Viven looked back. It was like watching a shark encounter a golden retriever. Viven stiffened, clearly having no idea how to interact with a child that wasn't being presented to her at a charity gala. Hello, Vivien said stiffly. Kloe tilted her head.
Why are you wearing a towel? Because it was raining, Vivien replied entirely literal. Oh. Khloe looked at Roland. Is she your friend?
Roland paused. He looked at the woman who had demanded his soul for 6 years. The woman who was currently hiding in his kitchen from her own family. She's someone I used to work with, Roland said gently. She's going to sleep on the couch tonight.
Come on, let's get you back to bed. He picked Chloe up. She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes already closing again. As Rolong carried her back to her room, Vivien stood in the kitchen watching them. She held her cheap mug of tea, the silence of the apartment settling around her.
For a woman who owned skyscrapers, she had never looked so entirely out of place. Roland returned a few minutes later, shutting the bedroom door quietly. He walked over to the hall closet, pulled out a spare blanket and a pillow, and tossed them onto the worn fabric sofa. "Bathroom is down the hall. Don't use all the hot water," Roland said.
"And keep it quiet. If you wake her up again, you're sleeping on the fire escape. " Viven looked at the sofa. It was lumpy, faded blue, and probably smelled like spilled juice. Thank you, Roland. It was the first time in 6 years he had ever heard her say those words.
Roland turned off the overhead light. Good night, Vivien. We'll figure out your mess in the morning. He walked into his own room and shut the door. He didn't lock it.
He lay down on his bed, listening to the rain outside. He had quit his job to escape the chaos of Viven Croft. Yet here she was, sleeping in his living room, dragging her war into his home. He closed his eyes, knowing with grim certainty that the hardest part was just beginning. Morning in the apartment did not come with the soft, synchronized opening of motorized blinds.
It came with the aggressive clatter of a garbage truck backing down the alley at 6:30 a.m. Vivien sat up on the lumpy sofa, her neck cracked. She looked down at the faded fleece blanket pulled around her waist. It had cartoon dogs on it. For a long, disorienting moment, she stared at the dogs, trying to map out where she was and how she had fallen so far.
Then the smell of frying bacon hit her. She stood up, her silk blouse hopelessly wrinkled, her bare feet touching the cold hardwood floor. She walked toward the kitchen. Roland was at the stove, flipping eggs in a scratched teflon pan. He wore gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt.
Khloe sat at the small table, swinging her legs, aggressively coloring a picture of what appeared to be a purple dinosaur. "Morning," Roland said, not looking away from the stove. "Bathroom's free. There's a clean toothbrush in the wrapper on the sink. " Viven crossed her arms, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled she looked. She was a woman who scheduled her haircut 6 months in advance in Paris.
Now she felt like a stray cat. "I need a phone," Viven said. Her voice was raspy from sleep, but the command was still there. "Good morning to you, too," Roland muttered. He slid the eggs onto two plates.