🗸 the quintessences of cherry & cigarette

4.2: chrysalism

Cerise is so lost in conversing with Devin, their focus fixed on poetry currently, that she only remembers she has to get home early when the murky firmament releases a torrential downpour outside.

"Oh, god..." She stares at the onerous thunderstorm in despair.

"What?" comes Devin's concerned question.

"I need to be home by six..." Cerise looks at her phone for the time; it's 5:30pm. "If it keeps raining like this, I'll never make it." She cannot keep the fear out of her voice, but that's the least of her concerns at the moment. All she can think about is Jennifer - Jennifer tasking her with endless chores as punishment for tardiness, shouting at her, scolding her for being unpunctual, disobedient, attention-seeking, spoiled. Jennifer complaining to Christian, and... and--

"You have a curfew?" Devin's voice intercedes her direful thoughts.

"I, uh... yeah, sorta. I told Jenny I'd be going out for a science project after work." Cerise feels her ears go warm at having to tell him the kind of lies she shrouds Jennifer in, but he doesn't really react, just intently listens. "She wouldn't have let me come otherwise. Even six is too generous for her."

"Jesus Christ," says Devin, under his breath. "The more you tell me about Horseface, the more I feel like running her over with my truck."

"God, no!" Cerise nervously laughs. "I don't want you to get arrested."

Devin simply smiles at her, kissable lips turning up only slightly at the corners, blue eyes seeming almost electric. Cerise averts her own gaze, going for checking her phone again. The sight of the time makes her jump up, startling Devin in the process. Pulling out a few crumpled dollars from her pocket, she keeps them on the table.

"I have to go now. Or I'll never make it," she tells Devin apologetically.

"What? In the storm?" his voice rises an octave, "you can't go out there. Not in this weather!"

Urgently, Cerise apprises, "I have to! I'm sorry, but I'll see you tomorrow."

As she steps out from their table, Devin stands up, too. "Wait..." He leaves a bunch of notes on the table, picking up Cerise's money and handing it back to her. "I'm paying for us both," he tells her. Before she can protest, he adds, "I'll go bring the truck around. I can't have you walking home in this weather."

"That's really not necessary..." Cerise tries to stop him, but he has already made it to the door. As she watches his lofty figure dashing towards the parking lot, getting obscured by the rain, she realizes that he doesn't have any form of cover for himself. Cerise feels her soul soar at his act; never has anyone ever been as kind to her as Devin. She's glad she stopped at the beach when he called her back. She's glad she started over with him, instead of letting his misjudged, tarnished reputation daunt her. She's glad she let him into her life.

Looking back at the money he has left on the table, she sees that he has forgotten his phone. Sighing, she pockets it, then makes her way out of Homemade to wait for him on the shaded area of the restaurant's sidewalk. Shortly, Devin's Chevvy rumbles to a stop in front of her, and the passenger door opens for her. Once she is inside, the boy asks her to buckle her seat belt before pulling into the main road. With Cerise trying not to stare at how Devin's soaked shirt clings to his torso, they drive in silence; silence, except for the growling engine of the truck and the chaos of the storm. As they enter the residential area, she observes that he is taking the same route that she traipses every day to and fro from work.

"Looks like you know where my house is," she comments nonchalantly.

"Oh, yeah," Devin's tone is equally nonchalant, "I may or may not have followed you around occasionally."