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Chapter 28- Passive Partnership

Following the news from the male that she had attended school with, Chris insisted that the next day would be when she finally saw her old friends properly again. At her invitation, the three of them gathered the following afternoon, her urgency not going at all unnoticed as she explained her plan; meet her immediately after she had finished running errands for her dad. It led them to a small café, located in a small corner of the supermarket, at which the red-haired girl had been shopping at her father's request.

'Get there by two,' she'd said to Jonah after planning the meeting herself, barely checking whether or not the two were available before she found herself informing the darker-haired male what was going to happen.

Jonah was the first to find her at the table she had chosen, tucked away in the corner, away from anybody else, seating himself down opposite her with a friendly expression on his face. It was the look that he got back from her that gave away, no matter how many friendly or joyful looks he gave her, it was obvious in his eyes that he wasn't smiling. Neither was she. He let his lips part, a greeting prepared for her already, he decided it best to stop. Neither of them particularly wanted to waste time on forced pleasantries, so he wouldn't be the one to start. Chris's pale lips were pulled into a tight line, her eyes on the boy sitting with her, staring with such intensity that he almost couldn't look away, intimidated by the fierce glare he had almost forgotten she possessed. Finally, after a few silent moments, the college student tore his gaze away, instead turning his attention to the table, but it was once again brought back to her when he noticed the way her hands were fidgeting, tapping the table, her fingers crossing and uncrossing over and over again. Then, he noticed her constant bouncing, suddenly hearing the tapping of her heel against the ground, alerting him to the speed of which she was bouncing her knee up and down.

"Are you okay, Chris?" were the words that he eventually settled on.
She shook her head, finally turning her gaze away, as though she'd been waiting for him to speak... just say something else instead. Although, this didn't last long, her eyes on him once again in a few seconds, her arm jutting out, and suddenly, Jonah had her hand in his face.
"Smell my wrist. Is it too strong?"

Jonah's initial reaction was simply a puzzled glance, confusion etched to his face. The ginger-haired girl simply edged her arm closer to him, insisting that he did as she said. Letting the confusion pass, he sniffed, a pleasant aroma lifting from her skin and to his nose. He found himself inhaling the light and flowery scent of her perfume.
"It's nice," he nodded, his expression then reverting straight back to the uncertain look he had been giving her previously, "but why?"

"I needed a strong smell," she began, once again drumming on the tabletop with her nails, "but not too sickly-strong. Apparently, it's relaxing." As Christine continued speaking, her voice gradually softened, becoming quieter and somewhat sweeter than the one she had used to greet Jonah with upon his arrival. Once again, her gaze became intense, staring directly at her constantly-fidgeting hands.
The male across from her inspected her fingers carefully, watching as, every so often, she hit the surface between them with the same finger twice, or missed one entirely and began again.
"Again, are you okay? I get that you're stressed out, but-" Jonah didn't get the chance to continue before he was cut off.
Again, Chris's voice was rough and loud once again. "I usually wake up and have a cigarette- it's a habit now. But, this morning, I forced myself out of bed without it," she admitted, her copper eyes finally meeting his once again, "I swear to god, I'll never smoke again. Not after what you told me yesterday. I risk making it worse if I do, don't I? Oh, god, I gave him cancer, didn't I?"

It was quite the statement, and Jonah needed a little while to let the words process in his head. Chris had decided after yesterday that she wanted never to smoke another cigarette again. It had been a thought that had struck him at some point, that being in the company of this young woman while she smoked must have contributed somewhat to Connor's condition, but surely, neither of them could hold her so responsible. She just didn't want to worsen it, it seemed.
He couldn't help but admire her; when she was clearly the most stressed out and worried about her dear friend, she'd turned away from her coping mechanism, stressing herself further, worrying that she'd only make it worse.