Sister Cities

Part 64: Caitlyn

You kept me like a secret

But I kept you like an oath

Well, maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

Till you tore it all up

~

And I'm so scared of getting used to this

You said, "I'm sorry that you worried"

But don't apologize

I told you to forget me

But you stayed by my side

So let's pretend a little longer

________________________________________________________________________________

Like I have been every night this week, I stay in the shower until I'm nearly asleep, then envelop myself in my towel, ignore my skincare routine, and wander out to collapse into bed. It's piteous, yes, but it's not as though anyone is around to witness the affair.

Until today.

My window is partway open, my curtains undulating in the breeze. I stop dead in my tracks. I can feel her— crouched in some shadow, concealed behind some corner— where is my rifle?— I brace myself, waiting, waiting—

"I see you were expecting me."

I whirl around in ice-cold terror, but I register the voice in an instant, and it's not the giddy, tortured chirp I was expecting. It's lower, lazier, more teasing.

Vi lies on my bed just as she did the first time I left her alone in this room: the soles of her boots facing the ceiling, her chin propped on one folded arm. Her eyes, half-lidded, run up and down my towel-wrapped body as if she didn't completely disappear on me a week ago, and all at once, an icier-cold fury spreads overtop my panic.

"What are you— how dare you— how dare you— I cannot believe—"

My stammering is quiet but acidic, and I'm panting like I've been sprinting rather than sitting on the floor of my shower for an hour and change. Wide-eyed now, Vi sits up on her heels, then hastens to her feet, palms held up defensively.

"I'm sorry," she says. "This was a bad idea. I'll just—"

"What was a bad idea? What emboldened you to break into my bedroom after dark without even offering a warning?"

"I was gonna... I wanted to talk to you." She's edging toward that godforsaken window. I normally see her as the wild one, the flight risk, but now she makes me feel as though I'm a skittish deer that she's trying not to startle. "It was stupid. I'm sorry. I can leave."

I will need to speak at length with the guards on duty tonight. "Please, do tell me: what part of 'talking to me' necessitated frightening me out of my skin and then leering at me?"

She winces, some of the wildness coming back to her. "Nothing. I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone. Don't call the enforcers."

"I'm not going to call the enforcers." She's making it difficult to stay angry, and that in turn rekindles my anger. "I would never call the enforcers on you. You should know that."

"Okay. Sorry. I'm leaving."

"You most assuredly are not."

She freezes with her hands on the underside of the window, much as she did her last night here, when she was attempting an escape. "What?"