These Starcrossed Lives of Ours (3 page)

Ian

I couldn’t sleep that night. No matter how badly I wanted to believe her, the girl’s story just didn’t make any sense. If she’d been mugged the thief would’ve took the money and ran. He wouldn’t have stayed around to torture her, to slice into her skin and bruise every part of her body. What kind of a thief would do that to someone they didn’t know? Had it been her abusive family, perhaps? Or was that a lie too?

I punched my pillow and turned on my side. I already knew there was no point in trying to get it out of her. She’d never tell me anything, not until I gained her trust. And even then I wasn’t sure exactly if she’d tell me the whole truth. It seemed like some things Christie wanted to keep hidden forever.

Whoever had done this to her could be looking for her, and could find her here. That thought didn’t frighten me, though...it only made me angry. I would find the person who did this to her and when I did, there’d be hell to pay. I’d make sure of it.

I tossed and turned, unable to figure out one question. If it was dangerous to be harboring this girl, why did I only feel the need to fiercely protect a stranger instead of run?

Christine

My wish to heal quickly wasn’t granted. I healed slowly, slower than the leaves that fell outside Ian’s apartment window. I don’t remember much of the first month, because I slept a lot. I stayed on the couch, getting up only to go to the bathroom or, if I felt well enough, to eat. After nearly a month I was able to walk again. Ian did his best to make sure I had everything I needed, but in all honesty I wished he would just leave me alone. I sighed with relief every time he left at seven that morning, coming back at about five or six each night, save for the weekends which he had free.

He went to church on Sundays, and tried to drag me along. I refused every time. Setting foot in a church was a death sentence, as Annabelle had taught me, and part of me believed that the instant I walked into a sermon my entire body would burst into flames. I was a murderer, wasn’t I?

Other than church, Ian was around constantly. He was some sort of social worker up at the elementary school, which kept him relatively busy, I was happy to say.

But I couldn’t avoid him at all times.

“How are you feeling today, Christie?” he asked for about the millionth time that Saturday morning as I got up off the couch to sit at the table, waiting for the dozen eggs that he loved to make to finish cooking. “Does anything hurt? Looks like your bruises are pretty much gone. That’s great.” He placed a full platter in front of me, which I could never shove down but tried anyway. When I started attacking the eggs with disinterest his grin got wider and he said, “Come on, where’s that big, bright smile of yours?”

Had I ever smiled in front of him? I didn’t say anything. When he wasn’t working Ian was always trying to talk to me. Unsuccessfully of course…I had yet to break my silence.

“Today’s a late start day up at the school,” Ian informed me when I was done, and my stomach dropped in dread. “I have an extra hour before I need to show up. You want to play checkers?”

Ian played board games with me constantly. I didn’t mind them because they made him think, so he didn’t talk as much. I nodded yes to his question. He got up and said, “Cool. I’ll get the game, you stay right here.”

As if I had somewhere else to go. As he left the room I got up to put the dirty dishes in the washer. Cleaning off the table gave my shaky hands something to do. No matter what, I could never seem to get Annabelle off my mind. Every shadow in this apartment made me think she was just outside the door.

“Ouch!” Ian snapped, holding his foot off the floor as he walked into the kitchen again, game box in hand. “Dangit! I told my mother I didn’t want that stupid sewing machine. Goes to show you she’s stubborn. I should’ve never given her an extra key.”

When he sees that I’m standing up he drops the game on the table immediately and rushes over, arms extended as if to catch me. “Christie, what are you doing? You should sit down and let me handle it.”

I was getting sick and tired of this guy treating me like I was made of glass. I had been through hell and back, probably more than what he could ever imagine, and he expected me to crumble just because I had put a few dishes away? He spotted the monstrous glare I was giving him and backed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re incapable of it, I really don’t. I just don’t want you exerting yourself, okay? Not until you’re better.”

If I glared at him any harder he probably would’ve incinerated. I let it drop and went back to my seat, still fuming but not willing to show it to him.

“Sorry again,” he said meekly as he sat down. “Because I did that, I’ll let you go first.”

He always let me go first. It wasn’t like this was anything new. I crossed my arms. He sighed and said, “Uh…you can set up the game?”

That was better. I quickly did so and we faced each other, red checkers against black, as I made my first move carelessly.

“Good one,” he said, and I rolled my eyes. He didn’t notice. “But can you handle this?”

He made a really stupid move and within the next two plays I had taken about four of his pieces already. “Ouch,” he winced. “Okay, that one was rough, but I think I can redeem myself.”

My mouth remained thin. Annabelle and I never played games like this, but when we did, she always won, even when I wasn’t trying to let her. It brought back painful memories that I didn’t want to remember, and I slammed my next piece down a little harder than I should, shaking the whole board.

“Whoa there muscles,” Ian teased. “Don’t break the table.”

Sometimes I thought this guy talked just to hear himself. I moved a piece over three of Ian’s, the last ones he had, and he sat there dumbfounded and looking at the board. “Dang. I didn’t see that coming. You want to play again?”

He took my silence for a yes. “Okay! I’ll go first now. You better watch it…I might beat you this time.”

I repressed a sarcastic laugh. I won every single game of checkers we ever played. Ian wasn’t as logical as I. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that he thought more with his heart than he did with his head.

I made the next game even quicker than the first. I made a complicated play that left Ian scratching his head when we were done.

“I’m not even gonna ask what that was,” he said. “But I have to go to work now. You want to continue when I get home?”

I shook my head. His smile fell just a bit and he said, “Well, okay. That’s fine. We’ll do something else. Don’t let anybody in now.” He winked at me and walked out the door, keeping me in his eyesight as he left. When the door was shut I heard Ian stumble into something in the hallway and listened as it crashed, Ian moaning at the mess he had just made.

I made a laugh die in my throat. It was really hard not to take Ian as a joke. I was consistently reminding myself that he saved my life, and that I only had a few more days to deal with this…the minute I stopped being so sore I would thank him for what he had done and would be on my way to devil knew where.

Even so, it didn’t stop the guilt. After all, who else would take in a complete stranger and leave them alone in their house for hours, expecting them to steal nothing while they were gone? I felt bad that I couldn’t repay him.

I looked around. The apartment was a bit messy. Maybe if I tidied it up a bit…

              I bent down to pick up a blanket on the floor, one that had been sitting there for weeks. As I started folding I saw that it had several holes all over it, the size of my hand at least. I shook my head. This wasn’t exactly the first thing that was ripped around here. Even the shoddy curtains covering the window needed minor repairs. Ian couldn’t afford to buy new things, not while caring for me.

Hm. That sewing machine was in the corner, and it had thread…

Ian wasn’t exactly Mister Housekeeper. He could fix things, as stuff broke around the old apartment all the time, and as long as it was meat he could cook it, but anything else involving housekeeping meant he was pretty much hopeless. I might as well make him some dinner, and patch up a few of his blankets while I was at it. Heck, I had time…I had seen a couple of his shirts needed buttons After living in the cult under Annabelle’s orders for so long, I’d pretty much become the mother of the household and had learned how to do a lot of things. In fact, the cult was probably suffering right now, without anyone around to take care of them…

I refused to feel sorry for the cult now, after what they had done to me. Picking the sewing machine off the floor and placing it on the kitchen table, I set it up easily and then went to rummage through the big trash bag that had come with it. It was filled with tons of fabric, large and small scraps that Ian’s mom had given to him. Perfect. It was just what I needed. Grabbing the blanket and a pair of scissors, I got to work.

The phone rang a couple times but I ignored it as I sewed. People called the house phone but I never answered. I really had to wonder why Ian kept it up, as he used his cell phone most of the time. As far as I could tell nobody knew I was here. I never went outside because I couldn’t yet go down stairs (believe me, I had tried). In time I had come to live with it. The longer I kept out of sight of the cult, the better. Ian didn’t object to me never leaving the apartment. Sometimes I wondered if this man was one of those crazy serial killers who only saved young girls to kill or take advantage of them later. But Ian never made a move, or showed any telltale signs. He was as friendly as possible, and it astounded me. I still didn’t trust him, but that really came down to the fact that I didn’t trust anyone, thanks to Annabelle. As I thought about her, I couldn’t believe that creatures like Ian could still walk the earth with her about. How could anyone be so…so…
nice?

It felt great to be useful, out from under the stern watch of Ian who would have complained until I began resting all day, if he was here. I worked until a little past eleven, in which I had finished everything in the kitchen, living room, and closet. Even the curtains almost looked brand new. Proud of my handiwork I got a small sandwich and then started on my newest escapade…his room.

I had never been inside of the small bedroom and I figured I wasn’t supposed to be in there. Rules had never stopped me however, so I journeyed inside.

At least it was clean. There wasn’t much inside, save for a double bed and a white dresser. A lot of the things in here needed worse patching up than the living room.  I started with the curtains and comforter, and once I was done with that moved onto his clothes. I felt terrible going through his drawers, but forced myself to buck up. I wasn’t supposed to care about what I did. I was going to hell no matter what happened. I needed to grow a pair. Grabbing everything that needed fixing I carried it back into the kitchen and got to work.

It was nearing four when I had folded everything up and returned it to its proper place and I was exhausted, but I wouldn’t break my nonexistent promise. I had told myself I would make dinner for him too. It didn’t have to be a four course meal. I quickly whipped up a casserole and then placed it in the oven to bake, looking around the room.

Dinner was made, almost everything was fixed, and I was really tired. The only thing left to be patched up was a pillow with a bit of stuffing coming out of it. I could nip that up in a jiffy. I went back into his room to get it, and my legs ached with the effort. Was I still so weak a bit of housework had my body like jelly? I looked at his bed and swayed on the spot. He wouldn’t mind if I laid down for a bit, just rested? As long as I was out of his bedroom by the time he got home, he wouldn’t even notice…

I crawled on the bed and rested my head on the flat pillows. He had given me the nicer one, and the better blanket for the couch as well. He was such a sweetheart. I smiled.

The smell that was coming off the pillows was very comforting. It was a soft mix of pine, a musky scent of spice and woodland that flooded my nostrils and somehow filled me right up. I didn’t know if it was what Ian smelled like or if it was a spray or a scented candle or something, but I liked it a lot.

I didn’t realize that I’d fallen asleep until I heard the bedroom door open. I jerked awake, ripped pillow in hand, to see Ian standing outside the door.

“Ian…” I said, the second word spoken since my arrival. I sat up, shaking sleep from my eyes, “I’m so sorry…”

He was beaming. “The house looks great, and dinner smells fantastic. Did you do all this for me?”

I shut my gaping mouth and nodded, pushing the bangs out of my eyes.

He looked around the bedroom. “You patched up things in here too. And my clothes,” he said, looking at a shirt I had forgotten to fold on the bed. “I didn’t know you could sew. How did you get it done so quickly?”

I shrugged. He chuckled and said, “I appreciate it. You did a really good job. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

I shook my head quickly and he held out his hand to help me up. I grabbed it out of instinct, still half asleep. Annabelle’s hand had always been soft, and out of proportion to my own. Ian’s hand was rough, and it fit over my own a little too well. When I found my feet I instantly recoiled my hand back, rubbing my palm where we had touched.

If he had noticed my reaction he didn’t show it. We went to the kitchen and he began serving me dinner. At the sight of the casserole I became nauseous, even though I knew it was delicious and Ian was already planning on seconds. I had forgotten that this was the first meal Annabelle and I had ever shared, and had made it subconsciously. Now that I remembered it made me sick to look at. When she had left me, I stopped eating altogether and lost fifteen pounds.

I shook my head, trying to snap out of it. I began shoveling the food in my mouth, forcing myself to overcome my nausea. The days of me being sick over Annabelle were done. I would no longer do that to myself.

“Wow, you’re really hungry,” Ian said in approval. He grabbed another huge cut of the casserole and said, “Here! Have some more!”

That night while watching TV I felt ill, but it was worth it. I was proud of myself for once in my life, and tried to keep my burps quiet as Ian rattled on and on next to me.

“There was this little girl who came to me today, and she told me that her family didn’t have enough to eat,” Ian said, and his eyes sparkled with tears as some movie played across the screen. “I helped her sign up for a special program the school runs for free lunches, and gave her a couple pamphlets for food banks her family could go to. It’s really sad that these kids have to go through this.”