I am certain Christine has no enemies, and even if she did, she can, indeed, handle her own protection. So she has grown bored of me, as I predicted, as is safe for her. Fine. Fine.

I try to take her sudden absence with grace and understanding. I do not succeed.

I grow angry, at her, at myself, at believing, even for those short weeks, that it could last any longer than that. Nothing of happiness can last for me. Nothing stays.

I do my work and retreat back to my home. I take care of my garden in the early morning and in the late evening. The dish grows rotten in the fridge, for I cannot bear to look at it and think of that odd but wonderful evening spent in the company of another person for the first time in a decade. I stop caring about anything other than work, music, an hour or so of sleep, and repeating.

I play my anger through my faithful violin. She has never left me. She sings for me, moans and cries and bellows my frustration and my discontent. She feels all these things for me, so that I will not tear the world and myself apart. I fear that I begin to fall apart anyway, and days blur as I fail even to sleep. I cannot rest my mind long enough for the rest of me to either, and I become manic as time passes without my recognition..

Until one day, Darius knocks on my door. I growl and drag myself to the door, leaning heavily on everything on the way there, hardly able to stand. I fling the door open, and the boy jumps.

"What?" I ask, belligerent.

"Your girl is here. She's in the back, I told her she could wait for you there." He speaks rapidly, still shrunken. "You might wanna clean up, though."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Your girl- Christine. She's waiting in the garden for you, but she didn't look too great. I mean- she's still pretty, just, she seemed really unwell, you know?"

"Christine?" I repeat dumbly. She's here? Could it be? "Thank you, Darius." I finally say, and Darius nods before heading back down the stairs. I shut the door to the shop and quickly spruce myself up. A brush through my hair, a fresh shirt, and the inside of my mask cleaned, and I head out into the back, the last part of Darius' message starting, too slow, to worry me.

I step out onto the porch, still woefully unbalanced, but something akin to excitement urges me on. There she is, arms and head resting on one of the back planters, sound asleep. The lines under her eyes are deep enough that I can see them from up here.. what has she been up to that it would exhaust her so?

Despite what must be cold stone by now, the shadows of the fence concealing the warm light of the sun, she is pressed down on the ground and the planter, bare legs and arms seeming not to care for the roughness. As I haltingly take the stairs, I can see her shivering, even in her sleep. It must have been a warm day today, then, for she is wearing a tank and shorts, and those boots she does so seem to adore. She must not have expected the garden to be so cold this evening, or perhaps she came here impromptu, on some whim.

I try not to trace the outline of her legs, but it is difficult when there is a long tattoo riding the outside. I want to know her, I want to understand her, but I do not want to take anything of her. I avoid the tattoo, then, and focus on her face. She is tired, stressed, exhausted here on the ground. I stumble as I near her, and she wakes, blinking.

"Erik! Buddy!" She exclaims, voice shaking off sleep. She pushes herself up to lean on the planter, rather than lie draped over its edge.

"Christine.. what are you doing here?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"I should've called, I know but.. you would not believe the month I've had. My phone died, like, died died. It was like six years old but I never thought it'd bite the dust like that, out of the blue. And I don't own a regular computer anymore- I cannot believe how much internet costs- so I couldn't message you. I wanted to call or have someone at the shop call, but it got so busy all of a sudden- I was booked for weeks. And then, to try to come up with extra to get a new phone, I picked up a second job from one of my clients designing, like, Hallmark cards. It's been a lot of fun working traditional again but it's kept me so busy in my downtime and so tired that I couldn't even walk down here to talk to you, and I tried, I really, really tried." Here she yawns as though she needed a testimony to her story. "But I got my new phone today! My emails the same but I figured I should come tell you my number." She smiles sweetly, eyes pink from lack of sleep. She shows me her new phone, flatter and wider than the last.

"Alas, I still do not have a cell phone." I mourn, half-joking. She smiles a little wider and pulls out a second phone.

"It was some silly deal. Buy one get one free. I told them I live alone but they really would not let me leave without the second one. So.. you have a phone now! I hope black is okay." She presses the device into my hand.

"I-" I stutter, once, and then lose all ability to speak. I cannot.. understand this. I have never received a gift like this before. "Thank you, I- I've never.. I'm.." I try to say something, anything, but I am at a loss. Christine surprises me with a hug, then, and I am stunned still as well as silent. I nearly drop the phone, I am so unable to process what is happening.

"I'm so sorry it took so long. It was an impossible month. I keep thinking I shoulda been able to visit or something but I didn't feel like I had any time or I was literally too tired to stand and I really, really missed you." She mumbles, face pressed into the neck of my collared shirt. I feel something wet there, and I realize she's crying.

"Christine-" I start to tell her it's fine, she's fine, but then I realize how warm she is, even in the cold, even considering her walk or ride over, especially compared to how she felt last time. "Are you feeling well?" I push her back to look at her. I thought it was the sleep still wearing off, but her eyes are unfocused and red, and she is pale, almost as pale as I am.

"No, actually. I think I caught somethin' working so hard, but it was worth it to get my phone back. I probly shouldn't stay, though, so I don't get you sick, too, but.. Had to come say hi."

"And I am.. so glad that you did. But I must insist that you stay. You are unwell, and-" And I cannot walk you home or tuck you into bed or help you should you leave. "-I can take care of you here, at least for a little while."

"I still have work tomorrow, though.. and I really don't want to get you sick. I can take care of myself. Been doin' it for a couple years." She says, defiant, but she looks like she's on the brink of sleep again, and her temperature just spiked under my hand. She can't even seem to support herself, my hands on her arms being all that's kept her upright.

"You don't have to, not this time, at least. Besides, your contagious period is already over if you're showing symptoms now. I am not likely to catch anything just from sharing a room with you at this point."

"Oh. Well…" She thinks, eyes fluttering weakly. "Kay." She acquiesces with a nod, and I give a breath of relief. I stand, tucking my new phone- she gave me a phone- into my pocket, and try to pull her to her feet, but she is as unbalanced as I am, and weaker, or perhaps simply too tired. I stoop back down to pick her up, and she slides easily into my arms, not even questioning me. She puts her arms around my neck, and she is heavier than I imagined as I scoop her up. I also remember to grab her bag, though I have to crouch down again to do so. I feel myself nearly tip over, but I manage to keep myself and my precious cargo from falling. Perhaps failing to eat for several days combined with failing to sleep for nearly two weeks is not the best state to be in when trying to care for another human being, but it's what we have to work with.

It's not impossible, not even terribly difficult to carry her, though keeping balance is where the struggle lies. I manage, I think, quite well, even in getting us both through the door. I set her on the couch, first, then get her a glass of ice water, which she mumbles a thank you for.

"I need to change the sheets. Just rest here for now, and yell if you need anything." I tell her, and she nods. Hastily, and with much fumbling, I tear my weeks-old sheets off my bed and replace them. I hesitate to put the comforter on, though, unsure if that would make it too warm for her already feverish body, but would it perhaps help her get through it faster? I am unsure. My own days of fever, limited though they may be, usually pass in blurs of half-waking attempts to make myself comfortable, and failing. We'll have to see. Perhaps the endless resource of the internet can provide some knowledge..

Still, the bed is fresh and ready for Christine, and I can ask her about her preferences myself.

I stagger over to her, getting lightheaded from all this exertion, but I will care for myself after she is settled. I pull her back into my arms, finding her already and for the most part asleep. I set her down on my fluffy queen sized bed, the curtains providing nearly total darkness. It's the only way I can find any sleep, normally, but will she find it peaceful? She groans as she settles into the lush mattress, her breathing heavy.

"Is there anything I can get or do for you?" I ask her, deeply concerned. She looks up at me, and I wonder what she thinks of me. Am I looming in the dark, a threat? Am I a mystery, an intrigue she cannot resist, or am I perhaps something, someone she trusts?"

"Is there any music? Can't sleep without.. new phone doesn't have any.." She breathes. I remember how I the smashed cd player, destroyed it in a fit of self-directed anger, and how I have been fixing it slowly these past few days, but it's nowhere near to functionality. But I also remember my violin, my faithful friend, sitting in her case..

"I think I can provide something." I assure her, pulling the sheet over her, which she pulls up to her chin, and leave her to the restful dark. As I gently pry my violin from her case, my heart quakes. I have not played in front of another person, or even performed such that someone could hear me, since my childhood, a time and place that feels three lifetimes past. But if it will bring her comfort.. I put the bow to the strings, giving her and I both a test. The sound is true, and I sigh, ready, or at least a little more ready to play.

I walk back towards the curtain to stand at what would be the foot of the bed, and, steadying myself, draw the bow in the start of a lullaby. It's one of my own, unfortunately, the only thing that will come to mind, the most natural song for the situation. I can't seem to remember how to place my hands or form the chords for anything else. Still, it is one of my favorites of my own, and I think it is suitable. I hear no complaints or praise from Christine, but I take it to mean that it's working, that it fills the air enough that she can rest.

Like before, I let the violin speak for me, pouring the amorous ease I feel into and out of the singing strings. I am.. so glad to know that it was not by choice that Christine stayed away, and it was by choice that she returned, when she could. I am ashamed for my fitful, tantrum-like response to her reprieve, now knowing that it was an unfortunate necessity she would not have otherwise taken on. I am both gladdened and despairing to know that she worked herself into this state for me, for our fragile and new friendship, which we both are eager to eventually become more..

I have to remind myself that this is a poor idea, on all accounts. I cannot do right by her, in the end. I am doomed to failure. Can I still take what I will from our time together, knowing that it will only make it worse when everything finally does come to an end? Is that fair to her? I tried to express this to her before, but was I not clear enough? Did she perhaps shrug it off, thinking it could be worked through, not knowing all the details? I do not know.

I stop myself from worrying at the moment, and turn to the music for comfort, for the both of us..

C-

I wake up in a tangle of black, sheer sheets, feeling sweaty and gross on the outside, but.. fresh on the inside. Better. The fog that I'd had over my brain the past few days is clear, finally. I thought it was just exhaustion catching up to me for the longest time, but I think I really was sick these past few days, and all I needed was some rest to clear it away. I pull my hair out of my face, trying to straighten it in the dark, wondering where I am exactly..

Until I remember leaving the parlor yesterday, the paying for of two new phones, and my ecstatic bike ride over, as well as collapsing in the garden, excited but exhausted. Erik asked me to stay, and, in my mild delirium, I said yes. I remember hazy dreams after that, music and dresses and suits, masks and candles and ribbon, dances, songs, lights... All of it feeling familiar but distant, like a past life or a memory. But here I am, in this bed, in this life, awake.

But that means.. I'm in Erik's bed, so where is he? I feel my face warm as I pat the empty bed next to me, just making sure. Not that I would ever suspect him of doing something gross, especially not to a sick and sleeping girl, but I'm not sure how I would react if I'd slept in the same bed as, well, anyone else. But no, he's not here, so where is he?

Wobbly on my feet, I still feel a little weak, and hungry, but I part the curtain that separates the bed from the room. The light is almost blinding compared to the inside of the black-out curtains, but I adjust. Then, I spot him, drawn out across the couch, head tilted back over the arm, one leg up on the other arm, the other leg hanging off the side. In his hands, he holds the violin, still poised to play. Was the music not entirely part of the dream, then? Or was it what inspired the dream?

As I approach Erik, I hear him lightly snoring, eyes flitting under the mask. It seems heavy against his cheeks, uncomfortably weighted with his head back like this. I have a strong inclination to take it off, to ease that weight, but before I can fully lift my hand in consideration, I remember the dream. I'm not sure what about it is applicable to this, but it stops me. I have a feeling, a deep, lingering feeling that to do this, to see whatever he looks like, like this, without his consent and as a surprise.. would ruin everything. My intention was kindness, but I'd be lying if I said curiosity didn't play a part in the thought.

I retreat, deciding it's definitely best to let Erik reveal himself in his own time, if he ever chooses to. He doesn't owe me his secrets, after all. Even if things get serious between us, it's his choice. There are things I still can't imagine talking about.. things I'd rather forget than ever admit to out loud ever again.

I check around for my things, wondering, needing to know what time it is. I still have work, after all. I find my bag behind the couch, my phone tucked inside. I'm surprised to find it's only six in the morning. I don't have to be in to work for another two hours, but I feel like I slept for a whole day. Well, I guess if I got here around eight last night, then I did sleep for almost twelve hours.. Still, I have a lot of time to go home and change and head in.. If I leave in half an hour.

But I don't want to disappear from Erik's house so soon, so abruptly, and without even thanking him.. but I also don't want to wake him. From what I can remember of last night, he seemed not too good himself, but I was so excited to give him his new phone and just see him that I was almost willfully ignorant of it. Now, though..

He needs his sleep, so I won't wake him. And, because I'm not sure where his phone is or if he'll think to check it, I pull out my sketchbook to write him a note. I take my time to think of something sweet to say, but even so my handwriting is so small that it hardly takes up any room.. I feel awkward leaving so much white space on any page, let alone something that should mean something. I pace around the room, unsure what to do. He really like that drawing I did, but there aren't any flowers in here right now. There's some cute little potted plants on the counter, but I'm not familiar with them, and I'd like to do something that will obviously mean something, so..

I look back at Erik, still asleep, unaware of my internal struggle. He's so peaceful right now.. And then, sketchbook in hand, I get an idea. Maybe it's cheesy, maybe he won't like it, but it's what I want to draw right now, so I set myself down on the floor, across from him, and get to sketching..

For me, drawing, or any art, really, has been really meaningful. All through school, cds and sketchbooks and notebooks were all I ever did for fun, for myself. It's my purpose, what I draw the most joy from, what makes me love being the most, at least day to day. To draw is to love, and though it's way too soon to label whatever we've got going on as 'love', it could certainly end up that way, couldn't it? And love doesn't necessarily have to be a big, grand, scary kind of thing, either. It can be a slow, small, and gentle kind of thing, too. And he doesn't have to know right away how precious my art is to me, how much it just.. means. It can just be a thank you gift, an appreciative gesture..

I draw hard and fast, having little time to fuss about complete accuracy, though somethings I do fawn over just a little bit. The hard edge of his mask, for example, and the way it sleekly frames the side of his face, a near-perfect borderline of face and hair. I love how his long, brown locks are usually neatly tied back, but here they've fallen loose, or been worked free from restless sleep against the arm of the couch. I focus on the slight part of his lips, the faint lines there and the small shadows they cast. I linger on his hands, leaving the violin, beautiful though it is, more as a block of tangled lines and overall shape, needing instead to capture the delicate way his spindly fingers rest against it. I wish I could imply the steady but slow and almost hesitant way he breathes, but my single sheet of paper and limited time makes this impossible- for now.

For the first time, I feel like I want to kiss him.

This isn't a new thing, for me. I've kissed boys and even girls before, but after a long process of getting to know them, of first acquiring permission and understanding and sometimes even safety. My parents may have been open-minded, but sometimes the world at large is not, after all. But now, now it's a small, casual, but needy little desire to plant even a small peck of a kiss on him. It's fast, it's easy, it's so.. strange. Maybe it's as a kind of thank you, maybe because, like I said before, to draw is to love or more realistically it's to fall in love, or maybe it's something else, a simple want for touch rather than something bigger or more profound. I don't know.

I can't do it, of course, because he's asleep and that would be weird so early on, when we're not even sure where all this is heading, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to anyway. I check my phone and see my allotted half hour has passed.. so I regretfully tear the page from my book and place it on the bed, where I'm sure he'll go to look for me first. Then I pull together my few things, slip on my shoes- though I don't remember taking them off- and head out the garden door, feeling at ease and just happy..