Part 5:

E-

When I wake, it is a slow affair. My sleep was dreamless, a blessing, and as my eyes slowly draw themselves open, I am not aware of it consciously, until suddenly I am simply awake. I keep still, feeling entirely too comfortable to stir and ruin it. But my mask irritates my face, only becoming worse the longer I try to ignore it. I cannot ignore it any longer, and I take a look around, but see no sign of a waking, wandering Christine, and so allow myself to pull it off, the fresh air immediately sweeping in, relieving the warmth and the pressure. I rub the places it sat too heavily, causing indents, mild headaches forming behind the skin. But, unsure of the time and Christine's status, I return the mask to where it ultimately belongs and stand, carefully placing my violin in her case.

I had played until I couldn't stand any longer, and then I played until I couldn't pace, and then I played until I could not keep my eyes open.. I fell asleep playing, but it was sweet, natural, easy. Much of my sleep is forced, but this, this was simple. I don't remember all of what I played, surely lapsing into improvisation, but I know that it was an attempt to express the genuine caring, fluttering feeling I have for my newfound friend.

Gently, I peer inside the curtain, expecting to find her still sleeping, but she's gone. The bed is made, and she's left a note. For a moment I can barely conceive of sleeping through her waking and leaving, unable to grasp the concept. I am a terribly light sleeper, my caretaker having once swore that the sound of the rising of the sun could wake me. I sorely needed it, but I still find it difficult to believe that I slept well or deeply enough to miss her.

Finally coming to peace with the fact that it happened, I take a look at her note. The top of it is a tightly penned couple of lines of words, her actual message. It reads:

Woke up before you did and had to go home to get ready for the day. Thank you for lending me your bed, and thank you for playing last night! I had really pretty dreams about it. Sorry I had to leave so early though. Can I come back tonight? I'll bring dinner! Just text me!

And then her signature and her number and another heart, but below that..

A drawing of me. It takes up more than half the page. I'm not sure how to feel about it. The lines are, like last time, astoundingly elegant, but the form they make up, this time, is something I do not relate to beauty. Myself. I note the accurate thinness of my wrists and craned neck, the point of my ears, the streaks of untamed hair, my damnable mask.. But the more I stare at it, at her rendition of me, the more I see a life to the drawing that is, in it's own way, appealing.

Yes, she's captured my life, something of my energy in the moment. I see peace in my closed eyes, in my hands still perched and gripping the violin and bow, in the faint purse of my lips.. I daresay that these things, at least, are attractive, appealing. At least how she has rendered them is, in any case. I linger on these, as I wander back out into the studio. As I sit back on the couch, I remember the cell phone in my back pocket, uncomfortable. I must have slept on it, though, and it's a small wonder I didn't break it or myself in my sleep. Then again, I appear to have stayed the way I fell asleep, according to Christine's heartfelt drawing and the ache in my neck and back.

I pull out my phone, and enter her number in the directory. I dislike the screen, it's lack of formal buttons, but it works, and I count myself blessed to even hold the device, let alone own it, to have received it. There is an icon of a landline phone, and another of a letter, as emails have. Hoping I am not misinterpreting these images, I tap on the letter icon, and it pulls up another application, one that looks like the messaging function in my browser. I sigh, feeling childish and unknowing, but grateful to have been correct in this assumption. I will have to ask for instructions on how to more aptly use this, but for now I have managed enough.

I text her that I would love for her to come back over after her job is done for the day, and that anything she chose to bring would be lovely, and then I go back to staring at the drawing, at me, wondering why I am not completely disgusted by it.

I typically hate all representation of myself. I cannot stand photography, especially, but things like this have been presented to me before, albeit much more rarely, and I have always detested them. Perhaps it is the care she put into the drawing. The things she focuses on are delicate and neat, obviously rendered with care, despite the otherwise haste of it. Is it simply because it is from her, this magic woman who's entered my life and who seems intent on staying? Is it because it is from her, and I am an obsessive, maniacal mess of a man who has, consciously or not, chosen her as his new whim?

I remove my mask, setting it on the couch, pleased to leave it there for a while. I more thoroughly rub away the pressures it's left behind and wonder if she could render me so lovingly if I did not hide my face, and the other, more horrible things about me that have nothing to do with the way I like. Well, save for inspiration..

I groan, my head persisting in aching. I feel the slightest bit hungry, but the thought of actually eating makes me nauseous. The bed sounds pleasant, my body still begging for rest, so I text Christine to call or text ahead, and consider ending it with a heart, though I ultimately decide against it. Then, leaving the mask in its place on the couch, I carry myself, back creaking, to the bed, letting myself fall on top of it, not caring to struggle with placing myself underneath the sheet.

The dark feels like a companion, lulling me to sleep, familiar and known and comforting. I wonder if she felt the same way when she slept here, if she was at ease and comforted and happy. Oh god, I think I'm happy. Is this what it's like? To be more than content, or simply pleased, truly, even a tiny bit.. happy? If it is, I will surely never be able to let her go, for if I can even glimpse this feeling again, perhaps this life is worth living..

C-

The day passes quickly, happily, though some residual tiredness makes some things more difficult than normal. I'm still really happy, fluttery with excitement anyway, and nothing goes horribly wrong which is a small miracle on most days. I only have one appointment today, and I'm not accepting walk-ins this afternoon, so I slowly mentally plan out how my evening will go. I nearly squeal when I get my first text from Erik, and then again when I get the second only five minutes later. I could dance, I could sing, I'm just so excited!

And I do. Sing, that is. My client isn't very talkative, and the piece isn't terribly large, but big enough for me to fall into it with focus. Before I really realize it, I'm lowly singing the words of a song I can't quite remember hearing before, simply letting them come and go, whatever feels right. And when I do realize it, I'm too invested in the song to stop. The client says nothing one way or another, but they've relaxed a lot, so I keep going, a little louder, with confidence and purpose. An hour passes this way, until the lines make up a dancing tiger on this man's arm.

He pays, I clean my corner, and I tell Andre that I'm done for the day, to which he nods and wishes me well. I dash out to my bike, and remember that Erik asked me to call ahead when I was coming over. I still have to get our dinner, but it's probably a good idea to call now, before I forget. I call his number, and wait while the phone rings, unlocking my bike..

..

..

"-ello?" I hear him come through, voice strained.

"Hey! It's me! I just got done and work and thought I'd call you before I forgot to!" I reply, chipper.

"Ah, good. When can I expect you?"

"I still have to go get dinner, is chinese okay? Probably it'll be an hour."

"Yes, chinese is will be fine. I assume you mean takeout?"

"Yeah. Is there anything specific you'd like?"

"..Lo mein, if possible."

"I'll see what I can do! So yeah, gotta bike there, wait for it, bike back. I'll be there in about an hour."

"I will be here."

"Awesome. Can't wait! Bye~!" I nearly purr, too excited. I pull the phone from my ear, ready to hang up- I always feel so awkward about hanging up on phone calls but I hate waiting through several minutes of awkward silence more- but before I can hit the little red button I hear:

"Farewell." Erik replies with a grin in his tone. I feel myself blush hard, and hang up. He's as happy to see me as I am to see him, I think.. which only makes me all the more excited. I shove my phone in my bag and bike down by the river to get to my favorite takeout place, hoping he likes them…

E-

She hangs up, and I am uncertain she heard me, but I simply shake my head. I am pleased to hear her so enthused for even this little get together, as unplanned and informal as it is. I am eager to see her again as well, though I should perhaps more thoroughly clean myself up before she arrives. I may have straightened my appearance out last night, but before that I had not, I am ashamed to say, so much as washed my face for days.. It's high time for some personal care, especially considering Christine being my guest.

I pick out a new dress shirt, a silver-blue color with a slight sheen, my standard gray pants and vest, and head into my bathroom. I hate using the shower, so I wash my hair with the hose and wash everything else with warm water and a wash cloth. I take it all one step at a time, as I feel massively uncomfortable with it all, with the wrongness that is me. Too thin, too bony, too pallid and faint in complexion, not to mention all the unsightly additions to these naturally occurring abnormalities..

I simply avoid the mirror, choosing instead to operate by touch. It's not entirely a solution to the problem, but it is far better.

When that, the most difficult part, is done, I get dressed, a far more pleasant task. I cannot ever be something appealing by myself, but perhaps dressed in decent attire I can pass for something decent as well. As I button up the last of the vest, I feel better. Refined. Hidden. Safe. I pull my hair back in a loose tail, so that the base of my head does not remain wet all day, and then I reach for my mask, sitting obediently but mockingly on the counter, the top dotted with condensed steam.

I stare at it for a hard moment, hating it, hating my need for it, for all that it ever caused me to do and be. Were it not for this face, I do not know what sort of life I might have had, but surely there would be a family, a past, a history. I would not have been driven to do what was necessary to survive, I would not have become a criminal, chained to one building for all my waking days, forced to watch the world behind fences and windows, in the dark like a sneaking animal.

Then again, if I had lived a normal life, would I ever have met Christine? Surely not. I would be in another country, living another life, no where near this american city, let alone trapped in it. Would a normal life be worth trading out the one good thing of this one? I.. I am entirely unsure. The romantic thing to say would be no, of course not, the adoration and company of this woman erases all my woes! She is a marvel, to be sure. I do adore her, already. I fear that those yet unspoken woes may cause her anguish, that I may do or say or be something that harms her. But if I could trade this life, and her, for another, would I? To not know the agony of being who and what I am, to have had a caretaker in my youth, to have freedom and compassion and other such basic human rights from the start.. I would be a better person, almost assuredly. Less anger, less resentment. More worthy of knowing her, but unable to..

It is a hard question, and one that has unsettled me. It's easier to simply live the life I have, and deal with all that comes with it as is. Today, that means Christine. It means dinner and conversation and yes, hiding behind a mask, but doing so to have the pleasure of the aforementioned things and person. I can handle that.

I briefly take a look at that which I must hide, for I need to remember what it is that's doomed me, I must remember that I am doomed. I cannot forget what lies beneath or what it will bring and why I must, for now at least, hide it. But I dare not look for long, though, disgust and anger a more physical threat than I care to admit, and I place the mask where it belongs, snug across my cheeks. This face, of plaster and resin and paint, is what must be seen. This is the only face Christine needs to know.

C-

I bound up the steps, a large paper bag full to the brim carefully cradled in my arms, and knock on Erik's back door, turning to look out at the garden. I don't think I've gotten to see it in the middle of the day, yet, and it's so different when it's so bright. The flowers are all open, the trees in the back seem taller and more open, and everything just seems up and awake and alive more than ever, something I didn't really think would be more possible. The string lights are all off, of course, so the leaves are aglow only with the natural yellow of the sun, making them seem somehow plastic or waxy. It's a trick of the light, I know, but an interesting one.

I turn when I hear the door open.

"Erik!"

"Christine." Erik smiles back, before noticing the large bundle. "Is that all for us?"

"I didn't know how long I'd be staying so I bought extra just in case I stay for like, second dinner." I joke.

"Is this second dinner very common?" Erik tilts his head.

"No, no, it's not even real. It was a very vague Lord of the Ring joke." I explain, but his apparent confusion only grows. "You know? The books by J.R.R. Tolkien? Made into a massive trilogy movie series with prequels and twelve hours of film and extras? It's huge."

"I am afraid I do not consume much film media. I.. do not own a television."

"Oh. I guess I should've figured. There's not enough room in my apartment for my old t.v. and all my parents' dvds, or I'd invite you over to watch. They're really good! I think I do have the book, though, if you'd like to read it."

"I would love to. Oh, pardon, would you like to come inside?" Erik moves out of the doorway, both of us realizing that we'd just been standing at the door like I was trying to sell Girl Scout cookies.

"Actually, could we eat outside? The trees smell absolutely fantastic, and it's a really pretty day out.." I suggest, pointing with my shoulders and a tip of my head to the bench in the back, hiding underneath those lovely little trees.

"Ah, the magnolias, yes. They just started blooming.. We can dine outside, if you prefer it. The shade will be pleasant." Erik nods, hesitantly stepping out onto the porch, blinking at the sun. He looks a lot better than when I left him this morning, looking like he feels fresher, more rested. Still, he seems uncomfortable with being outside.

"We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, it's not that I don't want to, I simply.. do not spend much time out in the sunlight hours. It will be a pleasant change." He tries to assure me. Once again, I remember that the blue-white that is his face is only a mask, and that he seems to hide away for fear of judgement for wearing it. I want to apologise and push him inside, but he's already started down the stairs. "I promise, it- I will be fine." He calls, pausing to look up at me. I still feel guilty for having, somehow, pressured him into this, but he continues on. I follow down after him, setting our late lunch-early dinner down on the bench.

"If you're sure." I say, giving him a moment to change his mind before I pull everything out. He looks over his shoulders, as do I, but the fence is tall, even taller than he is, and I doubt there's a lot of people much taller than that.

"This is perfect." He says with a relaxed nod.

"Alright! Then," I dig through the bag, procuring a medium sized plastic tub, ", here is your lo mein. And I didn't know if you could use chopsticks or preferred a fork, so I grabbed a bunch of each." I hand the tub to him, holding out a packet of each tool. Grinning, he takes the chopsticks.

"Would it surprise you to know that I have been to Asia?" He asks, demonstrating his mastery over the sticks with a couple short clicks.

"Yes and no. That's really cool. I've never been out of the state."

"Have you? You'll have to go on some sort of adventure sometime, see something new." He suggests.

"There's plenty of new things right here." I flirt, blushing. His only response is to nearly drop his chopsticks, going stiff, ears turning red. "A-anyway, what were you in Asia for? And where?"

"I'm not sure where exactly, as I travelled through much of it, but I stayed the longest in a small city in southern China. Even that was only a few months, though, before, well, I sort of.. turned around. Went back, though not the way I came."

"So you were just travelling?"

"I spent much of my early life simply travelling." He nods, sitting. He pops open his carton of lo mein, chopsticks hovering over the open top. I can't be sure if he's hesitating because eating with the mask is awkward or if my question has made him uncomfortable. I sit down on the bench, the bag and it's remaining contents between us. Like this morning, I really want to suggest he take off the mask, for his own comfort, but that's almost a worse idea than this morning would have been. Outside, where he has already shown himself to be uncomfortable, eating in broad daylight.. No.

"So was it fun to travel?" I ask, popping open my own lunch, general tso with white rice. Erik blinks, brought back to the moment.

"It was often very interesting, but for the most part it was a necessity."

"Like, a business thing?" I make sure to messily scoop some rice as I ask and take a sloppy bite. Erik's lips twinge in a suppressed smile, so I know it worked.

"You could call it a livelihood venture." He shrugs. "Have you really never left the state?" He asks, finally taking a bite of his own food.

"Yeah. I was born a couple towns over. Parents were pretty rooted to their house and their jobs, so there was never any need for me to leave until school, but after I got my general degree, I still didn't know what I wanted to do so I moved back."

"Did you ever want to travel?"

"When I was really, really little I wanted to go on wild fantasy adventures, but when I grew up I realized how happy I was to be right where I was, so.. not really, but kinda."

"And what of now?" I have to think about that.

"Now.. I want my house back. Sometimes I think that it'd be cool to take a road trip, just.. temporarily forsake everything else and just run. Go! Be somewhere else, anywhere at all! But I can't imagine actually going. I have too much to focus on, too much keeping me here. I don't mind, though." I shrug, stabbing some chicken. "There's a weird sort of.. dual expectations. Like, there's the perfect world, all-desires-filled, impossible expectations and hopes, and then there's more achievable hopes and dreams, things that are already in progress or whatever. Travelling fits more into the first one, for me." I ramble, taking bites of my food inbetween thoughts.

"Where does.. this.. fit in?" Erik asks, possibly flirting, from the way he looks at me sideways, a light grin on his face. I can imagine his eyebrows quirked up, one side of his mouth edging higher than the other.

"A little of both. But mostly the second, I think. What about for you?"

"A bit of both, but mostly the first. I have never had so much as this, and I must admit to struggling to conceive of it going on longer, or.. more."

"I think I get it." I nod. We're quiet for a while after that, both of us leisurely enjoying our meals. I finish mine first, and rifle through the bag to find my 'donut', a pastry that I think is fried and sprinkled in sugar. It's a fun little dessert, but even after that, I'm still hungry. Erik is still on his lo mein, only halfway through it.

"Is it okay?" I ask, worried that it's not up to his expectations.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, it's perfect. I apologise for being so slow. I.. forgot to eat for several days, and I do not want to disrupt our time together with sickness because I failed to take my time." He explains. "It is very satisfying, Christine. I may have to order from them myself, sometime."

"Oh, good." I nod, then scrunch up my face. "You forgot to eat for several days?" He flinches at my tone, somewhere between shock, concern, and panic.

".. yes."

"How did you forget to eat for that long? Are you okay?"

"I'm well. Ah, well enough." He corrects himself, lowering his carton to his lap. "I have a terrible habit of failing to eat when.. distressed. I also just don't get hungry when I should, many times. I am used to this. Don't worry."

"You were distressed? Was it.. Was it because I hadn't shown up in so long?" I have to ask, have to know if I caused this. It explains his state from last night, wobbly and sort of dreamy, unfocused. I thought it was me. Erik hesitates to answer, turning away.

"Yes. But I do not blame you. Please, don't blame yourself, either. I.. let myself get attached, too much, too soon. I was angry at myself for being so.. disappointed. Not at you for disappearing. I would not blame you if you had chosen to remove me from your life. It's probably the smarter thing to do." He explains, turning back to face me when he does.

"And why is that?" I raise an eyebrow. He talks like he's the worst thing in the world, sometimes, but I can't see why. My question seems to catch him off guard.

"I am not.." He starts, then stops. "I'm not.. good. For people. For you, or anyone. But especially someone like you."

"How is that?" I press, setting my donut down.

"I'm.. dangerous. Obsessive. Needy. Just.. unhealthy."

"Are you sick?"

"N-no, I mean in regards to other people. Or perhaps I am sick, in my mind. That would not be inaccurate."

"I don't see how.." I lean towards him, trying only to express my genuine appreciation of him. He's been nothing but kind and sweet and gentle since I met him, despite our awkward meeting.

"Then I've been hiding it well." He says, a tinge of bitterness behind his voice. "I.. greatly worry for the day I fail to hide everything."

"Well.. you don't have to hide. I mean- I'm not saying you have to open up about absolutely everything, but if you feel something, you aren't obligated to hide it. Explain it, and if it's really so bad, it can probably get worked through! But I'd bet you it's not as bad as you think. Everybody thinks they're unrelatable, and, well, I don't know the details in your case, but I would really, really stake a lot on the idea that we're not so different that we can't understand each other at all. Maybe some things would be a struggle, but you never know until you reach out, right? Aw, but listen to me go, and there's all this garbage I can't let go of or talk about, either.."

"I would.. like to open up. I have not been provided many opportunities to. I.." He sighs. "I am afraid as well. Of myself, of hurting you, of ruining this."

"Me too. But if we're trying to understand, it can't go too badly, can it?"

"I would not underestimate this, but.. if you believe it to be so, I don't think I can disagree." He answers, eyes sad but hopeful. I don't think I'd noticed how sad he is. Sad, but not just down about something casual, sad in a sense of deep and prolonged unhappiness. I hadn't noticed because, when he looks at me, he seems so much the opposite. He smiles and it burns in his eyes, despite the gentleness of the rest of him. Now, it's that sadness, deep and dark and old, that shines through. I feel.. the same.

I've always been too empathetic. I cry when other people cry, and a lot of times I cry about other people's hardships even if they never do. I feel too much sympathy to hold it in, I guess. My mom always said my heart was too big for my own good, but right now it's more than that. The look is familiar, the feeling is like a terrible old friend, easily recognizable, and it's a gut wrenching feeling to see on anyone else. I feel myself tearing up, and I pull away.

"I'm sorry-" I say before I can't say anything.

"Wh- what?" Erik says, trying to look at me. "What's wrong? Did I- Have I done something?"

"No- I'm just- I made myself sad again." I try to explain, my hands rubbing away the wetness in my eyes, but it just keeps coming. I feel like the more I try to bottle it up the worse it springs out. I feel a hand on my shoulder, my right shoulder, just above my flowers, and I pull my hands away from my eyes.

"You can.. you can let it out. Even if you cannot explain.." Erik offers, his right hand out and open, the ring there shining in the dappled sunlight. His eyes seem sharpened, pained. Did I do that? Did I make it worse? I keep making it worse, and I know that I should probably pull away, for both our sakes, but, almost on an emotional autopilot, I reach out with both arms, and he pulls me the rest of the way to him, around the paper bag to his side.

I just cry, softly and quietly, into his shoulder, letting it out. I feel his arms across my back, his chin on my head, and feel safe like I haven't in a long time. It's not from any external threat or worry, I just feel so at ease, so at home here, right now. I'm not sure how, but we understand the same sadness, and until now, we've both, presumably, experienced it alone. But seeing it in his eyes, the sudden weight of it present in him, I know we're not anymore. At least for now, for this moment, if nothing else.

When the tears stop, I stay put, feeling a bit numb, physically, but content emotionally.

"I'm sorry." I mumble, pulling away.

"I do not mind." Erik says, hands lingering on my arms before setting them into his lap.

"I meant for getting your nice shirt all wet.." I correct him.

"Oh." He looks down to the soaked sleeve of both the shirt and his vest. "I do not mind that either. It's proof that you were here."

"Do you like that? Proof?"

"I can't say it doesn't help convince me that this is, somehow, real. That you are here, a real person, sharing this moment with me. I.." He hesitates, leaning away slightly. "I have been alone for a very long time. Always, truly."

"I'm here." I put a hand on his, reaching out slowly so I don't surprise him. But he smiles.

"I'm glad."