Вера Ефимова – Soulmate (страница 3)

 My family moved as soon as the entire neighborhood started complaining about the noise, stemming from Hawthorne′s house, but no one was taking any measures (of course), so everything I had to do was observe quietly. It almost killed me to see Fabian suffering and getting such treatment on a daily basis. One sleepless night after another. All the horror must come to an end someday.

 From now on, I was obligated to take care of Fabian. I wanted to help; after all, he's been gone through. I needed to be around and he needed me to be around. Well, not particularly me, but someone. Furthermore, I was the only one available in such a situation; I′m not sure he has that tight relationship with his friends to let him crash overnight or a few more nights.

 Coming up with the plan is the hardest. You never know what to expect, especially from other people, who conventionally are not willing to follow unless it’s on their own terms. I was prepared to expect Febian to convert my strategy upside down based on his very own opinions, though it is hard for me to embrace other people’s remarks concerning my remarkable work. In the end, if it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.

 I realized I have to figure out a way to approach him. Someway carefully, not coming across as a stalking weirdo who already has the whole situation under control. That′s ridiculous. I have to “accidentally” bump into him in the store and offer help. But why would I know he needs help? Stupid. Maybe provoke an accident and then offer help? Sounds fair to me.

 I am perplexed. It happens to be the most doomed situation—I need him. I mean, it’s him who needs me. I’m not inclined to have made a friendship this quick; I have not obtained this kind of skill at all. It’s way easier to connect people at work or school. You have many things in common. Although this time I was a total doommonger, hidden in the circulation of plentiful, exhilarating impasse, entailing the impediment of not getting along with my target, Febian. Life is mediocrity.

 A time was passing by immensely, the way it never was before. I have always lacked an exceptional feature of thinking critically. Or just fast. It was, although uncommon among future detectives as I am. What a lot of issues I have. It would be much easier to approach the target by getting along, which is less dreadful.

l and perilous situation, where you got plenty of chances to succeed, if not once, then twice or more. Now I got them once.

 I knew a flawless approach to him; I just needed to figure it out more clearly, which doesn’t sound so much blur as I think of it. The theory invariably remains theory, while practice takes a long way. But in the end, Febian is merely as carbon-based a life form as I am.

 “You ok?” said some creep behind me while I was squirming and talking to myself, desperately trying to figure out the way to strike up a conversation.

 “Oh, why would you care?” I reply impulsively, as I don’t fancy interrupting me. But wait. I may recognize this voice timbre. I turn around reluctantly.

It’s Febian.

 He looked confused; he didn’t know what to do with his limbs and posture. A little lost kitten stood on my way. He was looking at me with a lack of confidence, almost kneeling to me, begging for help, as he looked a little exhausted and shabby. He had a backpack with him at his back, very stout, filled with the must-have things and a little more. His face expressed turmoil and despair, as if he were out of sleep for a few days. His lips were trembling. Not from cold, from fear. His green eyes were staring at me in perplexity. I was ready to say everything I had to.

 “Oh,” he replied. "Sorry,” he starts to walk away and might be abashed by my asshole attitude.

 He suddenly quits talking for a few moments, recalling something.

 “Wait. I know you.” It stopped him right away. He recognized me also. How many times do I have to tell myself not to be scornful towards strangers? Weirdo.

 He looks over me thoroughly, as if he tries to recall something.

 “I might know you too. You’re the guy from my school. I think you moved in the ninth grade. What’s your name?” I’m astonished. He has a hood memory, to my surprise. However, not too good to reminisce about our childhood friendship.    “Vincent. Vincent Perez. And you’re right—I moved to Washington four years ago.” I was settling in for college attending purposes, as Washington University was my behold dream.

 “I’m Febian. It was nice to meet you, Vincent,” he changed. He changed a lot. I don’t remember him saying my name until now. He seems more mature compared to him in middle school. “I need to go now. It was nice talking to you. Bye.”

 Grr, so cold. Not everything changed though. I had to convince him I was on his side and knew more details. I’m afraid he refuses to share such delicate information; he surely will refuse—he just found out my name. I’ve got a shitload of work to do.

 I remembered one time I was writing an essay. The topic was “how hard it is to convey our feelings to other people." This situation suited me unconditionally. I know how to do it in my head, but it’s challenging to implement. In the class, I was talking about the hardships of life and finding out an approach to other people, but not in the way we want it to. “We don’t know how actually different we are, but we know that this difference defines who we are." It undoubtedly irritated me right this instant. Why can’t people just cut me some slack? It’s horrible. We realized the way to communicate with each other, however, missed the step of understanding. It had me knocked off. I can’t always dodge a bullet if people are going to shoot repetitively. It feels like no one is on my side.

 It never felt like someone shared my point of view. I felt rather… spurned. I always felt left out, not in the sense of being a loser, but for the person with innovative, distinguished, misunderstood, genius matter. In middle school, I created a 3-D combinational puzzle with a six-colored cube that includes nine squares and can be rotated separately, and I named it Vincent Puzzle. It turned out that I invented Rubik’s cube. Ah, this is such a torment to get along with this world!

 “Wait!” Well, that was instant. I’m still figuring out the way to get him on my side. “I know what trouble you’re in. I can help.”

 “What?” That didn’t sound good. “How do you know? Does anyone else know?”

 “No, just me. I walked past your house while visiting my aunt. She lives across the street.” I just dodged a bullet.

 Febian looked confused. On his face, you could read a few different emotions: doubt, anxiety, mistrust, unwillingness, and exhaustion. The most prominent was uncertainness. Uncertainty whether to believe me or not. It was impossible to predict the odds of him making the choice in my favor since we just fucking met. I could say he’s going to punch me in the face and run.

 “How exactly do you want to help?” I didn’t reflect on that.

 "II will offer you a place to crash for a while, until we figure out what to do next.” This was definitely the most rational step for him to take. He had nowhere to go and no one to trust. Beside me, of course. In spite of my incompetence as a detective in process, I had a vast interest in bringing bad people to justice and exposing them in the most insufferable way. An acute wave of vulnerability crossed his face.

 “No, thanks. I will find another way. Thank you for help.

 What. What just happened? He refuses the offer of having a roof above his head and unconditional help. And also, a circumspect plan? I’m shocked. This can’t be true. He ain’t got nothing to do but fall for me. Besides, leaving him alone would be a crime. The dude has severe trust issues.

 “Well, what are you going to do then?” I didn’t hesitate to ask, still stricken by his ludicrousness of assertion. Febian Hawthorne isn’t going to make it without me. I was his one and only lifesaver. I should’ve been wiser to think of the plan, though. He is stubborn and drawn to the point of thinking he can do everything himself without a side hustle. Gotta change that.

 “I will…,” He was intervened by the siren of a police car. Wait. The police car?!

CHAPTER 3

 We started to run immediately, knowing approximately no road to follow. Both of us are on the edge, intimidated by police cars chasing us, and uncertain what to do. This hits differently. I run with him after me. Knowing our chances of getting away are approximately 0.00000003, I have the only idea in my mind: lead him to my house. Not the one across the road, the one I currently live in—in Washington. We could catch a taxi down the road if we weren’t chased. Oh yeah, we are.

 A stroke of uncertainness strikes me down. They are onto both of us; they’ve seen us, probably. I don’t know where to run. Suddenly, I notice a dark, empty alley in between the street and two other buildings. Let’s go there. Febian seems most terrified—he’s trembling in fear, as if it’s a matter of his life and death. The inexorable, sweet moment of seized liberty pierced him invincibly. There’s no more joy than feeling numb and agile simultaneously, I bet.