the sitter | lewandowski

six

6 ; window gazing & late night texts

Robert didn't know what to do. Someone would realize the two were gone, sure, but there were multiple elevators in the thirty story building—and several of them were already avoided by the workers because of maintenance issues that were in the process of being fixed—so Robert knew that this elevator could easily be dismissed as one of those once it never came back up.

But that wasn't the issue. Not for him, anyways. The bigger issue was the fact that Saoirse, out of fear, had cozied up to the Pole—and now he was leaning against the wall, legs spread out while she sat in between them and pressed the back of her body into the front of his, as she mindlessly hummed to comfort herself and sought refuge from fear by braiding her hair.

"Robert, how long have we been in here for?"

"Nearly two hours."

Saoirse'a body trembled. Robert whispered. "Are you cold?"

Saoirse nodded. Robert sighed and pulled off his jacket before he draped it around her small frame, leaving her to quietly thank him—however the shaking didn't stop.

Quietly, she turned to face him and spoke again. "Can you hold me?"

Robert's eyes widened. Define hold, he thought. On the outside, he nodded; he simply couldn't say no to such an innocent voice despite a question so inappropriate. As he placed his arms around her back and she placed hers around his, she breathed in the scent of his white dress shirt before sighing into it, allowing him to feel her warm breath against his chest.

"Oh, God." He muttered quietly. "Saoirse, I don't think I can—"

"You don't have to take your phone out of your pocket—I'll ignore it." Robert's face flooded red as Saoirse glanced up at him. It was too dimly lit for her to notice that he was blushing, so she pressed her lips together before she placed her head back on his chest.

This is amazing, she told herself. Thank god for this elevator—I'm not even cold. God, I hope Robert's not cold. I made him give me his jacket. And I made him hold me.

Robert's fingers began to absentmindedly fumble with Saoirse's hair, leaving the Montenegrin's chest to swell. She'd always loved it when people played with her hair, but the closest she usually got to that was Erik tugging on her ponytail. So Robert, softly caressing her back and stroking her hair—whether or not he realized he was doing it—was, of course, causing her heart to beat out of her chest.

He did this until her breathing slowed, and alas he realized that she had drifted off into a sleep. Sometime after he did as well, the two of them were awoken by shouts; only then was it that Robert realized they'd finally been discovered.

Of course, the moment he opened his eyes, Robert was blinded by the white flash of a camera. Luckily, Robert knew this photographer—in fact it was just Thomas, his close friend. Though Thomas wouldn't dare submit the photo of Robert and Saoirse snuggling to the media—or, in other words, his boss—he would definitely be interrogating the Pole later on.

"Oh, Saoirse!" Roisin was more than relieved once her daughter arrived home—yet three hours late, at that. "Where have you been? You weren't answering your phone, I was so worried—"

"It just died, that's all." Saoirse spoke, somewhat relieved as well. Her mother didn't know about the fact that she'd gone to visit Robert, and she planned on keeping it that way. "I ran into my friend and we went to go see a movie. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Saoirse, how could you keep me worrying like this? Do you have any idea how frightened I was? I thought you'd been killed, kidnapped—"

"But I wasn't, mama. Cant you just be happy about that?"

Roisin, now upset, crossed her arms. "Go to your room, Saoirse. This is why your father and I have both decided that letting you go out alone is just too much—you get caught up in something and end up putting yourself in danger while you worry the both of us!"

Letting out a groan of pure annoyance and frustration, Saoirse stomped upstairs to her room before slamming the door shut. She hated when her mother and father made decisions like this—especially because in nearly a year, Saoirse would be leaving them to go to university, and she would be eighteen years old—an adult.

As she began to frustratedly undress herself in preparation for the shower, she went over to her window—the curtains were closed—and peeked through them, just to see if that tree was still there. Much to her surprise, she could see into Robert's room clearly again—and he was swaying Nova around in one arm while he used the other to hold a phone to his ear.

Nova, Saoirse thought. I miss her. Despite getting close with Robert on numerous occasions throughout it, she knew this day had felt off for some reason—and it was because she hadn't seen the blue-eyed beauty that was his daughter.

Saoirse sighed as Robert disappeared from view, but grew more than anxious when a text notification popped up from him on her screen. She debated whether or not she should just open it, or wait; then decided that because she didn't have read receipts on, she could act like she hadn't seen it if he text was somehow bad.

Robert:
Hey, saoirse. I'm really sorry about tonight. Make sure you tell your parents it was my fault, okay?

Saoirse:
its fine!! my mother wasn't upset.

Robert:
Will I see you tomorrow?

At first, Saoirse's heart fluttered—and then she realized that she was, after all, Nova's babysitter.

Saoirse:
Yes, of course.

Robert bit his lip, his thumb looming over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. He glanced out of his window and could see the seventeen year old sitting on her windowsill, staring at her own phone. Shit, Robert thought, she's probably waiting for a response from me. So, he typed a quick goodnight text and placed his phone face-down on his nightstand before he could read her response, probably knowing that she wouldn't respond.

But then the phone buzzed, and Robert couldn't help but pick it up as he lay in his bed, alone.

Saoirse:
look out your window. can you see mine?

Robert blushed, furiously, and mindlessly typed without looking—because he already knew the answer. Yes, his text said.

Saoirse:
did you even look, or did you already know?

Robert:
I took a guess

Saoirse:
well, what if your guess is wrong?

Robert rolled his eyes and smiled a little, just imagining Saoirse's face when she sent him that text. Slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed before he stood up and moved his muscular figure to the window. There, Saoirse's silhouette stood; she was wearing pajamas and gazing over at him.

She lifted a hand. Robert did the same, waving back to the seventeen year old. Then she hurriedly motioned to her phone and closed her curtains, leaving Robert to frown. What was she trying to say?

He got back in bed and spent five minutes wondering what he was doing. This was not normal, undoubtedly—he shouldn't be texting a seventeen year old girl at one in the morning. And he probably shouldn't have felt like the teenage boy he once was while at it, either—but he did.

As Saoirse proceeded to text him, explaining that her mother was knocking on her door, Robert smiled a little. He knew that he was far too old to be getting such a thrill from talking a girl whose parents wouldn't approve of it, and he also knew that he and Saoirse were just having a friendly conversation—but the entire situation was still making him the happiest he'd been in a long time, and it was a feeling that he would try to hold onto for as long as he could.