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Chapter Three: Little Escapes
It was that following Thursday when Catherine found out that he had transferred into her English class.
Like everywhere else, he was quiet, except when it came to poetry day every Friday.
The teacher skimmed randomly over her roster and selected three students to share the poem they were to have written. Every week it was a new subject (voted on by the class) and every week it was three new people. This particular week, it just so happened that it was Christian’s turn to go and the subject was time passage.
When his name was called, Catherine watched as he looked down at his paper nervously then nodded once to himself. He then stood and walked to the front of the classroom, looking out at everyone all at once.
“Before you begin, Mr. Young, I’d like to know how long it took you to write,” the teacher asked as she did before every presentation.
Christian shivered a bit before turning her direction, his eyes hard pressed to the floor.
“Twenty minutes, ma’am,” he replied and she nodded, motioning for him to continue.
“Twelve long years have passed,” he began quietly, his voice shaking slightly. “since your first walk down that lonely road. It’s been six years since your mother left, and four since you gave up on her ever coming home. A final year of hell on earth, a last chance to rise above, all that petty high school shit, and fucking puppy love. Seniors we are, and of this you’re all proud, but when the rest of you walk, you’ll follow a crowd.”
There was silence for a moment and everyone, including Catherine was stunned. Once recovered, the teacher told Christian to sit down and Catherine was happy to see a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as she made the announcement that no inappropriate language was to be allowed in poetry read in front of the class.
At the very end of the period, Catherine gathered her backpack and purse and walked to where Christian was leaning against the wall by the door, waiting for the bell to ring.
“Did your dad proof-read that?” she asked and Christian smiled while shaking his head. A strand of dark hair fell in front of his eyes and he quickly swiped it away.
“I didn’t even tell him we had to write poems for this class,” Christian said.
“I take it he doesn’t know you’re in regular English either?” Catherine pried.
“No, but when he finds out he’s going to be really pissed off,” he said with a laugh but his tone didn’t match his expression. It seemed as though his face said one thing and his lips said another.
“Why did you get switched?”
“The teacher said I wasn’t cut out for AP and she’s right,” Christian stated. “Give me any math problem you can think of and a piece of paper and I’ll have an answer for you, but ask me to interpret Shakespeare or read a line of the Canterbury Tales and I’ll look like the biggest idiot in the room.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” Catherine said and Christian’s eyes met hers.
“What? That I’m good at math or suck at English?”
“That you could look like an idiot,” Catherine replied. The bell suddenly rang and their conversation was over, but it had started and that was big.
Turning back towards the school, Catherine could see that Ella was now approaching. Slowly but surely she was sauntering towards the white Acura, Michael’s arm linked around her waist, his other hand who knows where. Whatever he was saying, was making Ella giggle like crazy.
Suddenly, Catherine didn’t want a ride home. The thought of one more sickening drive with Michael and Ella in the front laughing and kissing and touching made her want to bash the headlights of the small Acura into a thousand, shiny little pieces that could never be put back together.
It was fated that Christian would be her savior.
“Is it some other time yet?” he called out the window of his truck and Catherine turned back to the road. As she thought of a reply, she realized that he must have taken a second loop around the lot just to come back.
“The perfect some other time,” Catherine said with a smile as she ran around to the other side of the truck. She pulled the door open and scrambled in, all the while refusing to look at Ella, who had reached the car.
Christian sped out of the parking lot, then once he was on the main road, he asked, “where to?”
“Home… I can’t be late.”
“Neither can I,” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “But I would…”
“Where would we go?” Catherine asked, feeling the excitement pumping through her veins.
“Anywhere you wanted to,” was his reply.
“I haven’t eaten lunch,” Catherine stated and Christian chuckled.
“Food it is,” he said good-humoredly as he flipped on his turn signal and pulled into the McDonald’s driveway.
Two minutes later, they were sitting on the rock wall that kept dirt and water off of the pavement near the entrance to the drive through. Catherine was already halfway into a Big Mac and a large french-fry and Christian had just finished his own French-fries and was now guzzling down a medium coke.
“I haven’t had McDonald’s in years,” he said, sighing as he leaned back into the grass.
“What?” she asked in complete and utter surprise. “Why?”
“McDonald’s is just a luxury I never had… unless I was with my aunt.” He paused, breathing deep. “She used to take me everywhere.”
“The aunt that left you all of her money?” Catherine asked and he nodded. “I’m sorry she died.”
“I’m not,” Christian said and Catherine couldn’t hide her surprised expression. Christian smiled at her look then went on to explain, “she had cancer for nearly four years before she died. Every day it ate a little more of her brain and by the end, she didn’t even know who I was anymore.”
“And your uncle?”
“He died in a car accident,” Christian replied and Catherine looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction.
“It’s a pretty cold day,” Catherine stated, leaning back into the grass as well, folding her hands behind her head.
“Yeah, but it’s the kind of day where there’s still plenty of blue to look at,” Christian said quietly, a tone in his voice she hadn’t yet heard. “It’s one of those days that there’s more blue than you could look at in a lifetime.”
“Yeah… let alone in five minutes of freedom,” Catherine added sadly.
She looked over at him and saw that he was looking at her. “Is five minutes all we have?”
“Today? Yeah,” she said, sitting up with a sigh. “Five minutes is a lot of time though.”
“Not enough,” he replied as he pulled himself up.
“So,” she said looking at him over her shoulder. “You’re not one of those people who thinks there’s plenty of time to do everything you want to do?”
“No,” Christian said. “Sometimes, you don’t even get enough time to do the things you need to.” Catherine nodded and gathered all of their trash up and put it in a trash bin outside the restaurant.
When she returned to the truck, Christian was already inside and had started it. He unlocked the door and she climbed in. Christian looked at Catherine and Catherine looked straight back. He hesitated for another minute or so before he looked away and put the car into reverse.
The ride home was silent. Both of them were a half an hour late and there was no excuse for it, so they didn’t even try to create one.
Christian pulled into her driveway but before Catherine left, she had to ask him something.
“Is there something here?” she asked and Christian shrugged a little.
“Why would I tell you when it would serve as a perfect excuse to see you again?” he asked. “You do want to find out don’t you?”
Catherine shook her head, turning red, and slammed the door shut. Only when she was inside did she allow herself to lose her breath.
To her bewilderment, Catherine’s parents didn’t find out she was late. The maid, the principal presence in the house, hadn’t noticed, therefore, Catherine knew her parents wouldn’t.
So, little by little and day after day, Catherine began spending more time out of classes and staying longer after school.
“This is where I come whenever I need time to think clearly,” Christian said after Catherine had settled against the trunk of one of the trees with him next to her.
“It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever seen here,” Catherine said.
“Probably?” he asked.
“The park’s pretty nice,” Catherine replied, answering his unasked question.
“The park was planted,” Christian said, his voice playfully defensive. “This,” he began, motioning to the trees and other plants surrounding them. “This was here before the bridge that linked it to the other hill over there.”
“True,” Catherine said, looking quite unconvinced.
“You’re just trying to aggravate me,” he said quietly.
“Is that even possible?” Catherine asked. “Because I’m beginning to think you never get aggravated or angry. Do you even scream?”
“Of course I do,” he said, looking away. “It just takes a lot more than a little banter to get me coiled up.”
“I see…” Catherine said. “So if I hit you, would you hit me back?”
“No!” He exclaimed.
“Why not?”
“You’re a girl,” he said, his eyes still averted.
“That’s the only thing keeping you from hitting me back if I hit you?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I’m a little confused as to why you never hit him back,” Catherine said, knowing she had struck a nerve. “If the only reason you won’t hit me back is because I’m a girl, then what does your father have that’s protecting him?”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, so drop it,” Christian snapped angrily. Catherine could see he was breathing heavier and that his muscles were tense.
“All right,” she said.
The silence was long and tense, but once broken, Catherine could sense something was different. Christian was a little less guarded; like he knew he could trust her and the thought made her lightheaded.
But as happy as this made her, it couldn’t save her from the hell she was about to face at home.
“You’re home early,” Catherine stated, avoiding the question.
“and you’re late,” her mother snapped.
“I got a ride home from a friend,” Catherine said. “And we stopped to get something to eat.”
“What friend?” she asked. “Do I know her?”
“It’s a him, and yes, you do know him,” Catherine stated.
“Luke?”
“Christian.”
“Young? Christian Young from next door?” her mother asked and Catherine nodded. “What on earth were you thinking? They’re an ill-mannered and rude sort of people.”
“So are we,” Catherine said, smiling on the inside at the suddenly wideness of her mother’s eyes.
“What has gotten into you, Catherine?” her mother asked, her eyes filling with tears. “Why do you speak to me this way?”
Catherine felt a pang of guilt as she looked at the sad creature her mother had become. “I don’t know,” Catherine lied. “I’ve been so tired.”
“Get more sleep then,” she snapped. “And you should be able to get a lot after tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I have made the decision that you will come straight home from school everyday and on the weekends, you will stay at home.” Her mother paused, taking in a few deep breaths. “No company either.”
“I’m being punished?”
“Don’t think of this as a punishment,” her mother said in her falsest, most caring voice. “Think of this as an intervention.”
“Intervention for what?”
“Christian Young is not the sort of person that I think you should be hanging around with is all,” her mother said. “And my word is final on this subject.”
Upon entering his room, Catherine was shocked at what she saw. It was spotless to the point of being slightly freaky and everything was laid out neatly.
But within that façade of neat perfection, Catherine could see that Christian had an odd preference for movies, books, and music.
“Morte?” Catherine read aloud and Christian was suddenly right up behind her. He took the small movie case from her hands and put it back.
“It’s a French film from 1966… really good,” he said, then walked back to his desk. He had just turned his computer on and was now logging on.
“A little paranoid?” Catherine asked, referring to his having his own user name on his computer that he had to log onto whenever he turned the thing on.
“If I didn’t have it password protected, my dad would log on and look at my stuff,” he said, stating just as a simple fact and nothing more.
“My parents don’t do stuff like that,” Catherine said quietly, picking another random movie case from the shelf. “I’ve seen this,” she said and Christian looked over at her. She held it up and he took two swift strides to her.
“That’s my favorite,” he said.
“It was kind of weird,” Catherine said with a small laugh and a smile as she looked at the serious expression on his face.
“It’s a good weird though?” he asked and she nodded. “I wonder what other stuff you have hidden around here.”
“Nothing’s hidden,” he said, looking down at her. “It’s all out in the open. You just have to look a little closer in order to see what things really are.”
“So even your room has a philosophical theme?” Catherine asked, looking around.
“Would I be a free thinker if it didn’t?” he asked smilingly. “I’m going to go get us something to drink, okay?” he asked and she nodded. Once Christian was gone, she took his advice and began scanning the room, paying a little more attention to detail.
Seeing his closet opened just a little, she made a beeline for it.
Catherine stuck her hand in the little gap between the sliding doors and the wall, then slowly slid it open all the way, turning on the light inside.
Once her eyes adjusted to the bright, fresh bulb, she looked around in shock. Every single square of wall inside the closet was covered in newspaper clippings. It took Catherine a minute before she could even tell that they had all been individually and carefully clipped.
Stepping further inside the closet, Catherine took a closer look at them and realized they were all about war. It must have taken him hours to clips these out then put them up, she mused.
Over in the corner, Catherine saw a large box filled with composition notebooks. She walked quietly over to it and took two or three out. Glancing through them, she realized they were full. Full of Christian. Looking behind her to see if he was there, Catherine held them tightly to her chest and dashed from the closet. She ran over to her backpack and slid them inside.
Once that was done, she heard his footsteps coming down the upstairs hallway and ran back into the closet.
There she waited.
“Closets are generally off limits to first time visitors,” came Christian’s voice from behind and Catherine twirled around and stood face to face with him. By the look on his face, she could tell that he wasn’t happy.
“I’m sorry… it was open,” she said, dancing out of the closet. Christian closed the doors behind her.
“No, the doors were open,” he snapped, his voice a little less tense. He smiled as if he saw the guilt on her face and Catherine smiled back to absolve it.
“Did you find my collection interesting?” he asked, his good mood returning as fast as it had fled.
“Is it a hobby or an obsession?” Catherine returned and he shrugged.
“Neither,” he replied. “I do it because and only when I feel like I need to… so, I guess it wouldn’t qualify as either a hobby or an obsession.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“Sure…”
“Do you have a collection, Catherine?” he asked, saying her name for the first time and it sent shivers running down her spine. “What about a hobby or an obsession?”
“I collect TY beanie babies… I used to any way,” she replied and he laughed.
“is there anything now that you collect?” Catherine thought for a moment then shook her head. “Isn’t it interesting how when we grow up, things from our childhood—things that are everything to us—lose value?”
“You’re way deep,” Catherine said, looking anywhere but into the sea of darkness.
“That’s what happens when all you have to look forward to every day is the dark, dreary abyss that your father calls the life he’s given you,” Christian said, turning away. “At some point, you get broken so much on the outside that you have to turn inwards and once you’re there, there’s no going back,” he paused and looked at her. She looked down. He gently reached out and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. “What broke you?” he whispered softly and she could feel his warm breath on her face. He smelled of cologne and rain. “Because I know from your friends that you weren’t always like this. You weren’t always so sad and alone. You weren’t always so desperate for confirmation that you’d hang around with some loser from Brashton and I know that you haven’t always hated yourself and your life so much.”
“I…” Catherine was unable to speak, captivated by the way he spoke. It was like he had taken her mind and was reading it back to her.
“You have that look,” he said, shaking his head as he turned and walked to his window. “The look that says you’ve got it all planned out in your head if its not down on paper yet…”
“How do you know all of this?” Catherine asked, her eyes filling with frightened tears.
“because I’ve lived it,” he stated, turning back to her. “And that’s why you interest me so much,” he added.
“I’m glad to know I’m interesting,” she said, trying to play it off as a joke.
“And now I’ve creeped you out,” he said cheerlessly though a smile was on his face.
“No,” she murmured. “But I don’t know if I should stay here.”
“Don’t trust me?”
“Should I?” she asked.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he replied seriously. “And I know that’s part of why you’re afraid.”
“I may be a lot of things, but I am not afraid… especially not of you,” she returned artlessly.
“Then why should you second-guess staying here?” he asked. “If you’re so fearless, why not wait it out and see what happens?”
“That’s your motto isn’t it?” she asked with a small laugh. “Wait and see what happens?”
“And yours is worry, worry, worry,” he snapped.
“At least I think things through before I do them!”
“No,” he guffawed, stepping one step closer. “You think things through so you don’t have to do them. Too much of a risk for a girl stuck inside her comfort zone.”
“You’ve got me all figured out,” she muttered, her voice low and dangerous. “I’m the uptight rich girl who doesn’t realize how easy she’s got it.”
“And to you, I’m the dangerous poor guy who came into your life on borrowed cash and is going to be gone in a week,” he said right back, taking another step.
“Not worthy of my time.”
“Not worthy of anyone’s…” Catherine’s heart was beating so fast and he was so close that she sure he would hear it.
Leaning forward slowly, Catherine felt him slide his hand up her arm, around her shoulder, and into her hair. From there, he pulled her gently but firmly towards him and Catherine was forced to take a step forward.
Their lips met in a rush of warmth and its effect was immediate. Before she knew what she was doing, her arms encircled him and she was pulling him closer, trying to get as much of him against her as physically possible.
He then broke away, but refused to release her. She laid her head against his shoulder and he rested his hands on her waist.
“Now that that itch has been scratched,” he said with a smile and Catherine pulled away, swatting at him almost playfully.
“You are a seducer,” she stated and he laughed aloud. “You took advantage of my vulnerability.”
“And you took advantage of mine,” he replied. “We’re even… we both win.”
A/N: so... probably the hardest chapter to get just right, but it turned out well I think. Tell me what you thought!