Chapter four – What Each Other Needs

~~

Once we get home, Michael sets the fedora down on the side, which is still full of berries. I take a couple from the hat, and wash them under the tap before tossing them back into my mouth, and chewing. I take a couple more and wash them, before offering them to Michael.

"Want some?" I ask.

He looks at me, before cautiously taking the berries from my hand. "Thank you."

He throws them back into his mouth, and swallows them almost straight away. He eyes up the fedora, and I chuckle.

"You want more?" I ask.

"Oh, no, thank you. I was just wondering ... what do you plan to do with them?"

"Oh, well ... I was planning to use them at dinner, you know. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. What part of dinner?" he questions.

"I was thinking it would go with the dessert. I'm planning to add them to it as a sort of ... sauce."

I'm lying completely; I'm going to surprise him by making the mixed berry pie he was speaking of earlier. It'll help recreate his mother's cooking, if I manage to get it correct.

"The sauce?" he asks, his face expressing disappointment, but trying desperately to hide it, "That sounds nice."

"I'm glad you think so. Anyway, I need to start preparing dinner. It normally takes a couple hours, so it'll be ready at about five, okay?"

"Sure. Want me to help with anything?" he asks softly.

"No, no, you go and do your own thing. I'll be just fine," I assure him.

"Well," he begins to walk out the kitchen. "If you need me, I'll be ... somewhere in the house."

"Sure, thanks."

Then, he walks from the room silently, leaving the fedora behind, full of the berries. I begin to prepare dinner, and check the time: 3:12pm.

I've got to make this pie as discreetly as possible, as I don't want Michael to know that's what I'm doing. I start making pastry, and once I've done that, I place it in the pie dish, before filling it with the berries. I place it in the oven, and leave it to cook whilst I prepare dinner.

I decide on making fish, with thick potato wedges and salad as a side dish. I'm going to serve it with a choice of white wine, water or juice, depending on Michael's taste when it comes to it.

*  *  *

I've finished preparing dinner, and it's now 4:37pm. I haven't heard from Michael for a little over an hour now, so I'm going to try and find him.

I walk out of the kitchen, and through the hallway, before entering the living room.

"Michael?" I call.

I receive no answer, so I look around the entire house for him. However, when I get no signs of him anywhere, I begin to panic a little. This man is my responsibility, and I need to make sure he doesn't lose the will to live. I've grown to feel close to him now, despite only knowing him twenty-four hours.

After checking my room, I hurry down the stairs, still calling his name every five seconds. I decide to enter the living room again, and I look out the window, only to finally find him outside in the front garden.

I don't want to disturb whatever he's doing, but I want to know what he's doing. I open the living room window ajar, and try to listen to what he's saying.

He's sitting, his back leant against the bottom of the apple tree I have, and he's looking up, almost in a trance. However, I know he's not in a trance, because he's speaking.

"And she's been amazing to me, mother ... she's been doing everything she can to make me happy, and I've done nothing in return. I feel bad, I really do! I wish I could find some way to thank her ... "

Is he talking about me? It certainly sounds as if he is. That's really sweet, if he is, but it's sad that he feels bad about not being able to repay me.

To be honest, just having him as a friend is repaying me. I've needed one for a long time – a very long time.

"And I miss you all, so much. You'll never really realise just how much. I even miss Astrix, you know? I would do anything, just to hear your voices again, I really would. But ... I know that I'll never get to, so I'm going to have to cope, aren't I? I've got Citria, so I'll be okay. As long as I don't lose her, I think I can make it without losing the will to live. I love you guys ... "

I watch him as he brings his fingers to his mouth, before kissing them and holding his hand up in the air, as if blowing his family a kiss. He leans his head up against the tree, and lets out a prolonged sigh.

"I love you so much," he concludes sadly, before drawing his knees up into his embrace.

He then buries his head into his embrace, too, and I hear him start to cry softly. So, my previous prediction was correct – he did cry before the day was over.

Do I make it known that I'm here, or let him have some alone time? I think I should just keep myself to myself, but still keep an eye on him.

I continue to watch as he sobs, each cry making his shoulders jerk a little. I feel so sorry for him, I really do. I just wish I could make his life better.

You know what? I'm going to go outside, and make it known that I'm there. I leave the living room, before heading into the hallway, and silently opening the front door. I walk quietly over to him, without him noticing me, and when I reach him, I pat the top of his head gently.

His head whips up. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know you need cheering up," I reply.

He shakes his head, wiping his tears away quickly. "No, no, I'm fine ... "

"The shakiness in your voice doesn't indicate the same," I say softly.

"I just ... the past twenty-four hours have been ... " He pauses to think of a suitable adjective.

"Eventful," I answer for him.

"Yes," he just about manages. "Eventful, crazy ... a nightmare. A horrifying, terrible nightmare ... "

"I know, Michael. I'm doing all I can to try and make things a little better for you, I really am. I'm sorry if I'm not doing well enough—"

"No!" he suddenly gasps, "You're doing too much for me, and that's why I feel so bad! You can't keep treating me so kindly... I feel like I'm takin' you for granted!"

"Well, don't," I demand quietly. "I'm doing this for you because I know how it feels to lose people you love."

"But the centre of attention is always me. I want you to be able to express your feelings, too. You've barely spoken about your life, and I feel selfish that all I seem to talk about is me."

I sit opposite him, on the grass. "Look, Michael, I don't talk about my personal losses because they're in the past. Yours is still fresh, new, and it's going to be harder for you than it is for me right now. Of course, I have my times of personal grieving, but that's out of your way. Why? Because when I'm with you, or you're in my presence, the most important thing I focus on is you, because you're feeling deeper cuts than I am, right now."

"I-I just feel like ... for the past twenty-four hours, I've been constantly getting in your way," he confesses.

"Well, you don't need to, okay? Never, ever think that," I smile.

He then averts his gaze to me, locking his eyes on mine. "This may seem ... drastic, Citria, but right now, you're literally the reason I'm still living."

"W-What?" I gasp. "No, Michael, come on, there's always something to live for. If I wasn't in your life, someone or something else would be."

"No," he argues. "If I had met anyone else, they would not have given me what you have."

"Anyone in their right mind would do what I've done," I say. "It's just basic kindness."

"You're saying that taking me in, helping me with the police, feeding and watering me, and keeping me alive is just simply "basic kindness"? Are you serious?" he questions.

"Yes, Michael. I'm sure that somewhere in the world ... in fact, somewhere in this town, there is someone or something worth living for. Someone or something that – without you realising – is keeping you alive, and allowing you to wake up every single morning."

"I know there is," he agrees. "And that someone is you. Honestly, if I didn't meet you, I would have killed myself by now. I don't even care how – knife, gun, rope ... I would've done it, no questions asked."

"Please never consider doing that," I beg.

I then find myself placing my hand on top of his, and I feel his hand move a little, as if he's shivering. I look up at him, a sympathetic look on my face, and we exchange soft smiles.

"As long as you're here, I don't think I see myself ever doing that ... I hope," he assures me.

A few moments of silence lingers around us – not awkward silence, more peaceful silence – and we just sit and look at one another.

I can see the pain in his eyes, the hate he has for life, for what it has done to him at such a young age. I can relate to it, too; my brother and mother dead, and my father seemingly non-existent.

"You know," he suddenly breaks the silence, "I think we're both exactly what each other needs."

"I agree. I need you, and you need me. We both need each other's friendship, I guess," I reply.

"And we'll never part, right? We need to stick together."

"Of course," I agree, "We're forever and a half. We've grown too much of a bond to ever let it slip."

"My logic exactly ... forever and a half ... " he repeats softly.

"Anyway," I change the subject, "Dinner will be ready soon. Should we go inside?"

"Yes, let's. I can't wait to see what you prepared," he smiles.

We both stand up, and walk slowly back inside, to the kitchen. I need to hide the pie until dessert time comes.

"Michael, I just need to do last minute preparation," I lie. "You can go into the living room until I'm done. I'll be five minutes, tops."

"Sure," he replies, "Call me when you're ready."

He heads out of the room, and as soon as I know he's out of sight, I rush around, getting the pie under a serving dish so he can't see. For extra safety, I place a teatowel over the serving dish, and take the fish out of the oven.

I arrange everything on to a plate, before turning around and cupping my hands around my mouth to be heard louder. "Michael!"

Moments later, he enters, and sees the dinner I've prepared. "Wow, this looks exquisite, Citria!"

"I try my best," I chuckle.

He sits down at the table, and I set his plate down in his place. He sits for a moment to admire what he has, before looking up at me to watch me settle down with my food, too.

"Shall we give grace?" he asks.

I nod. "You or me?"

"I'll do it, if you want," he replies.

I nod once more, and we both bow our heads, clasping our hands together.

"Dear God, we thank you for all you provide – food, water, love, support ... and thank you for giving us life. For what we're about to receive, I wish for you to be appreciated dearly. Amen."

We both lift our heads, and immediately begin to eat. Again, his consumption speed is fast, almost as if he hasn't eaten for days. I won't judge him, though, because to be fair, we haven't eaten properly since breakfast.

He notices me watching his quick speed, and sits back in his chair. "Sorry ... I realise how impolite that was of me."

"Don't worry," I laugh, "What do you think of it?"

"Oh, it's wonderful, thank you. This is the first proper dinner I've had in quite a while, too."

"How come?"

"Well, for the past month or so, before ... yesterday ... " He pauses briefly. "I didn't eat dinner because I always had something to do. I'd grab a quick snack or something, and then I'd just go out with my friends all night. That was until last night, of course ... "

"Oh, right. Well ... I hope this is satisfactory for you," I say genuinely.

"It really is," he lifts his glass to take a drink. "Thank you."

"That's okay. I'm hoping you'll be more impressed by dessert, what with the berry sauce and all that," I smirk.

He swallows and nods, "I'm sure I will be, Citria. Your cooking is just amazing."

"Oh, you flatter me," I joke, "But as soon as I've finished eating, I'll get it out for us."

"That's fine, take your time. It's my fault for being a fast eater," he says, an embarrassed smile forming on his face.

*  *  *

"Right, I'll just get dessert, hold on," I say to Michael.

I take his plate away along with my own, and I quickly wash them in the sink, before setting them in the drying rack. I catch a glimpse of Michael sitting in his chair, and he's looking outside the back door window at the garden.

I discreetly remove the teatowel from the serving dish containing the pie, before I walk over to the table with it.

"Man, I'm sure this is going to be great," Michael smiles, watching streams of steam rise from the dish.

"I sure hope so," I reply, lifting the lid of the dish. "I hope you liked mixed berry pie."

His face instantly lights up at the sight, and he clasps his hands over his mouth, "You made this because I told you about it earlier?"

"Of course! I wanted to recreate your wonderful-sounding mother's speciality," I say.

"I can't believe you did this for me," he says breathlessly, a huge smile coming to his face.

"Try it; see if you like it."

I cut him a slice, and he takes a forkful, placing it in his mouth. He chews for a moment or two, before widening his eyes.

"This is ... perfect," he announces. "Almost better than mother's!"

"Nothing can replace your mother's," I chuckle.

"But this is damn close!" he grins, "Man, is there anything you can't make?"

"A lot of things," I answer, "I've never been able to pick up on making lasagna."

"Really? That's just about the only thing I can make!" he laughs, "I'll have to show you how to make it, some time."

"I'd like that," I say softly.

"So would I. Give each other a few tips on cooking, eh?" he snickers.

"Yes ... that would be fun."

"It would."

"Now, should we finish this?" I ask.

"For sure. I love how it melts in my mouth," he replies.

"Oh, thank you. I'm sure your mother's did that, too."

"It did, but not like this. You must be an expert, Miss Espinosa."

"Not particularly, Mr Jackson. Anyway, come on, it'll get cold!"

He laughs, before taking another forkful, and looks down with an amused smile on his face. He eats a mouthful, before swallowing – again, almost straight away.

"You'll choke if you don't chew it properly," I tease.

"God, you sound like my mother!" he chuckles.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good, I guess. Anything to keep her memory alive."

"I understand. Want me to be more motherly towards you from now on?"

He laughs again, before taking another forkful into his mouth.

"You're already like a mother to me. But ... a mother who is also my best friend. I like that."

We exchange smiles, before continuing to eat dessert.

~~

What will happen next? Hope you enjoyed this chapter!