Fifteen | ✓

six

On the sixth week of her being knowledgeable of Christopher's existence, he decided to give her home a visit.

Catherine had panicked on instinct when he announced this to her on a phone call. Her mother wasn't very keen with visitors for some absurd and ambiguous reason, never mind a male visitor.

"You can't come, Christopher."

"Awe, come on, Sketch, what could go wrong?"

As he said that, a million things that could absolutely go wrong raced through her mind. "Christopher..."

"If your mum is the problem I could just come when she isn't home," he coaxed further, his tone light and different from the attitude he'd displayed the previous week.

She sighed. "My brother will be home, though."

"Is he a problem?"

"I suppose not."

"Then I will come."

And he kept to his word the next day, arriving at 12:58 PM but waiting two minutes before knocking against the door of Catherine's house at the agreed 1:00 PM.

She swung the door open almost instantly, nearly clearing him off from the porch, as if she'd been waiting attentively for him.

After she'd texted him her address details, nefariously she'd prayed and hoped that he would get missing on his way there, or just decide not to come at all.

Apparently she had underestimated him. He'd made himself known to surpass expectations.

"G'day, m'lady," said Christopher in a horrible accent and a profound bow, before scampering into the foyer like an overgrown puppy. "Nice place you got here." She saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat like a buoy as he craned his neck to view the small chandelier hung above his head.

"Oh, it's nothing." Her voice sounded alien and small, she feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He let out a low wolf whistle before throwing himself onto the living room's burgundy sofa, his weight immediately deflating its foam. "I admire your modesty, Sketch. In fact, I want to be just like you in future!"

Catherine gave him a flat look. "How many Popsicles did you have on your way here?"

He shrugged, grinning widely. "A few..."

She shook her head, ambling towards the arch of the kitchen's entrance. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Do you have any Popsicles?"

"We have water."

He stuck out his tongue, face crumpled in disgust. "I'll pass."

She forwarded herself to the kitchen nonetheless, irrespective of Christopher's childish antics.

She noticed her brother Fenwick pressed up against the fridge as she entered; he stared at her with a penetrating gaze.

As she reached upwards to grab two cups from the upper cabinet, she heard him talk.

"Who's that?"

"A friend." She absentmindedly rinsed the utensils in her hands under the tap's cool water. Their mother always insisted they rinsed everything and anything thoroughly before placing it near their mouths.

"Do you think Mum will like that?"

Catherine rolled her eyes at Fen's challenging tone. "Ada always comes over."

"Mum knows Ada."

Feeling herself losing the argument, she stood in a diva-like stance, hand on hip. "Your point?"

He chuckled at her lame defence, backing away from the refrigerator so that she could collect two water bottles from it. "You really shouldn't let strangers into the house. What if he steals something?"

Her blood heated at his accusation. "How dare you imply that? Christopher is not a thief! Nor a stranger," she added as an afterthought.

"Christopher. Such a lame name."

"You're one to talk, Fenwick."

Catherine exited the kitchen on the sound of his discomfited grumbling, setting herself beside Christopher on the couch.

He was holding his guitar across this chest - he'd brought it in with him - and strumming light notes and triads, uncoordinated pieces of music. His sudden quietness made her wonder if he'd overhead Fen's blatant rudeness earlier.

"When will you play for me?"

Christopher's absent plucking stopped abruptly, a deafening silence sprinkling over the room like cold snow. That was the only proof that he'd heard her, because he had remained silent.

She was about to speak again, maybe apologize for a reason unknown to her, but he beat her to it.

"Which song shall I play?"

She hugged her knees up to her chest and pretended to think. "I don't know; anyone will do."

He studied her face for awhile, and just as she'd started to feel uncomfortable with his indiscreet stares, his gaze dropped to the strings of his guitar, scrutinizing them instead.

He did that for a measurable amount of time: staring at her, staring at his guitar, knitting his eyebrows in a way that should've been standoffish but ended up looking attractive.

And he started to strum a tune that she didn't know and had never heard of, it's melody tantalizing and it's harmony intoxicating.

Christopher made music in waves, Catherine thought, that surf and splash and wash over you playfully at first. And sometimes, when the music would get rougher and scrape against the edges of your eardrum, the waves would escalate into raging black formidable giants from the former aquamarine dwarfs. They would carry you and toss you around and spin you this way and that, until you feel dizzy in the head; drunk. They will draw you underneath the water and keep you there, where you cannot breathe. And then those waves would lapse and morph into gentle breakers as you resurface, their foamy texture tickling across your skin as they take you to shore, to home. And you feel at peace.

And the music stops.

Christopher said nothing after his fingers slacked atop the neck of his guitar, his gaze fixated on Catherine as if beckoning on her to comment.

But she was too stunned to speak; too in awe.

And anyways, she didn't need to say anything, because Fenwick did it for her, fisting the air: "WOAH! THAT WAS AMAZING! ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE!"

Where he had come from was unknown to her.

It seemed that Christopher had won over Fen's heart with just that simple act, but really, Fen was generally an easy person to win over. Although Fen's flattering pronouncements didn't seem to be of relevance to Christopher as he continued to look at her, demanding an answer.

"That... was... amazing," she finally croaked, afterwards reaching out for a sip of water to calm her vocal cords and make her voice sound more feminine at least.

Nevertheless, that seemed to satisfy him, and smile made its way onto his boyish features as he nodded and stood, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Wow, Cathy, you didn't tell me that your boyfriend is so talented. How did your loser arse manage to get him?" That came from Fen, his form still slumped by the wall as if recovering from a musical hangover.

"He is not my boyfriend," she retorted, and in spite of herself, felt her heart start to pound incessantly in her chest.

Christopher soon returned with an ice cream cone in his left hand, and on the receiving end of Catherine's pointed glare said, "What? You told me you didn't have any Popsicles, so I went for the next best thing."