Chapter Nine

A distant, undiscernible sound pulled at the seams of my consciousness. Was it Susie playing that stupid bongo she got for Christmas? No… that was too long ago, and time never did turn back. For a moment I thought it was a dog jumping on the couch, but that made no sense. Then, I remembered Chris – against the electrical box at school, twitching, pulling, yanking things out and breaking them apart most fearsomely… it made me startle.

How did last night end? I couldn't remember. Only a trace, a strange pull of pleasure lingered – one that I knew had thrilled me, but one I also felt had been inopportune… stolen, in some capacity.

The sound became clearer – bang, bang, bang on the door. It roused me at once when I discerned it, and my head threatened to explode from sitting up too fast. Still, I staggered to the door with urgency. What little light invaded through the side panels was enough to hint discomfort at my eyes, but I did not expect how blinded I'd be once I'd opened it. A mere blur awaited there, amidst the burning glare of morning – because it was my height, I could guess whom it belonged to:

"Danilo?!" I mumbled; his foreign name strangely hard to pronounce in my current state.

"Abby?! What the hell?!" he roared impatient; a sense of urgency even greater than my own moving him. "What are you wearing?"

Granted, I was wearing the bottom of my pajamas and a comfortable, pizza-stained t-shirt, but I didn't understand what his deal was, or why he was there, until he uttered on:

"We're late! You'd better really hurry up and wash that grimy face of yours in like… 5 minutes if you want me to wait for you!"

"What? What time is it?" …but the right question was 'what day?'.

"It's 7h45!"

…That only half explained my headache.

"What are you talking about, Danilo?!" I moaned, agitated by my confusion.

"School!! I'm talking about the last day of recreational recess, which we should definitely not miss, 'cause you'll have all that extra time afterwards to be bored out of your mind."

I rubbed my face, locating myself in time. Last night was not Friday, though we celebrated as if it were. It was also not the last day, even though I'd suffered and thought I'd say my goodbyes to Chris, as if there were another chance on the next day. Now it didn't matter… time was not counting down anymore. I had found a way to break through the constraints of merely glancing as he passed me by at school, and the memory filled my chest with warmth and excitement for my life – for the days to come. But Danilo still stood there, alien to my thoughts:

"COME ON! HURRY!!" He snapped as I lagged, and I skipped in a small fright.

Joke's on him, I couldn't hurry even if I tried.

"Danilo, I… I'm not feeling so well, I don't think I'll be going today."

"What do you mean you won't be going today, as if there were any another days after this one? C'mon, we'll walk it off."

"No, you don't understand…" I stalled as my thoughts gathered "I'm not going. For real."

"Well, whatever's wrong with you, get into a shower, get breakfast… I'll wait. We can come in an hour later, it will be no great loss…" he conceded.

"I mean it." I sighed lazily. "I'm not going, sorry… I'm too tired."

Danilo stared, puzzled. I imagined that this was also something new for him… as was last night, when I told him to go on without me… and as the last few days had been. Perhaps there were too many changes all at once… perhaps he was a good friend after all, one that didn't want to lose my company… one that was only learning I was bothered by some of his actions.

"Well… In that case, I'll stay with you. I can make you some pancakes, we can watch a DVD or two…" And he stepped up the entrance, ready to walk past me and into my house, as was so natural given our friendship history… Only this time, I held the door.

"What?" he stopped "What's wrong?"

Nervousness now beaded down my forehead, pushing me into full awareness: Danilo couldn't come in. Not with the mess the living room was in, the wine bottle rolled somewhere across the carpet, a pizza box, Chris's belongings… no, I must keep Danilo from knowing. It was a priority…

…but I couldn't think fast enough. I couldn't even try.

"I… I don't think you should."

He glared, confused.

It then happened that I was haunted – haunted by Chris himself, to my surprise. I saw him walk down the street, hands tucked inside the pockets of his brown leather jacket, his sandy hair pulled back over his head. I stared nervously for one second. As he noticed the company standing at the entrance, he paused briefly, showed me a confused frown, before taking a hint – some hint - and walking on…

Danilo was smart enough to follow my eyes, to see it as Chris walked past him. He recognized him, of course, then he looked back and read my discomfort… it was an easy logic then.

"Oh!" He pronounced, already an edge of offense making his voice coarser. "That's how it is, then!"

Chris walked on, but slowly, he scratched his head, he turned slightly, peering back at us. I was feeling the heat of tension grow.

"Danilo, I'm sorry. I just… I have things to do." I tried to at least not completely admit to what he had just presumed.

"What was even the point of pushing to live by yourself, if you'd just let someone else run your life? I can't believe this…" He shook his head from one side to the other, now preparing to go. I felt there was nothing I could say. "You've made your choice I guess… Enjoy yourself!"

I watched him leave the same way he came, and as I lingered by the front-door, hearing the occasional footsteps cruise by the moist morning asphalt, so did Chris: he loitered by the parked cars across the street, hands tucked in his pocket, occasionally glancing about himself. Understanding he probably didn't want to be seen associating with me, I stepped back and closed the door – inside my house, it was pristine silence again: A lonely, frozen kind of silence… but a comfortable one nonetheless.

I felt freer… more independent, and that was scarier in a way, lonelier in a way… but thrilling too: to stand in the mouth of change. I took a seat in the armchair by the fireplace, by the dull light of an overcast sky stealing through my white curtains, I let out a haggard sigh for Danilo, swallowed the somber feeling climbing my throat and wallowed in that thrilling melancholy… then, I finally allowed myself to experience the numbness of waking up.

My head was heavy, my limbs were sluggish and my heart… it beat differently, out of rhythm, or in a rhythm I'd never experienced before. And yet, it wasn't uncomfortable: there was something whimsical about it, as if I had had a really nice dream, one I didn't want to wake up from. Only it was no dream: He stole in silently, even though there were no other sounds to conceal his approach - Chris. The distant click of the doorknob closing was perhaps all I had heard in the background, so subtle I couldn't be sure I had imagined it or truly heard it, until I saw him join me in the living room in that dark morning light, or premature dusk of some unannounced end of the world… things did feel strange enough for me to consider the latter!

It was a Friday, the world outside must be buzzing with life – or would be, soon – and yet, it seemed none of it could reach me there. How static, how strange, to watch Chris silently walk around the couch and take a seat across from me – to walk noiselessly, to sit and watch, offering me a mute, unfathomable smile. How strange, too, for my eyes to allow his in, to let them probe and resist the temptation to escape, to watch back with a boldness that wasn't mine. How strange - for it to be just us, isolated, frozen, cut off and gathered onto each other… like a painting on the wall - a painting of us, of that scene in that dark morning light, of his looking at me and me not being able to look away, of shutting all else outside and not knowing what the next minute reserved… I felt drugged, hypnotized!

But he spoke at last, and that pristine air of a drugged dream shattered with the sound of his voice, I shook myself from my sleepy torpor and had the feeling I had just woken up…

"Morning!" He pronounced, more like a callback to reality than a proper greeting.

"Morning!" I answered back quickly, awkwardly, finally embarrassed of the staring spell that had befallen me. That awkwardness warmed my heart, reminding me that I had my reasons to be happy in that self-procured new loneliness: Chris's handsome face, brisky from the chilled morning air, quickly pushed away that somber feeling Danilo's scene inspired. This was a new thing in its own way: to have something to be excited about, enough to will my thoughts away from drama. 'Coping mechanisms', the term crossed my mind, and I must have colored with childish pride, as if I'd developed… grown more mature, all of a sudden. My coping mechanism was Chris, Chris and this small secret we kept.

"So…" I cleared my throat, trying to make small talk "You left for an early walk…"

Chris smiled placidly, teasing my curiosity.

"W-where did you go?" I asked next, too socially awkward to realize it was impolite to pry so.

"Not far. I had some loose ends to take care of."

"Oh! You went back there – the school?!" The speculation crossed me, as if something of amusement in the sheen of his eyes called back to last night, to us laughing breathless as we ran…

"Yes, your school!" he smiled, as if caught off-guard by my investigation skills.

"Oh my God! Did no one make you?!"

"My transgressions were not enough to earn me a wanted poster on every wall, if that's what you're picturing… No: no one 'made' me…" he pursed his lips, mocking my enthusiasm "I had left some things behind that needed retrieving, it was uneventful enough. Apparently the same cannot be said about your morning…" he probed finally.

"Huh?"

"That boy…" he pondered, drawing my attention with the imperative tone his voice suddenly assumed "that friend of yours… I didn't realize he would come after you!"

"Oh, Danilo? Don't worry about him…"

"I don't know… it's his attitude, you know? It's harmful!" He was assertive and calm at the same time, his eyes chasing mine down to stare harmlessly into them. It made me disconcerted… discouraged from disagreeing.

Still, I tried.

"I er… it-it's nothing, really!" I shrugged it off, playing it cool "It's… just our thing, I guess."

"No…" he coolly interjected, his gentle smile disturbing me into submission "…no, it's not your thing. It's harmful… makes you do things you don't want to." A small frown crossed his forehead, as if my attitude was disappointing "You shouldn't let him talk to you like that!"

I felt… bare. Ashamed. I couldn't help but drop my head, looking for a distraction elsewhere.

"I mean it. I've seen the way he treats you." Chris arched forward, his blue eyes displaying some concern.

"Don't worry about him, it's nothing." I gave out a fake, embarrassed smile "He doesn't mean it, he's just… I don't know. Angry, I guess."

"I know the cliché" Chris chased "boys teasing girls when they like them. But aren't you guys a bit too old for that? I mean, 17?".

I blushed, forgetting for a moment that 17 was my scripted age, and fearing in retrospect what blunders might have ensued if I hadn't been reminded.

"Well… Yes, but…" I picked a cushion from my side, began fidgeting with its stringy fringes as if they were anything interesting. "It's not like that." And a shy smile played about my lips.

"You don't think he's interested in you?" He sounded skeptical.

"I don't think he's interested in girls…" I hinted reticently.

"Oh!" Chris spoke, the muscles about his face shifting, softening. I only then realized he had been tense. Now he seemed content, relieved… It made me blush to conjecture a reason: was he jealous? I betrayed myself with a smile.

"Still…" He sighed after a minute of silently watching "Don't let him treat you like that: Like he owns you…" the word made his voice hoarse for a minute. "He doesn't."

I nodded, busying my eyes and fingers with the fringe of the cushion again.

"Hey – I mean it!" Chris called, his eyebrows arched, emphatic "He doesn't."

"I know…" I mumbled, feeling a hot swirl of vexation grow inside me.

His blue eyes studied me further while my fingers twitched nervously under the weight of his eyes: Chris, jealous? …Interested? I pursed my lips, twisted them, keeping me from smiling under his scrutiny – too late! He wouldn't let that slide. He could tell something was on my mind… something hot, feverish, raw embarrassment crawling up to my ears and making my heart jump!

And yet, I must brave it: that overwhelming embarrassment. I'd have to eventually, if I wanted to be the big girl I set out to be – if I wanted him to see me as one. That feeling… last night… it made me too shy to even look at him at the end of such a thought… still, one of us must acknowledge it… and why not me? Who knew how far that could take us, simply stating it? Who knew how soon we'd be repeating last night's scene?

I looked up at him, corresponding his stare, blushing but ready to cast that net. He had been watching me, probably marking how my face had twitched and contorted with each occurring thought, reading the tone which I meant – or strove to – address:

"Yes?" he demanded with an amused expectation - his modest, too-aware smile disconcerting me from my resolve.

"Er…" I sweated, fingers nervously entwining. "Last night…" I frowned, cleared my throat, swallowed as my mouth turned instantly dry "Did we…"

I looked at him again, hoping for release – for the light of mutual understanding and consequent salvation: Chris completing my sentence, understanding the word would not come out – for him to nonchalantly use that word and clarify us both in the process, as it surely would be no big deal for him, as I well remembered it was no big deal for him to perform it: that kiss. There it was, the word I looked for. Why couldn't I say it? Why wouldn't Chris? He just sat there, watching placidly – expectantly… no understanding at all visibly crossing his brow.

"Yes…?" he pursued when my eyes cowardly probed his.

I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out one too many times.

"Is this a guessing game?" he pronounced dispassionately… I'd even say cruelly. Heat climbed up to my forehead. "Did we… order a pizza? Drink cheap wine – more than we should? I'd say that's a matter of perspective…" he reasoned playfully "Did we… have fun?" then his voice lowered in tone, grew in intensity "…what else did we do?"

The words, by then, had become a lump in my throat.

"No, I…" Why did I carry on? Why didn't I stop there, abandon the mission? What started out as risky, exhilarating flirtation on my part had turned into full-blown torture, and I thought my heart might stop at any moment now from how much I squirmed under the interrogation I had thoughtlessly brought upon myself.

"I think that…" not assertive enough! "I mean, I'm sure we…" not coherent enough! "We…." I puckered my lips, forming the word, the shape of it at least, blowing it into the air… but ultimately failing to pronounce it.

My cheeks burned hot.

"I thought we'd…"

Suddenly, the least expected outcome to what I hoped for that conversation: I went from thinking Chris had forgotten – even though he didn't seem drunk at all – to not being sure myself! My face was stiff, laden with awkwardness, and I suddenly felt as if I'd been seen at school getting my period on a pair of white pants – all eyes on me, shame I didn't know how to deal with! Had it all been a fanciful dream? Had I just outed myself in the most embarrassing way possible? No time to turn back: Chris's eyes narrowed with the sight of my mortification, and his lips stretched into a wicked sort of smile:

"Last night?" he chased "I don't know what you're talking about, unless…" his eyebrows twitched with a comic idea "It seems you have had some colorful dreams…" he declared to my utter ruin "…not entirely unexpected considering the bad wine, but… it's your willingness to disclose them that baffles me!" he frowned, teasing me most vexingly, then adding with the grand air of a rebuke: "Miss Abby! If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you want to be suggestive…"

Suddenly, it felt like a minute longer under his stare would lay everything bare, and strangely, my brain equated that with something like the end of my life. I fretted, crumbling, panicking, strewing with excuses and almost ready to swear it couldn't, it couldn't have been a dream…

…but couldn't it, really? If Chris hadn't kissed me, who had? Could I have so vividly imagined something I had never tried before? Considering how much and how frequently I thought about it, he might be right, and yet…

"I… I'm sorry, I don't... I mean, that's not it, I didn't dream, I just… last night… I…" I put an angry fist to my forehead, trying desperately to make sense. Chris watched calmly. "W-where did you sleep?" I decided to ask, keen on tracing back our steps.

"Not in your room, if that's what you're wondering…" He grimaced, and I grew red. "…not in your bed." Redder.

"I-I-I didn't say that! I… I can't seem to remember going to sleep, that's all!"

"I slept in the couch, naturally… where I told you I'd sleep." He spoke through his peaceful, entertained smile "…And just because you don't remember it in details, you mean to imply that…" he probed, and in response I could do nothing but blush violently, wordless, handing him all my cards.

He smirked, reading me skillfully, then pursed his lips back into a frown which cast a rather grave shadow of displeasure over his pale eyes:

"Miss Abby… now you border on insulting me."

There it was: the pang I anticipated in all my fretting. War flashbacks of Michael Campbell in that hurtful day came haunting me, only the damage they wrought was so much worse now, because Chris was that much more special: Michael Campbell's face of disgust, of utter scorn at discovering about my crush, my wayward suggestion landing flat on the floor, insulting the person they devoted to… Had Chris been likewise insulted?

"In-Insult?" I whispered the painful word.

"Yes, an insult!" Chris reiterated, giving me the time for my heart to slow. "And don't you think of me as the sensitive type either: any man would be offended by such a suggestion…" he went on, wounding me.

"I…I'm sorry…" I whimpered, despondent and ready to faint.

"Just know that if I had done something like… whatever crossed your imaginative mind… there would be no mistaking it." He corrected "You would certainly know."

I looked at him, at first confused, then understanding the insinuation behind the rather unsettled smile he displayed, as if I had just forced him to embarrass himself with such a declaration. Life having returned to me… I flushed.

"I er… I didn't…" I was at a loss for words again… but my throat was smooth, my voice ran a normal pitch. My extremities recovered from the chill of adrenaline, and I caught myself fighting an embarrassed smile…

"I forgive you… simply because I'll presume you're too inexperienced to know your body would feel it the next morning if I had done something with it!"

His words… too suggestive! Too real! I began hyperventilating at the images flashing through my brain. Lucky for me, Chris chose to stand up and walk past me, towards the window and behind the armchair from where we could not see each other. I took the opportunity to place both my hands at my temples, to try and hold my head from the shuddering that threatened it as the blood rushed to my embarrassed face.

"And if that's the case, you shouldn't be discussing those dreams with me, don't you think? Not with anybody, for that matter… what would they think of you?"

Forget that word – forget correcting him, talking about the kiss – imaginary or not – that we shared. The situation had become too unbearable for me to invest in it any longer.

Too unbearable… but also slightly more real.

"What would they think of me?" he added, his voice carefree and playful. " So inappropriate for a man in my position to… well! It would certainly make it very inappropriate to be interested in renting your space…"

I pulled my head from my hands, turned my neck abruptly, holding my breath.

Chris smiled, knowing just how that would spark my interest… knowing, perhaps, too much already.

"You mean that…" Embarrassment was gone, replaced by excitement.

"Yes… I do want to rent your space."

My smile stretched despite of myself – despite of restraints and norms, of trying to look cool. But, strangely, it felt inconsequential to show it to him: the full extent of my interest. It wouldn't strike him as odd; it wouldn't come as a surprise… He knew it all too well already… I had laid it out to him over and over again I suppose, innocently so, helplessly too: how much he had the ability of pulling at my heart strings. It felt like being outed at last, like surrendering a precious possession – the coolest treasure I had found so far in my life. Did that make me feel vulnerable? Judged? Scared?

No…

Strangely, I felt safe.