“Right…” I say as I nod.
“Right…” Cherie nods.
I place the broken bag of eggshells into the waste bin and wash my hands in the sink. I look over as Cherie is firing up the stove.
“Go and sit please,” Cherie says as she gestures to the dark wooden table in the other room.
“You don’t need any more help?”
“Go and sit please.”
“Got it,” I reply, as I do as I am told. I make my way into a small dining room with only enough room for two chairs and a few decorations. Like much of the rest of the apartment they are all Paris themed. A vintage poster of a giant black cat adorned with some French writing rests upon the far wall. I’ve seen the image before, but I have a terrible time remembering names or artists, or even what style it is. I can smell that food is on its way as my stomach grumbles a bit.
“Thank you,” I say as she places a plate and sets up a napkin with a fork and knife on it. I haven’t had someone serve me in years, at least since my parents died, that wasn’t in a restaurant setting.
“I figured since we’re in Paris,” Cherie says as she places down her own plate. “We should have some French food.”
“It looks great,” I say as a try very hard to not laugh. Arranged on the plate is a stack of two pieces of French toast with a side of French fries. A pat of butter rests atop both, and a fancy swirl of syrup runs from the center of the French toast and covers the top of the French fries. I am a little bit surprised by this, but I realize at this point, nothing should surprise me.
“Thank you,” Cherie says as she smiles and her cheeks flush red like they would on a cold winter day. “I’ve been practicing.”
“It looks perfect,” I add as I smile and dig into the food. As strange as it is, I enjoy it. Then again, I have never been a picky eater.
“Last Sitter would never eat my food,” Cherie says as her eyes look saddened a bit, but she continues to wear that smile. I begin to wonder if she can’t properly show emotion. Or is just always a little bit happy, even when she’s a little bit sad… it seems like a contradiction, or a great way to look at life. I’m not sure which, but I think I’d like to go with the second part.
“It was their loss.”
“It was their loss…” Cherie says as she begins to eat.
After eating I ask if she would still like to go out. Secretly I hope that she does not want to see the Eiffel Tower. Luckily, she only wants to go for a drive. I’m a little hesitant as I think that she will realize that we’re not in Paris at all, but Chicago… however, I do not deny her the chance to get out.
“Is this your car?”
“Yes,” I say as we pull away from her apartment.
“It is very nice…” Cherie says as she runs her hand along the leather interior. “I had a nice car once… It’s raining so hard you can’t even make out the Eiffel Tower today.”
“Yeah, that’s unfortunate,” I say as I bite my lower lip nervously.
“You’re new; you just came from C Shape right?”
“That I did, I have a feeling I know the question before it is going to be asked. In training I was told that the ones that are capable of realization that they are different are always going to ask.
“How much longer until I can be normal…? How much longer do I have to be watched?”
“I think soon,” I say as I look over and attempt to smile reassuringly. I hate all of this lying shit that comes with this part of the job. I knew that sometimes I was going to have to tell little lies in order to comfort my cases, but I had no idea I would end up feeling so terrible about it. “Has to be soon…”
“Good,” Cherie says as she smiles. “How come you don’t have glasses?”
“I don’t need them?” I answer, confused once more.
“My last Sitter had them,” Cherie says as she lowers her voice to a whisper. “They had a display that could tell if you were different. I looked through them once when she was in the bathroom. She left them on my counter. When she came out she was blue and it said normal on the screen. I looked at my hand, it was orange and it said Unstable. What does Unstable mean?”
“It’s just another word for different.”
“It’s just another word for different.” Cherie repeated.
“I’ve heard of them,” I add. “It’s for people who are afraid.”
“People who are afraid…”
“I’m apparently not as afraid as others are. Which makes me feel a little better about myself,” I continue to see if she will keep mimicking my conversation or if this can eventually be broken without the need for silence.
“Feel better about myself…” Cherie says as she pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.
I let some time pass as I continue to drive. I look over to Cherie, and she looks terrified.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“My chest hurts, I think I’m going to pass out,” she says as her eyes begin to water.
“You are alright,” I say reassuringly. I remember from training that Mirrors have anxiety issues. “I begin to instantly route my way back to her apartment. “It’s an anxiety attack, it will pass.”
I speed through the streets, careful to not cause any more anxiety. Cherie rocks back and forth in the seat and wipes away fresh tears with the back of her hand. “I think I’m going to die. I don’t want to die.”
“You are not going to die, I promise.”
I pull up to her apartment. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I can’t walk, I’ll pass out,” Cherie says as she begins to place a hand to her chest.
“You just stay there…” I say as I quickly round the car and pick up Cherie in my arms and carry her towards the apartment door.
“A little help,” I say as a man dressed in a business suit and carrying an umbrella passes by just in time.
Noticing my C Shape badge, which I have to wear when I’m with an Unstable, he ignores me and says, “It’s your nutcase; get it the fuck away from me.” He then makes it a point to walk across the street to be as far away as possible.
I manage to get the door open with a bit of a struggle and make my way up to Cherie’s apartment. I carry her into the living room and rest her upon the couch.
“Do you feel better now?” I ask, I find a box of tissues and hand them to her. Seems like that is at least one thing I’ve been good at these past two days—getting people tissues.
She nods quietly as she takes in a heavy breath. Then after a few moments of calmness she begins to cry once more.
“What’s wrong, what can I do?”
“That man… he hates you now because of me.”
I wipe away her tears and place a hand upon her shoulder. “I don’t care about that guy. He doesn’t mean a single thing to me. He is not even worth a single tear.”
“He is not even worth a single tear.”
“Exactly,” I say, even though I know she is repeating. However, it does seem rather fitting. I couldn’t give a single shit about some asshole that has no sense of compassion.
“Exactly…” Cherie says as she stops crying.
“I’ll get you some water,” I say as I get up and head towards the kitchen.
“Water…”
When I return, I hand the glass to Cherie’s hand, which is still shaking. I place my hand over hers to help her steady herself. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Just tell me something random from your life.”
“Well…” I say as I try and think of something interesting to tell her. “When I was probably around sixteen or so, I remember my parents were out of town—for work or something. They both worked jobs that took them away for weeks at a time. Well, I had just gotten my driver’s license a few months earlier, and I remember it was like a Monday and it was around two in the morning… despite the fact that I could have gotten in trouble, I got into my parent’s car and I just drove around the city at night. It was beautiful. It was so empty because everyone was asleep, but all the lights from the city were like it was awake… kind of like it was watching over all of us. While we slept, the city stayed awake and kept guard. It made me feel strange but in a good way. Like I realized the world was a much bigger place that day. I just explored for a few hours until I got tired and then I returned home. It was nothing huge—no big adventure. However, it was my first real taste of freedom. For the first time, I could go anywhere I wanted to. I could go and explore the roads that my parents would always pass by. It was a really good night. I mean it doesn’t seem so important these days, but it’s still in my memories.”