Chapter 50: Chapter 50: I Can't Help but Want to Kill You
[Chapter 50: I Can't Help but Want to Kill You]
The takeout delivery came promptly, and after the two of them finished dinner, it was completely dark. They leaned back on the couch and watched a bit of television before Eric took Drew upstairs to prepare a bedroom for her.
"Eric, I want to sleep with you," Drew pouted, hugging the blanket that Eric had pulled out from the closet.
He took out a pillow and patted it lightly, casually responding, "Cut it out, Drew. You don't want me to get into more trouble, do you?"
"But this is your house -- who would know?"
"You've forgotten what happened last time so quickly? If it hadn't been for your antics, all that chaos wouldn't have happened. Now, come on with me."
Drew reluctantly followed Eric to an empty bedroom.
"This will do. The bathroom has hot water, oh, I forgot you can't take a bath. Just this for now -- get to sleep early."
After giving her instructions, Eric left Drew's room and headed toward his study.
He wrote a few pages of his Resident Evil novel, stretched, then rummaged through a drawer for a pack of cigarettes. He stepped out onto the balcony and looked out at the dazzling lights of Los Angeles.
He sat down in a lounge chair, lit a cigarette, and leaned back, suddenly recalling something Aniston had said on the phone that afternoon -- did he really seem like just a passerby?
A soft sound came from behind him. He turned to see Drew tiptoeing silently, wearing one of his oversize T-shirts since she didn't have pajamas. When she noticed Eric, she playfully stuck out her tongue.
"Eric, I can't sleep," Drew said as she scooted closer to him, nudging him towards the other side of the chair before lying down beside him, resting her head on his arm.
She snatched the cigarette from his hand, took a drag effortlessly, blew out a bubble of smoke, then furrowed her brow before handing the cigarette back to Eric.
"Doesn't it taste better than that stuff?" Eric flicked the ash off the cigarette and smiled.
"Of course," Drew replied with certainty.
"Then promise me you won't touch that stuff again," Eric said, patting her shoulder.
"Okay..."
The nights in Los Angeles were quite chilly during this season. While Eric didn't mind, Drew wore only a T-shirt, leaving her long, pale legs bare. He took two quick puffs from the cigarette, extinguished it in a nearby wastebasket, then slightly shifted and pulled a blanket from the side to cover them both.
"Eric, what were you just thinking about?" Drew asked, tilting her head curiously.
Eric adjusted the blanket around her attentively and whispered, "I was thinking about Jenny. I wonder where she is in New York right now?"
"Actually..." Drew hesitated before continuing, "I know."
"Hmm?"
"I promised I'd explain what happened that day, right? So, I asked some people and got her contact info. She's living in Manhattan now. I didn't remember the exact address, but I wrote it down. I'll give it to you tomorrow."
Eric smiled, "What made you decide to give it to me?"
"I just wanted to make you happy."
"Such a sweet girl."
Drew took advantage of the moment, asking cheekily, "Is there a reward? At least a kiss, right?" She leaned in, presenting her doll-like face.
Eric gently kissed her cheek, and Drew closed her eyes with a satisfied hum. She kissed him back and playfully licked his cheek with her little tongue, bursting into giggles afterward.
"Eric, can you sing? Would you sing me a song?" Drew pleaded.
Eric didn't refuse, gave her shoulder a gentle pat, and began, "Warm kitty, Soft kittyLittle ball of fur..."
"Hah, I don't want to hear a nursery rhyme," Drew laughed, scratching his side playfully. Suddenly, she remembered something and ducked under the blanket, heading into the room. When she returned, she held a wooden guitar.
"This was hanging on the wall in my room. Eric, can you play guitar?"
Eric took it, plucked a few strings aimlessly, and said, "Not really. It was the leftover from the previous owner."
"Come on, give it a try! I want to hear," Drew pouted as she snuggled back under the blanket.
Reluctantly, Eric sat up, placed the guitar on his lap, and tried strumming a few chords. He glanced at the twinkling lights below in Beverly Hills, thought for a few seconds, and softly began to sing:
I saw your weeping eyes reflected in the window of a Boeing 727.
You looked down at the city, saw it slowly growing tiny,
As the sunset turned Hell's Kitchen into heaven.
You turned your face to me, and I tucked your hair behind your ears,
Said, nothing can go wrong,
So long as we are together, so long as we are, so long,
So long as we are together, so long as we are, so long.
[T/N: So Long (As We Are Together) by Tim Minchin.]
...
Most of the guitar skills he learned in college had already faded, so Eric picked notes based purely on feel. His slightly husky voice drifted into the night breeze, conjuring up some unexpected emotions.
When he finished the song, Drew closed her eyes and savored the moment for a while before asking, "Eric, will we always be together?"
Setting the guitar aside, Eric lay back, once again reflecting on Jenny's words, remembering how he had stumbled into this world under the influence: "Who knows? Maybe when I wake up, I won't even be here anymore."
Drew snuggled closer, resting her head on his arm, gently rubbing against him, "If you died, I would go with you."
Eric chuckled, "That would be quite romantic. According to tradition, maybe our story would be turned into a tragic love tale, staged as something like Eric and Drew, performed year after year in theaters."
"Haha," Drew giggled, "Hearing you say that makes me want to kill you, then kill myself. That way, our story will become famous."
Eric playfully tapped her forehead, "If you really did that, our tale would more likely end up as a bizarre murder case in the police archive."
Drew rubbed her head in protest, and they both quietly cuddled for a moment before she looked for something to talk about again.
"Eric, what's your dream?"
"Why the sudden question?"
"I'm just curious. Tell me."
Eric straightened up and changed positions. "I don't like calling it a dream. I prefer 'ideal.' Dreams are always so limitless, but ideals need to be grounded."
"And what's your ideal?"
"My ideal..." Eric pondered for a moment, rather humorlessly, "To date a bunch of starlets and have a bunch of little child stars to become legends in the film world -- does that count?"
Drew raised her head and gently bumped the back of her head against Eric's arm, laughing, "How vulgar!"
"Alright, it's late now. Let's sleep."
"Can I sleep here?"
"You'll catch a cold."
"Then carry me back," Drew raised her hands and wrapped them around Eric's neck, pouting.
Eric sighed, stood up, and scooped up Drew. Just as he straightened up, he suddenly seemed to lose strength, sinking down and exclaiming, "Oh man, you're heavy -- I'm getting old and can't carry you anymore!"
"You're so mean!" A shocked Drew laughed and playfully hit him but clung tightly to his neck. Unable to do anything else, Eric carried the girl toward her room.
*****
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