Chapter 12
She unclasped her chain and placed it in my palm.
Thin. Gold. Sixty dollars on a generous day, the kind of thing that held more sentimental value than market value - obvious from the careful way she'd removed it, like it mattered, like she was handing over something that cost her more than the metal itself.
Did she think I'm some nobody chain snatcher?
"Don't tell me... You have forgotten me, kitten" I said emphasising on the word 'kitten'
I could see the wheels turn in her head. Embarrassment passed through her eyes.
"You?" She said finally coming to a conclusion.
She looked at my state, oily shirt, disheleved hair and said "Are you okay? You look like you've had a rough day."
That was a given, looking at my state
"I've had better." I replied.
My assassination attempt felt less heavy compared to this. She continued looking at me, this woman had a really bad habit of checking me out every time we meet.
"Have you eaten?" She asked, unexpected.
I hadn't had dinner yet but that was not the point now.
"That's not-" but she interrupted me
"I live two blocks from here, I was going to make dinner anyway."
I was left speechless. I didn't know whether she was smart or dumb.
When she was in dangerous situation she decided to let go of her valuable item to save her life and now she's inviting an unknown stranger to her house?
"I know you enough" she continued "Are you coming or not?"
She didn't know that she had my chain.
That much was written plainly across her face.
She had no idea what was sitting at the bottom of her bag or probably some corner of her house, no idea what she'd swept off that nightstand along with her earrings,
no idea why a man she vaguely recognized from a bar was standing in an alley holding her chain with an expression he was working quietly to keep neutral.
I could just tell her, retrieve the chain and return to my car quietly. It would barely take 10 minutes.
But there was another option.
I could follow her, sneak in, check when she was unaware, take my chain and leave. It didn't require explaining myself, answering numerous questions, alerting a woman and there was no possibility of cops being called for finding a very important underground artifact.
The second option was better. It was wise and more practical, I was going with her for the chain nothing else. That was the only reason.
She greeted the people on the way with familiarity. Making small talks, nodding at the store owners like it was a usual occurance to her and it gave me time to think, which I used productively, mostly noting exit points on her street and the layout of the block.
The apartment was on the fourth floor.
She unlocked the door and we stepped inside.
Small was the first word that popped into my mind as I looked around.
Measurably it small, my bathroom was larger than her living room and I was not being unkind, simply accurate.
The couch had stuffed animals or some cartoon characters I don't know on it.
The curtains had trinkets threaded through the ends that caught the lamplight and scattered it in small pieces across the walls.
A bookshelf that had clearly stopped being organized sometime around the third shelf and simply became a place where books lived now.
A narrow kitchen through the open doorway smelling faintly of something sweet and baked that had settled into the walls and stayed there.
"It's small," she said, behind me. Bracing slightly.
The lamp made everything warm. The trinkets on the curtains moved in the draft from the door. Someone had put thought into every inch of this place and it showed, which was either charming or efficient depending on how you looked at it.
"It's fine." I replied.
It was fine. It was her, it had her essence.
"Bathroom's through there," she said, with the authority of someone who had apparently forgotten the context of this situation entirely. "Go shower. You smell like a restaurant."
The audacity of this woman was a specific and remarkable thing.
She was small enough that I could have picked her up with one hand.
Five foot four. Work clothes. Standing in her small warm apartment pointing at her bathroom like the situation was entirely under her control.
She had handed over her jewelry in an alley twenty minutes ago out of genuine fear.
And now she was standing in her living room issuing instructions with the authority of someone who had forgotten to be afraid.
Coward and daring in the same body. Somehow simultaneously.
I looked down at my shirt. The smell had become something I had been ignoring for the past hour through sheer discipline. The discipline was losing. I do needed a shower. So, I went to shower.
The bathroom was small. Everything here was small. I showered quickly and came out to find a grey t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants folded outside the door.
I picked up the t-shirt and looked at it.
This was going to be a problem.
I found her by the noise coming from the kitchen
"These are yours."
She turned around from the kitchen.
Whatever she had been about to say didn't make it out. Her eyes moved from my face downward and then stopped, and a faint pink spread across her cheeks with the immediacy of someone who had been caught completely off guard and had absolutely no poker face to fall back on.
I looked at her looking at me and felt my ego raise the moment with quiet satisfaction. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. The expression on her face said everything that needed to be said.
"It'll fit," she said finally snapping out of her thoughts.
I held up the t-shirt. Looked at it. Looked at her. Raising one eyebrow questioning her judgement.
"It'll fit," she repeated, with remarkable conviction for someone who was still slightly pink, and turned back to the kitchen.
Well she did put the effort to find something for me to wear and it's not like I had other option so I resigned to my fate.
I let her have it. She'd earned something after the curry situation.
____________________________________
She set a bowl in front of me a few minutes later. Instant noodles. I looked at them. The broth was a particular shade of orange that did not occur in nature. The noodles were the kind that had been manufactured somewhere to be edible rather than good.
I was about to push it aside.
Then I saw her watching me. That particular expression expectant, slightly hopeful, the look of someone who had made something for you and was waiting to see if it landed.
I picked up the fork and took a bite.
They weren't as terrible as they looked. Though I did not mention it. She sat across from me with her own bowl.
"Do you have a place to live?" she asked. Carefully. Like she was trying not to make it sound like what it was.
I considered the question. I lived in the family estate, had some penthouses and apartments across the world
"No," I replied.
Technically she had asked if I had a place. Singular. I did not have a place. I had several. The answer was accurate.
Her eyes softened, visibly. Like something in her chest had shifted on my behalf and she hadn't thought to hide it.
I was not accustomed to that.
"How long has it been since you've eaten?" she asked. Her voice had gone softer too.
The voice people used around things that needed careful handling.
I looked at the noodles. I had eaten spaghetti at a restaurant some weeks ago.
Expensive place the one with white tablecloths.
Spaghetti was also noodles, technically, so in terms of noodle consumption specifically it had been some weeks.
"Some weeks," I said.
Her expression did something I didn't have an immediate name for. Something between heartbreak and determination and the specific devastation of someone who had just received information they didn't know how to hold.
Without a word she picked up her bowl and slid it across the table. I looked at the bowl then at her.
She closed her eyes for a while as if reassuring me. The matter was settled, apparently.
I had been looked at many ways in my life. With fear, with respect, with calculated deference, with the particular blankness of people trying very hard not to show what they were thinking.
No one had ever looked at me like this.
Like I was something that needed looking after. I pulled the second bowl closer.
I looked back at the noodles.
They really weren't that bad.