Accidentally running into Vanessa that night was truly unexpected. It was probably the biggest understatement of the semester, honestly.
He'd been looking for a job all afternoon; he figured that since he was officially on his own after Nicolai finally moved out, he needed to stock up on a few things again because his cousin almost took the whole damn kitchen with him when he left.
After shopping for groceries, he drove back home quickly and filled his shelves with stocks of food and drinks, and then he turned on his search engine and looked for job vacancies that would be flexible enough for his class schedule.
Coincidentally, he ended up as a bookkeeper again. And his new boss was the owner of the ancient-looking library beside Books and Brews. Mr. Conrad Shin—he preferred to be called Shin, so Tristan went with it—was a middle-aged man who smiled a lot, and from what he observed, he had a strong inclination towards tea and playing Fruit Ninja on his phone.
He personally thought that it was a good omen, since he got hired at a place that was his favorite coffee shop's next door neighbor, which also meant that he had more time to socialize with Vanessa—if she would let him, that is.
Tired from all the things he'd accomplished today, he went to the coffee shop again and finally managed to try out one of their pastries. The caramel-flavored bread that Kayla had offered him was definitely a delicious treat, but he thought that it was a good time to try new things—especially since he was technically celebrating his newfound freedom and independence after Nic bestowed the apartment to him.
It was almost midnight when he finally decided to go home. He'd had at least three different orders of coffee earlier; the soothing ambiance of the coffee shop never failed to make him feel content with transforming into a lazy person in his favorite spot as he relaxed his mind.
He didn't really want to leave yet; but his eyes were already fluttering into a close and he knew that the staff wouldn't really care if he took a short nap here for a while, but his mind was still wide awake from all the caffeine he'd consumed, and the only thing that would help him fall asleep completely was his bed and his pillow.
Truth be told, he never expected her to bump into him at school or materialize right in front of his face out of nowhere. But what happened tonight was something else. He could feel it.
"Hey, Vanessa," Tristan called out to her when he saw her struggling at the park after he got out of the coffee shop, running as fast as he could to check on her. "Are you okay? Why are you out here at this hour?" He pushed his legs to go faster when he realized that she was about to collapse. He couldn't care less about the drizzle that was staining his clothes.
Thankfully, he managed to catch her before her face collided against the grass. He tried to ask her what was wrong, but Vanessa didn't speak; she only looked at him in confusion, her brown eyes couldn't even focus themselves properly.
A whirlwind of questions instantaneously plagued his mind. What happened to her? Why was she breathing so hard? Was she running away from something—from someone? Why couldn't she look at him straight in the eye?
Tristan knew how strong her opposition was with skin to skin contact, but in his head, he already considered this situation an emergency. And besides, his hands were already holding her in place, so he did it, anyway. He tried to shake her shoulders gently, just to see if she'd snap out of whatever trance she was in.
"Tristan," Vanessa breathed, her voice was a strange combination of panic and relief.
"I'm here," Tristan replied softly, rubbing her shoulders slowly as he patiently waited for her eyes to adjust, to focus on looking at him, instead of blindly glancing at everything around them.
He struggled to keep his face as calm as possible—he didn't want to frighten her any more than she was; if he lost his cool right in front of her tonight, she might freak out on him and push him away all over again.
"I'm here, Vanessa," he reassured her once more. His hands were shaking as he hesitantly cupped her pale face, and that's when he realized that her cheeks were stained with salty tears. Alarmed, he carefully wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. And as stupid as it sounded, he still asked, "Are you okay?"
He asked her again when she didn't answer the first time, but Vanessa's eyes remained blank and unfocused. Right before he tried to say something else, she suddenly wrapped her hands protectively around herself and gasped loudly, a fresh batch of tears spilling down her flushed face.
"Vanessa," he whispered, panicked. He still didn't know what exactly happened to her, but he was determined to comfort her in the best way he could. With careful precision, he lifted her face so he could meet her gaze and look directly into her distressed brown eyes. After a beat, her eyes finally focused on him. He sighed in relief. "Tell me what happened, please," he pleaded.
Out of ideas to make her talk to him, he sighed in defeat and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment to recollect, to try and think of any kind of way help her communicate better with him. Once again, he didn't get any kind of response from her—but then, as she shook her head repeatedly, he heard her mutter something that sounded like, "home".
Tristan would've loved to take her home, but unfortunately, he didn't know where she lived... he still asked her if she could tell him her address, though. He wasn't surprised that she didn't answer his inquiry again. There was only one solution he could think of, and he was pretty sure that she wasn't going to like every word that was going to spill out of his mouth—but he asked her, anyway.
"Vanessa," he started hesitantly, looking away from her for a moment and clearing his throat to ease off the tension he was feeling. "Uh... would it be okay if I... I drove you back home? With me?"
Vanessa's eyebrows scrunched up in the middle as she looked at him with bewildered brown eyes, confusion painted vividly across her face. She tilted her head to the side and blinked, clearly not yet grasping what he just asked her yet.
Tristan repeated his question again, this time, he forced himself not to get swallowed up by his nerves. "Vanessa? Is it okay—" he was abruptly cut off when she nodded her head weakly, her eyes looking away from his gaze and staring down at the ground.
Satisfied with her response, he nodded to himself and helped her get back up on her feet, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. "Here, let me help you stand up straight," he said, walking her to where his Prius was parked. He opened the passenger door and helped her get inside it. "Make yourself comfortable, okay?"
Tristan sighed in utmost relief; he was glad that Vanessa didn't throw a fit or protest violently. When he got inside the car and started the engine, he noticed that her head was leaning against the window, and her eyes were staring blankly at the windshield.
Once again, he thought that it was a stupid idea to ask, but his compulsive desire to make sure that she was feeling alright ruined everything. "Are you okay, Vanessa?" he asked her again, mentally slapping his face for sounding so needy.
Well, in all honesty, he really did need to hear her say that she was feeling alright. Not knowing anything about her drove him nuts—it was such an outrageously unsettling feeling, really.
When Vanessa refused to give him any kind of response, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Moments later, he gripped the steering wheel in his hands and then he drove through the night, a vast ocean of questions flooding his befuddled mind.
Tristan was fond of getting some peace and quiet on most occasions, yes, but the silence inside the car as he drove the two of them back home was thick and filled with tension, he could almost taste the uneasiness and hesitation radiating off of them.
To fill the void of silence, he decided to initiate a conversation, even just a teeny ounce of small talk would do. Usually, whenever he drove back to his apartment after his daily dose of caffeine, it only took him about ten to fifteen minutes—but tonight was different. The excruciating silence continued to stretch on, ensconcing them in an enigmatic barrier of stillness.
Tristan couldn't handle the deafening silence, though.
"Hey, Vanessa," he said warily, testing the waters as he threw her a quick glance. She didn't say anything. He took it as a sign to continue what he was saying. "Do you, uh, like to watch movies? We could watch some at my place," he paused for a moment, waiting for some kind of response from her again.
She stayed silent.
"Okay..." Tristan trailed off awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "What was the last movie you've watched?" he asked in a pleasant tone, but as usual, she didn't give him an answer.
"I haven't watched a lot of movies since I started college," he continued, feeling slightly embarrassed by his confession. He was a big fan of movie-watching, but academics was still at the top of his list.
Besides, he was too caught up with finding out everything he could about her, and that was already a good excuse to skip a few movie premiers here and there. "I think the last movie that I've watched was Logan. It was a kick ass movie—kind of sad, really, but it was still awesome."
When he glanced at her again, her brown eyes were downcast and her mouth was set into a grim line. Unable to come up with another topic to talk about, he ran his hand through his hair and decided to remain quiet as well.
Tristan easily parked his car, and then, with slightly shaky fingers, he opened the passenger door for Vanessa and said, "Come on, let's go inside." He held out his hand for her to take, but she ignored it as she got out of his car.
He could practically hear his pulse pounding wildly against his ears as he led her inside his apartment. Truth be told, inviting girls over at his place wasn't a new thing to him—in fact, he was already used to the presence of women around him, but nothing was this intense.
He became more nervous and fidgety than before. Now he wasn't sure if inviting her to come over at his place was a good plan. They were going to be alone together, and he honestly had no idea how he would be able to pull off breaking the ice once they were in his living room.
The caffeine he'd consumed at the coffee shop made him more alert and awake; it was also making it harder for him not to focus on how close they were almost touching as he sat beside her on the couch.
Sure, he'd steadied her with his hands earlier, but this kind of closeness and tension simmering between them was enough to make him stand up abruptly and excuse himself to make them a hot beverage. He needed air to breathe. Sitting there with her wasn't helping his lungs process oxygen into carbon dioxide.
The living room was quiet—a peaceful kind of quiet, not the awkward one that lingered when they were inside his car—and the drizzle continued outside.
Tristan handed her a comfy blanket so she could warm herself up before he went inside the kitchen. He got out two mugs from the cupboard and made coffee for both of them. He wasn't sure how she usually drank her coffee, but he silently hoped that it was good enough for her not to throw it away.
He briefly wondered if it was going to continue raining until tomorrow, since he still hadn't thought about how he was going to spend breakfast with her in the morning. Was it going to be awkward and filled with tension again? Or was it going to be easier and more comfortable to indulge in small talk?
Tristan closed his eyes and pressed his palm against his forehead as he leaned on the counter. His brain was relentlessly throwing snowballs of questions at him, and he was having a hard time catching them, so he tried evading them instead, but in his head, he ended up being buried deeply in snow.
He couldn't contain his thoughts—it was a miracle that he managed to shut up the whole time he was alone with her. With one last sigh, he pulled himself together and kept in mind that he should be a welcoming host to his guest. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, didn't want her to leave just yet. He had so many questions to ask her, so many things to tell her.
Don't screw this up, he reminded himself over and over.
Tristan swallowed the lump in his throat and held on to the coffee mugs for a second before heading out of the kitchen to initiate another conversation with Vanessa. A pleasant one this time, he hoped.
He was just about to call out her name when he heard her weak voice speak shakily. Her back was facing him, but from the way her shoulders were hunched up and her hand was pressed against her hair, he quickly figured out what she was doing—she was talking to someone on her phone.
What he heard next completely caught him off guard, he couldn't move a muscle.
"I... someone tried to rape me," Vanessa whispered in a broken voice.
He was frozen; absolutely paralyzed with shock and horror. His eyes widened in surprise, his knees almost gave out on his when he heard what she had just said. He was quick to remember that he was holding coffee mugs, though.
But now, all he could see was red. Red heat was emanating from his body, making him burn and tremble in rage. How could a person do something so repulsive, so disgusting to her like that? He knew it was wrong for him to think of snapping someone's neck using his own hands, but he couldn't help it. He was so fueled with immense anger, he wanted to do it.
"He... he works at the same diner as me—no, I... I ran away from him." Her voice was so weak and afraid, he couldn't recognize this girl with a fragile voice. She was a stranger to him. He blinked several times, he still couldn't believe what he was hearing right now.
"Yes, I'm safe," Vanessa breathed, and for the first time since he heard her calling someone, he was certain that she sounded relieved. Even if it was just a little bit, the trembling started to slowly fade away.
"I'm... well, I'm with a... a, uh, he's—" Vanessa paused for a moment, which fueled his curiosity, waves of panic quietly lapped around the balls of his feet, threatening to consume him. He held his breath until she spoke to the receiver again. "—he's my... friend," she said that last word hesitantly, but thankfully, she didn't sound scared or unsure.
"Yes... sorry? Oh, yeah, uh—" she paused again, and this time, she sniffed and gasped loudly for air. It took all his willpower to refrain from launching himself at her just so he could rub her shoulders and comfort her.
"What he looks like? He's... well, his name is Phil, but I don't know what his last name is... I guess he's about thirty years old—like, early thirties or something. He's white and has salt and pepper hair. Uh... he's about five foot six—maybe seven, I... I'm not sure if... uh, he's a few inches taller than me, yeah."
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he listened to the conversation. Thirty years old! That asshole was a disgusting pedophile! His mind was still trying hard to accept the fact that he was really hearing this conversation now.
Honestly, he didn't want to interrupt the call—yet—and besides, he wasn't like that bastard who tried to force her into doing something she didn't want to do. He would never touch her inappropriately. Never.
He continued to listen.
"His eyes are dark and he has crooked teeth... yeah, I worked with him." He relaxed slightly when he noticed that her voice wasn't shaky anymore. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he placed the coffee mugs back on the counter and leaned against the living room as she talked to the operator.
"A diner, yes. Dottie's Diner—uh, it's at one-one-oh-one Spring Street. I... I don't know if he's still there... I ran away as fast as I could. Pardon? Yeah, my friend's house. Uh, I don't exactly know where this place is... no, he's a nice guy—he helped me get away from... from..." Vanessa sniffled and shook her head, remembering that bastard's name probably brought back bad memories.
Not being able to restrain himself anymore, he walked over to the couch and sat beside her again. Vanessa gasped, clearly startled with the sudden company. Tristan pressed his index finger against his lips and gestured her to continue conversing with the operator on the other line.
"Yes," Vanessa said as she nodded her head, her eyes were watery and bloodshot, a sight he thought he would never see. "Hang on, I'll ask him his address," she looked at him with expectant eyes, and immediately, he told her where he lived.
"We're at one-three-four-six North East Fairmont Road," Vanessa repeated what he told her to the operator. Tristan held his breath as she waited for a response on the other line. "Yes," she said, "we will, thank you." A beat passed, and then she finally hung up the phone and blinked repeatedly, that same, dazed expression flashing across her face.
For the past few weeks, he had seen her brush off people easily, had seen her talk menacingly at their classmates and she did it to him, as well. The person he was seeing now was far from the intimidatingly aloof girl he had interacted with before.
Sure, he slightly freaked out when Kayla turned broody when they last talked, but witnessing Vanessa completely fall apart right in front of his face was entirely something else.
Tristan was enraged with the abhorrent man who had the gall to cripple her with obscene actions—he really wanted to beat that bastard Phil into a pulp.
"I called nine-one-one," Vanessa murmured, her gaze lowered down to her lap, her fingers still woven into her cellphone. She took a deep breath before looking up at him. "The police... they're coming here, Tristan."
His arms were itching to wrap themselves around her, to envelope her into a comforting embrace. It was difficult to restrain himself from doing things that he usually did so she wouldn't freak out.
"I know," Tristan answered softly and nodded his head, then he moved a little closer to her, but still left a small space between them. He didn't want her to think that he was taking advantage of her vulnerability, didn't want her to think like he was that bastard who laid his hands on her. "I... I honestly don't know what to say—"
"I'm sorry," Vanessa whispered as she looked up at his through her lashes, her brown eyes sad and apologetic. Looking into her melancholic gaze made him feel like someone was squeezing the insides of his chest. It was both painful and distracting. "For... for causing you all this trouble, Tristan. I'm really sorry."
Hearing her apologize out of the blue absolutely took him by surprise. He never heard her say the words 'I'm sorry' to anyone at school or at the coffee shop. She was always relentlessly unapologetic of the way she spoke and interacted with other people; witnessing her apologize by her own volition right in front of him was a moment he would never forget.
And she said his name, too! It made the whole thing even more surreal, honestly. He knew that she had been in a very bad situation hours ago, but could someone really blame him for feeling so elated with hearing her say his name without any trace of menace in it? He was incredibly pleased with what he had just heard—never mind the police pulling over at the curb outside, he was downright happy right now.
When he absentmindedly reached out to cup her face with his right hand, he instantly cursed himself for doing something inadvertently stupid. But he couldn't pull his hand away from her pale face. Truth be told, he wanted it to linger there for a few more minutes.
Almost immediately, he flinched and was about to pull away, but Vanessa's eyelids fluttered shut as she leaned into his touch. The clenching sensation in his insides vanished, and was instantly replaced by a warm feeling pooling at his chest.
In that moment, she looked so calm, so peaceful. There was no hint of fear or anger in her face, only relief and contentment. The corners of his lips slowly quirked up into a small smile. He was content, too.
"It's okay, Vanessa," he reassured her as he gently stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I'm here."
Perhaps this blissfully delicate moment was better than wrapping his arms around her and inhaling her alluring scent. To him, having her this close was already enough. He was grateful for the unbelievable coincidence that happened to him after exiting the coffee shop.
Moments later, their cocoon of peaceful bliss was interrupted by loud police sirens outside his apartment.
~
Another unexpected event that happened to him that night was sitting in an interrogation room.
The room was a entirely pale shade of gray, sharp corners and smooth edges decorated the desolate walls, and a monochromatic wall clock hung on to the wall behind the stocky police officer facing him. Tristan placed his hands on the table and threaded his fingers together.
"I'm Detective Garcia," the police officer introduced himself in a deep baritone, his stern voice ringing in Tristan's ears, his hazel eyes narrowing at the blonde boy sitting in front of him. "I'll be asking you a few questions regarding Miss Vanessa Dawson's report about getting sexually harassed a few hours ago. I want you to answer as clearly as possible. Do you understand?"
"Yes, detective," Tristan answered, silently hoping that he sounded convincing enough for Detective Garcia.
"What's your name, boy?" he asked. "And how are you related to Vanessa Dawson?"
"My name is Tristan Andrews, detective," Tristan answered smoothly. "I'm a friend of hers, and we share the same Literature class at the university."
"Do you know anything else about Vanessa's job?"
"I'm aware that she's an employee at a coffee shop," he said. "I'm a regular there myself, actually. But I didn't know that she had another job, which was a waitress at a diner. Well, one of her friends who's a barista at the same coffee shop told me about it recently."
"Who's this friend of yours, then?"
"Her name's Kayla—we're both friends with Vanessa, detective."
"Alright," Detective Garcia picked up the clipboard in front of him and wrote something down on it. "Does Kayla know what happened to Vanessa tonight?"
"No."
"Where were you when you saw Vanessa running?"
"I was out—" Tristan paused for a moment and tried to be more specific in what he was saying. Detective Garcia furrowed his thick eyebrows and narrowed his eyes at him when he stopped talking. "Well, I just got out a coffee shop and I was on my way to my car. I didn't know that it was her at first—but I still rushed over to where she was because she almost collapsed on the ground."
Detective Garcia arched an eyebrow as he nodded slowly and wrote down on his clipboard. "Did she say anything about being sexually harassed when you saw her? What did she look like, when you saw her collapse?"
Images of Vanessa's stricken face clouded his mind, making him frown. It wasn't a pleasant sight. "No," he shook his head. "No, she didn't say anything at first. She was really quiet and she had these weird, blank eyes, you know? I was freaking out on the inside but I didn't want her to get scared or anything, so I just kept telling myself not to lose my cool."
"Did anybody else see her collapse?"
"No, I don't think so. The park was pretty empty when I saw her, detective."
"Did you notice if she was hurt in any kind of way?"
Tristan blinked, pressing his lips together and trying to remember if he saw any marks on her arms. To his relief, he didn't see anything like that. "No," he answered. "Vanessa just looked... really scared and tired, that's all."
"Why did you bring her home with you?" Detective Garcia's eyes narrowed in suspicion, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
"Vanessa refused to say anything, even when I tried to ask her what happened," Tristan sighed. He was slightly ticked off with the detective's accusing tone, but he let it slide easily; he thought it was only natural for detectives and police officers to be intimidating, given the kind of job they had and the situation they were currently in.
"I didn't know where she lived—she never told me a single word, detective," he continued. "So I asked her if she was okay with me driving her back to my apartment. It took her a while to say yes, but she did, eventually."
"What do you mean, 'it took her a while'?" Detective Garcia asked, a deep frown lingering on his tan face.
"As I've said," Tristan replied evenly as he wet his lower lip with his tongue. "Vanessa didn't talk a lot when I first saw her. I let her think about what I was offering her—I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or anything like that."
"Alright," Detective Garcia nodded tentatively, scribbling something on his clipboard again. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. "Did either of you contact her parents? Did you tell anyone else about what happened?"
"To be honest, detective," Tristan said, "I've never heard of her parents or any family member. She doesn't even bother talking about them. And no, I didn't tell anyone."
Detective Garcia heaved a deep sigh as he penned down another couple of words on his trusty clipboard. What was he writing there, anyway? Tristan wondered.
The detective ignored his curious stare as he continued writing whatever it was on his clipboard. "Did she say anything when both of you got back to your apartment?"
"No, not really," he said, a frown settling on his face as well. "She just stayed quiet throughout the entire drive and she didn't say anything else to me. The only time I heard her talk was when she dialled nine-one-one from her phone."
Now that he thought about it, he honestly felt frustrated with Vanessa not saying anything to him when he ran into her earlier. He knew how difficult it was for her to willingly tell people a few things about herself, but the uncomfortable silence and awkward tension that lingered between them was frustrating.
"Nothing at all?" Detective Garcia inquired skeptically and tilted his head to the side, his hazel eyes perplexed.
"No," Tristan said, shaking his head again. "She barely spoke a word, even when we were in my apartment. Except when she talked to the nine-one-one operator, detective." He briefly wondered when this interrogation process was going to be over. He was getting hungry and sleepy, and he was sure that Vanessa probably felt the same way, too.
Tristan lowered his head and covered his mouth with his hands when he yawned. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was to appear rude and disinterested to Detective Garcia.
"That's about it," Detective Garcia declared, clicking the cap of his pen and tucking it inside his coat as he stood up from his seat at the same time Tristan did, and held out his hand. "Thank you for your cooperation, Tristan. We'll do whatever it takes to apprehend the man behind this awful crime. In the meantime, go and get some rest, kid. And Vanessa, too."
Tristan smiled lazily at Detective Garcia and offered his hand. They shook hands before he went ahead and exited the interrogation room.
He ran his fingers through his hair and slightly tugged on the roots to keep himself awake; he needed to find Vanessa first before he completely fell asleep.
He saw her sitting alone on a chair near a vending machine, far away from the officers' tables. She was looking down at her lap again, her thick curtain of dark hair making her pale face almost indiscernible. He walked over to where she was and crouched down in front of her. He could've sat down beside her, but again, he didn't want to freak her out.
"Hey, Vanessa," he said softly, tilting his head to the side to get a better view of her face. "How are you holding up? Do you want me to get you anything?" He didn't know how her interrogation went, so he wanted to make sure that she was really feeling okay.
"No, thank you," she said, shaking her head. She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a portion of her lovely face.
"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Yes," she whispered, nodding her head. She looked up at him through her lashes again, and it nearly made him fall flat on his ass and stare at her mahogany eyes. "How did your, uh, interrogation go? Uh... mine went okay, I guess. I just... wanted to say sorry again, for... you know, dragging you into this—it's not... I shouldn't have—"
"I'm glad you dragged me into it," he admitted, smiling shyly at her. It was true. Despite not being able to sleep on time tonight, he was very happy to lend her a hand. "I really don't mind, Vanessa. In fact... I'm honestly relieved that I was the one who saw you and not some other random guy."
It was true—if a different person had seen her instead of him and took advantage of her vulnerable state... he didn't want to think about it anymore; he shook his head to get rid of the appalling image in his thoughts.
Vanessa yawned. "Shit," she muttered under her breath as she rubbed her eyes with her hands.
"Do you want me to drive you back to your place?" Tristan offered, noticing her drowsy eyes. Both of them were already on the verge of sleep, and he was sure that she wanted to fall asleep on her own bed, not his.
"No," Vanessa refused just as quickly, biting her lower lip and looking down at her lap again as she fumbled with her pale fingers. "I... uh... would it be okay if I..." she trailed off for a moment, sighing deeply. She looked nervously hesitant. "...if I—I stayed with—"
"Yes, of course," Tristan abruptly cut her off and stood up once more, sounding a little too enthusiastic than usual. Realizing what he did, he looked away from her and scratched the back of his neck as he cleared his throat.
"I mean—" he gulped, looking around the police station and trying to find something to stare at aside from her coffee-colored eyes. He cleared his throat again, hoping that he sounded more like his usually calm self. "—yeah, of course you can spend the night, Vanessa."
"Thanks," she said, sporting another shy smile.
He nodded in response, afraid that if he opened his mouth to say something, he would only end up mumbling gibberish. That smile of hers nearly made him disintegrate.
~
Just like before, the drive back to his apartment was quiet, but this time, it was a peaceful kind of quiet. The officers at the station reassured them one last time before they were escorted back to his apartment.
Tristan was grateful for the silence as they sat in the backseat; the shy smile she gave him at the police station was still in his mind. Every once in a while, he would secretly glance at her and smile to himself—his chest felt full of relief and unexplainable happiness and he could barely even contain his enthusiasm.
When they got back to his apartment, his nerves slowly consumed every ounce of control and composure he had in his system. His palms became shaky and sweaty, his coherent thoughts turned into mush as he closed the door shut and gazed at the girl walking in front of him.
Vanessa settled herself on his couch and took off her shoes, hugging her knees against her chest. After making sure that the door was already locked, he sat beside her again, leaving a small space between their bodies.
An imaginary lightbulb suddenly clicked atop his head.
"Do you want something to drink, Vanessa?" he remembered that he had left two steaming mugs of warm coffee on his counter before they went to the station.
It probably turned cold while they were away, and he knew that it was a ridiculous question to ask, since it was practically morning already, but he still did it, anyway. He was worried that she felt dehydrated after all the running and talking she'd done a few hours ago.
"Or something to eat? I could make late dinner—" he paused for a moment, thinking about his words, "—wait, uh, maybe it's called early breakfast? I'm not really sure—"
"Don't worry about me," Vanessa said quietly, turning her head slightly so she could look at him. Those brown eyes were so mysterious, he honestly didn't mind getting lost in those enigmatically beautiful depths. "I'm okay, Tristan."
Three seconds later, he was finally able to respond. He nodded slowly and tried to look at anything but her eyes. Her caramel eyes were magnificently hypnotic—looking into them was like being sucked in a vortex and never coming back at all. It sounded so tempting, he almost wanted to give in already.
But he resisted.
He shouldn't think of things like that, he definitely shouldn't. It was wrong. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, especially now, since they were alone together in his apartment. He didn't want to screw up the only chance he had to talk to her. But damn it, having her this close to him was unbelievably distracting. It messed up him up, big time.
Before he could screw up even more, he abruptly stood up on his feet and excused himself so he could go to his room. Confused, Vanessa nodded hesitantly as she wrapped the blanket he gave her against her body and went back to hugging her knees against her chest.
Tristan hastily cleaned his room, throwing away his clothes that were at the edge of his bed inside his cabinet. He fixed his bed and placed his scattered textbooks on his desk.
Upon seeing her papers tucked underneath a stack of folders beside his laptop, he reminded himself to give them to her later or after breakfast. The latter sounded better than the former, so he decided to go with that option instead.
Tristan checked if his room was clean enough one last time before going back to the living room. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw her curled up on the couch, her brown eyes sleepy, her lower lip sticking out into an adorable pout.
A fond smile spread across his lips as he walked over to her. "Hey," he murmured softly, carefully placing his hand on her shoulder. He waited for her to flinch, but thankfully, she didn't.
Vanessa fluttered her eyelids sleepily as she shifted and looked up to face him. "Oh, hey," she mumbled, suddenly covering her face with a blanket. A few seconds later, she smiled sheepishly at him. "Sorry," she said, "I yawned."
She was so cute, he wondered if she even knew how absolutely adorable she was.
Tristan opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat as he looked down and fumbled with his fingers that were hidden behind his back. In his head, he slapped himself for acting terribly idiotic in front of her. He took a deep breath before saying something this time.
"You... you should sleep in the guest room," he managed to blurt out, still feeling embarrassed beyond belief.
"No," she muttered groggily. He swallowed the lump in his throat and willed himself to look at her again. She was so fucking cute. "I'll stay here."
"No, no, no," he tried to argue, vehemently shaking his head as he sat down on the edge of the couch. He felt her shift a little so he could sit properly. "I... I can definitely sleep here, Vanessa. I want you to be as comfortable as possible."
Vanessa's eyebrows knitted together. Much to his surprise, she sat up and crossed her arms against her chest, a frown settling on her face. He didn't know if this annoyed—but still sleepy—version of her was cuter than the one he saw earlier, but what he found out tonight was this—Vanessa Dawson was undeniably adorable when she was sleepy.
"Don't fight me on this," Vanessa muttered under her breath as she hunched her shoulders and covered her mouth, another yawn escaping her lips. "I'm already comfortable here, Tristan."
It wasn't the first time she'd said his name tonight, but damn, hearing her say it over and over was still so... euphoric. Tristan couldn't resist the delirious smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew that he probably looked crazy to her, but he was too fucking happy to care.
"Don't fight me on this," he repeated teasingly. "But this is my apartment, so what I say is going to final. You're going to sleep in the guest room, Vanessa."
Vanessa narrowed her eyes at him, but she just sighed in defeat and didn't say anything. There was a small smile that slowly spread across her lips as she lazily stood up from the couch.
He gaped at her as she groaned and stretched her arms, that smile was totally uncalled for. Since when did Vanessa Dawson smile at him? Even if her smile only lasted for a split second, he knew that he was never going to forget it. It was the first time she genuinely smiled at him. This was one of the greatest nights of his life, for sure.
"Fine," Vanessa rolled her eyes, bending down to fetch the blanket. She pressed it against her chest and looked at him expectantly. "Where's the guest room then, Tristan?"
Tristan stood up from the couch, too, and took a deep breath to calm his nerves again. "Follow me," he said, walking past her as he guided her to his room. His heart maniacally pounded in his chest as he felt her presence quietly trail behind him, making him irrationally nervous and hyperaware of her slow and steady breathing, her soft, delicate sighs.
It was a miracle that he hadn't crumbled into pieces in front of her yet; he was certain that his composure had been completely thrown out the window already.
He clutched the doorknob of Nicolai's old room when he got there first, desperate to find something to hold on to. With shaky hands and wobbly legs, he gripped the doorknob tightly and took three deep breaths to calm himself before opening the door.
Moments later, Tristan pulled himself together and flashed her a small smile. "This is where you're going to sleep," he said.
Vanessa flashed him another lazy smile. "Thank you, Tristan," she said sincerely, then she walked into the room.
Before she could close the door, he added, "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me, okay?"
"I will," she answered, nodding her head slowly.
"Good night, Vanessa," he smiled.
She smiled at him, too. "Good night, Tristan."
~
There was an earsplitting scream that echoed throughout his apartment, jolting him awake. It took him a moment to realize that the loud screeches were coming from the guest room, where Vanessa was. Panicked, he got out of bed immediately and ran towards her room.
Tristan mentally prepared himself to kick some ass, just in case an intruder had infiltrated his apartment while he was sleeping soundly. He opened the door quickly and turned on the light, frantically scanning the room for any kind of danger.
He sighed in relief when he saw that no one was holding her hostage or something. But that relief instantly evaporated when he saw her violently thrashing on the bed, thick beads of sweat trailing down her forehead as she let out another bloodcurdling shriek.
"Vanessa," he gasped as he rushed over to the bed, placing both of his hands on her shoulders to restrain her from jerking. "Vanessa," he repeated, shaking her shoulders to wake her up. "Hey, come on, snap out of it," he shook her shoulders again, more forcefully this time.
"Veronica," she screamed, several tears streaming down her cheeks as she thrashed again, her mouth opening up and desperately gasping for air. "Veronica," she wailed, "Veronica!"
"Wake up, Vanessa," he pleaded breathlessly, shaking her harder, faster than before. "I need you to snap out of it and wake up, please." He placed his hands around her arms and squeezed gently, checking to see if she would wake up at the slight pressure he was exerting.
She gasped for air, her eyelids slowly fluttering.
Carefully, he cupped her face in his hands, just like what he did before the police came to shatter their tranquil contentment. "Vanessa," Tristan whispered as he wiped her tears with his thumbs. "Wake up already. Please."
She gasped, but this time, her eyes flew open. Her brown eyes were darting in different directions, blank and out of focus.
"Snap out of it already, Vanessa," he pleaded again. "Wake up. Come on, wake up, wake up—"
Moments later, Vanessa gasped again, but this time, her eyes blinked rapidly, slowly focusing them on him. "You were having a nightmare," he said in a small, shaky voice when her eyes lingered on his face a few seconds longer than usual.
"What?" Vanessa said in a breathless voice, looking immensely disoriented.
"I ran as fast as I could to check on you and I... I panicked when I saw you screaming and tossing and turning and crying at the same time," he admitted. "I felt so helpless," he added, shaking his head and briefly closing his eyes.
"Shit," Vanessa cursed under her breath, propping herself on her elbows and running her fingers through her messy hair.
"Do you need me to get you anything?" he asked, worried that she might have nightmares again later.
"My backpack—"
"It's in the living room," he reassured her. "Why? What do you need?"
Vanessa's eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. When she looked back at him, her brown eyes were filled with apprehension.
"I'll get your backpack," he declared, sensing her reluctance. He stood up from the bed and hurried to the living room fetch her backpack, which was sitting at the foot of the couch. He handed it to her when he got back to the guest room, a crease forming on his forehead as he sat on the bed again.
Vanessa held her backpack tightly and didn't move an inch for a moment, as if she were waiting for him to leave. He should've left though, since it was what he would usually do, but because he was feeling extra curious, he decided to stay.
Sensing that he wasn't going anywhere, Vanessa sighed in exasperation and took out something from the front pocket of her bag. It was a vial of medicine. Then, from the inside of her backpack, she produced a tall, red and white tumbler that had cracks on it. He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion.
"Good thing I had this inside my backpack," Vanessa mumbled, a satisfied smile taking over her face. "I hope that fucker's face gets ruined because of me."
Tristan blinked. "Sorry?"
"I hit Phil with my backpack," Vanessa answered casually. "Luckily, my tumbler's a sturdy one." She removed the cap and tapped the rim of the vial against her palm, producing two white pills. "It helps me sleep," she muttered under her breath, then she downed both of the pills and drank from her tumbler.
"If you say so," Tristan sighed, frowning. He was both curious and concerned with what he just witnessed; his mind was too tired to process which emotion he should be feeling right now. His body desperately wanted to lie down and sleep.
"You look like you're going to pass out," Vanessa remarked quietly. "Uh... you could stay here... you know, if you want to."
"Alright," Tristan nodded gratefully, plopping himself down on the bed and closing his eyes. It wasn't difficult for him to drift of to sleep, his body was finally able to relax. A few moments before his consciousness completely faded into the darkness, he said, "Good night, Vanessa."