Chapter Six
CHAPTER SI X
MARK
She's been locked in that room all day.
I've checked my phone at least a dozen times, debating whether I should text and ask if she's okay, but that feels weird. I don't want to come across as overbearing when I'm just trying to make sure she's alive in there, but I also don’t want to just knock on her door—that feels even more invasive.
The only proof of life I've gotten was the sound of the shower running this morning and her soft footsteps afterward. Since then, silence. Not even music playing in the background.
Did I say something wrong or do something to make her uncomfortable? I know I come across as a bit rough and intimidating, but I’ve made it a point to be on my best behavior.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Why the hell do I even care? She's a stranger who needed help during a storm. That's it. I gave her somewhere warm to stay, and she doesn't owe me conversation or company.
It’s just confusing. She didn’t even come out for lunch, and I don’t like the thought that she might still be afraid of me.
This is why I don’t do relationships—other people are so hard to read, and it makes me fixate on how I’m acting and how I come across. It’s annoying as fuck. Not that Claire and I have a relationship, obviously, but the point still stands. Even having someone—particularly a woman—in my home apparently has the same effect on me.
Still, as I stand in my kitchen trying to decide what to make for dinner, I can't help but wonder if she's hungry. She’s been in there since dinner last night. She has to be hungry, right?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk down the hallway and knock on her door. The mattress squeaks with her shifting weight followed by quiet footsteps before the door cracks open just enough for her to peer out.
"I was just wondering if you wanted something to eat," I say. "I haven't seen you since last night and want to make sure you don't starve."
She opens the door a bit wider, but I notice the way her expression shifts to one of politeness, as if she’s remembering to put a mask up. "That would be lovely. I could cook something if you'd like."
"No, you don't have to do that. You’re my guest. I actually have some chili cooking right now—wait, you're not vegetarian or anything, are you?"
She smiles, and it’s a genuine one that catches me off guard with how much it lights up her expression. "No, I’m not vegetarian. And I appreciate you cooking."
I notice the book I gave her yesterday lying on the bed behind her, along with the notebook that’s opened to somewhere in the middle of the pages. "What were you doing in there all day?"
Her cheeks flush as she glances back at the bed. "Reading and writing, mostly."
"Didn't realize I was running a study hall," I joke, but her face falls slightly. Shit. There I go again, saying something wrong. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," she interrupts. "I was homeschooled, actually. So maybe old habits die hard." There’s a flash of something in her expression I can’t quite place—longing, regret, worry? It’s gone before I can figure it out.
Homeschooled. Interesting. There’s one more piece of the puzzle falling into place. "Religious family?" I ask before I can stop myself. It’s not always the case, but it’s common enough that it’s a valid assumption.
"Very." Her tone makes it clear that's all she wants to say on the subject, but it explains a lot: her quietness, her hesitation, the way she carries herself like she's trying not to take up too much space.
"Well, food is ready anytime, so you’re welcome to join me for dinner," I say, not looking behind me to see if she follows as I make my way back down the hallway.
I ladle chili into a bowl for myself then turn to see Claire hovering at the edge of the kitchen. Another thing I’ve noticed about her is how quietly she walks, as if she’s making herself as unnoticeable as possible. I hope she realizes she can take up as much space as she needs to here, even if she won’t be here much longer. It’s the thought that counts, though, right?
She’s wearing another sweater that’s at least three sizes too big for her to the point that it almost looks comical. That’s yet another thing that seems to be a constant for her—wearing clothes that are much too large, that shroud her body in fabric.
I hand Claire a filled bowl before grabbing the plate of grilled cheeses I had made before I went to her room.
"I don’t know about you," I say, carefully setting everything on the table, "but I firmly believe grilled cheese and chili is the best comfort meal anyone could make during the wintertime." God, I sound like an idiot.
She nods and gives me a soft smile, and I notice again that she waits to take a bite until I do. Starting to connect the dots, I wonder just how strict of a home she grew up in between the homeschooling and religion. I desperately want to ask her, but I have a feeling that if I ask her outright, she’d feel uncomfortable.
Still, I can’t help but ask something . "Do you have any siblings?"
She nods, finishing chewing her bite before answering. When she speaks, there’s a sort of hesitation surrounding her words, as if she’s weighing out how much to tell me. "I’m one of five. Two brothers and one sister older than me, and one sister younger than me."
"Wow, that’s quite a few. I can’t imagine that." I dip my grilled cheese into my chili and take another bite. It’s a little more bland than usual, but I made it that way on purpose. I wasn’t sure if Claire liked spicy food or not, so I toned it down for her sake.
After a moment, she asks, "What about your family?"
"Not much to tell," I say with a shrug, matching her vagueness. "It was just me and my father for a long time, but my best friend Shane and his parents are the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family."
We stand there for a moment, locked in an awkward stalemate of unspoken histories, before I take an unnecessarily intense interest in staring at my food. What am I even doing, trying to get to know this girl? The last thing I need is to complicate my life by involving another person like this, even if I am just giving her a place to stay for a day or two.
She’ll be gone soon, which is good because, honestly, not being able to walk around naked anymore is a major check mark in the "negatives" column of her being here. In fact, the only thing I’ve done since she got here is worry about keeping myself in check and attempting to seem non-threatening. It’s exhausting.
"Thank you," she says. "For all of this. For helping me last night, and letting me stay here, and…" she gestures at the food. "Everything. It’s been a long time since I’ve been shown so much kindness."
"It's just chili," I tease.
"No, it's more than that. You didn't have to help me. Most people wouldn't have."
I study her expression from across the table, wondering again what she’s been through. "I think that’s more of a reflection of other people rather than me." It’s a little uncomfortable to be seen as so good-hearted when most people don’t look at me very closely. They only see the intimidation factor I put off, and even if they get close to me, they usually only see me as a jokester. Though, Shane is really the only person I’d consider myself to be close to anyway, and he’s too wrapped up in wedding stuff to care much about anything else right now.
Claire looks up at me with those deep, dark brown eyes but says nothing, only shrugs.
"So you live alone all the time?" she asks. "No, uh, girlfriend or anything? "
I chuckle. "Yes, I live alone, and no girlfriend. I don’t really do the whole relationship thing."
I can see the wheels in her head turning at my choice of phrasing, but I don’t offer up an explanation.
She takes another small bite of her grilled cheese by ripping off a bite-sized piece and popping it in her mouth. Everything she does is so careful and precise. Meanwhile, I’m dipping the sandwich with something close to reckless abandon.
"So," I say, still curious about so much but trying not to push her boundaries. "What were you writing about all day?"
She tenses and her eyes flick to mine with concern.
"You don't have to tell me," I assure her. "I was just curious."
"No, it's okay." She takes another bite before continuing. "Just thoughts and feelings, I guess. Writing things down helps me organize my mind a little better."
"That makes sense. And the book? What do you think so far?"
Her face lights up, and suddenly she's animated in a way I haven't seen before. "It's amazing . I've never read anything like it. The way the author describes magic, like it's this natural force in the world rather than something evil…" She trails off, that familiar embarrassment creeping back into her expression. "Sorry, that probably sounds ridiculous."
"Don't apologize. It's good to be excited about things. And there are a lot of novels where magic is used for good as well as evil, or both. I’ll be happy to give you more like it once you finish that one." Seeing her show an emotion other than trepidation, shyness, or fear warms my heart in an entirely unfamiliar way, and it brings with it an odd sense of vulnerability. I’m not sure I like it .
She gives me a small smile, and it makes me wonder what she’s like beneath the facade.
We finish eating in comfortable silence, and when she insists on doing the dishes again, I let her. As I watch her clean each plate and utensil, I find myself wondering again what kind of life she left behind. What kind of family makes their daughter feel guilty for reading fantasy novels? Or, even worse, makes her feel bad for talking about something that excites her?
But I don't ask. I may be curious, but I'm not cruel. Whatever she's running from, she'll tell me if and when she wants to, and I highly doubt she’ll want to spill her secrets considering I’m a stranger and she’ll be gone soon.
"I think I'm going to read a bit more before bed," she says when she's finished with the dishes. "Thank you again for dinner. And good conversation."
"Anytime. Let me know if you need anything."
She disappears back down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts and questions. Her door clicks shut softly, and I wonder if I'll see her before tomorrow.
Probably not, but that's okay. She's safe, she's warm, and she has a book to read. Sometimes that's all anyone really needs.