FOR THE STORY

EIGHT: Savannah

What the frack. Seriously, this is so weird. I'm at Chase's house, and he has this mysterious closed up mansion. Dark wallpaper and dusty brass fixtures cover ornate bathroom as I sit in the claw foot tub. It's like the Four Seasons or what I imagine it must look like.

There's a short rap at the door. "You still awake in there?" 

"Yes," I answer quickly, scrubbing the last of the muck off of myself from earlier. I grab a huge white fluffy towel and dry off. Standing up, I'm still shaky, but it's doable. 

But I have nothing to change into. I look at my dingy fighting clothes doubtfully.

"Um, do you have anything I can wear?" I call through the door.

"Yeah," Chase says from right on the other side. "I've got stuff right here."

"Oh." Now how to get them? I don't want to go out there in my towel, but that worry is silly being as fighting clothes cover much less skin than this giant thing. I open the door.

Chase quickly averts his eyes and points to a chair where some women's stuff in my size is sitting. Comfy stuff, sweats and a t-shirt that says Peachtree Road Race 1996.

"Just happen to have stuff in my size?"  It's meant to be a joke, but I don't miss the tightening of Chase's jaw.

"This stuff was my mom's."

"Oh. Do you think she'll mind?"

"Was. She's dead," he says shortly, interrupting me. I open my mouth, then shut it and take the clothes into the bathroom.

After I'm dressed, I tentatively open the door. Chase is sitting at the foot of giant bed looking suddenly shy. It must be weird for him, bringing his friend's sort-of girlfriend to his dead parent's secret house and then practically giving her a bath. 

The sentence is so ridiculous that I let out a laugh which is totally inappropriate. It breaks the tension.

"What?" asks Chase.

"I was just thinking, how I never expected to be in this situation. It's just funny. Sort of."

Chase smiles. He has a dimple on the left side of his mouth I hadn't noticed. It's nice. I might want to see it again.

"Thank you," I add. "I really appreciate it. I'm sorry you had to leave early because of me."

"I wanted to," says Chase. "You're my responsibility. I have to have my fighters taken care of."

Oh, right. I forgot for two seconds that I'm supposed to be, like trying out for his club. I frown, wondering if I've completely screwed things up. My editor will kill me.

At the thought of my editor my mood sombers. I've managed to block out all thoughts of my assignment, and become fully immersed in this fantasy. But that's all it is. 

Chase misinterprets my silence. "Not just my responsibility," he adds. "I mean, I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Just then his phone rings. Chase rolls his eyes. "I can't believe it," he mutters, muting then tossing it on the bed.

I decide not to ask.

"You hungry?" Chase asks.

He insists on my lying down while he tries to find something edible in the kitchen. I can hear him in the other room, banging around cans and opening and closing cabinets. He comes back about ten minutes later, a tray in his arms.

"Sorry. I'm never here, so there's nothing really fresh," he says. "I didn't realize how late it was. You must be starving."

I hadn't realized it was so late either, almost midnight. I realize that lack of food probably accounted for a good amount of my lightheadedness earlier.

"I am. Thanks."

He slides the tray towards me that carries two bowls of soup and a plate of crackers. We munch in amicable silence for a few minutes. I'm feeling a lot better afterward. Much better—yet awkward. What am I even doing here?

"Hey, it's been four hours," I say suddenly. "I can probably go home. I've put you out so much already."

Chase looks uncomfortable. "I can't force you to stay here now," he says, cutting his eyes towards me. "But I would really prefer if you would just give it the night. I couldn't stand it if I sent you home then something happened." He moves closer to me and looks into my eyes again.

I swallow. It's those eyes, not his words, that make me agree. I don't want to disappoint those eyes. Plus, I'm starting to feel sleepy.

"Okay," I say agreeably and lay down.

Chase looks relieved. "I'm going to stay on the couch in here. Just in case."

I shouldn't stay. The nicer he is the guiltier I feel. But it's just one night, right? Or maybe I'll just rest for a few hours. It's not like we have to talk.

Then I close my eyes, and everything fades away.