Chapter 4 MICHAEL

Michael Williams:

The feeling of protection had always been something that dominated me since childhood. I couldn't see someone suffering and stay still; it was as if I was turning my back on myself in the past. Émie was visibly in need of help; there was no spark left in her eyes. Her expression was one of deep sadness and loneliness, and that, in a way, bothered me. Even though she asked me to let her go home alone, I couldn't. A few minutes later, I found myself standing in front of her house, taking a deep breath before knocking on her door again...

"Hello, dear," her mother opened it with a wide smile on her face. Her dilated pupils indicated that she was highly drugged and out of it.

"Good evening! I need one more favor from you, I'd pay well if you could do it now," my gaze was directed at my pocket, as if we were speaking the same language.

"If I can..."

"I want you to tell Émie that I'm here. She knows who I am!" and the smile on her face disappeared instantly.

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Émie isn't home."

"Yes, she is! I saw her coming in. Either you'll call her willingly, or I'll come in and draw my own conclusions, Mrs. Carter."

"Neither of those options will be necessary; I'm here." Her sweet and melancholic voice was like angelic singing in my ears. "So, what do you want to talk to me about?" Her gaze remained locked on mine, and as if she could dominate me, there I was, standing still and unresponsive in front of this woman.

"Will you have dinner with me? I promise it'll be something that..." Before I could finish what I was saying, she simply accepted and left, leaving her mother behind and sighing deeply.

The cold wind gave her shivers. Her hair flowed like silk strands in the wind, the moon reflecting a surreal glow on her skin. I snapped back to reality when we reached my car, where she seemed lost, her gaze fixating on something random.

"Shall we?" I apologized for not introducing myself earlier. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Williams, but you can call me Michael!" She looked at me as if she already knew who I was and, naturally, smiled and returned to her blank stare.

"I can't go out with you. We have different status positions, and I don't want you to feel obligated to be kind to me because of what happened. It's okay, I'm fine, please don't get into trouble." There was desperation in her voice, as if her voice could convey the pain of her soul.

"I don't feel obligated to anything; I'm just inviting you to have dinner with me as a sign of gratitude for your good service earlier today. Please!" I opened the door, and without hesitation, she got in.

"Let it not be a place with many people. Please!" Her shy voice made me feel somewhat different. I felt afraid for her; afraid that she would leave or disappear so suddenly.

Being by her side felt like being alone, but the feeling that she was there comforted me. I chose a secluded restaurant, and before we entered, I asked for a reservation in the VIP area, where access was limited to those who had booked. As we walked in, Émie seemed mesmerized by everything she saw. The images of Italian paintings added a special touch to the place. Beatrice was sitting on a ceramic piece above the ceiling, and that's when Émie found herself completely hypnotized. For the first time, I saw her eyes sparkle as if she were seeing paradise.

"This place is beautiful!" Her low, whispering tone made it clear just how surprised she was by everything. "Mr. Williams, this is all..."

"Fictional loves can bring life, you know?" In truth, I don't believe in real love. In my view, it's a feeling that only serves to drag you into the depths of despair in a slower and more painful way. Like falling off a cliff.

"I don't believe in love. What benefits does it bring other than illusions and pain?" She looked at me awkwardly as I pulled out the chair for her to sit. "Thank you!"

"In my opinion, love has to have limits. People lavish it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world, but if offered incorrectly, it undoubtedly won't yield good results. Look at the relationship between a mother and a child. Do you think it lacks love?"

"Please, Mr. Williams, let's not get into this subject now." Sometimes I should punish myself for certain things I say.

"I'm sorry, Miss Carter, that wasn't my intention. I..."

"It's okay. We often say things unintentionally."

I wasn't someone who went on dates often. As a teacher, I had some meetings with students after class to reinforce some things, but nothing beyond that. She didn't seem to be doing well. Her lips were pale, her skin was goosebumped, and she still had that lost look in her eyes.

"Is there something you'd like to say? I don't want to seem like I'm forcing anything, but I also want to get to know you and maybe become friends."

"Oh, I didn't want you to think that way, it's not like that. It's just that... I don't have much to say about myself; my life is monotonous." Her way of speaking was negative, as if something was bothering her deeply in silence. I sighed and didn't give up, waiting for her to change her mind.

"Well... I wake up early every day, go to work, sometimes do some overtime, and end up spending the whole day inside that library. And that's how it is every day."

"Don't you feel like doing something different? Don't you feel trapped or limited by these things?"

"Yes, I feel like I'm limited in doing the things I like. But not everyone is the same; most people just dream."

"Miss Carter, your way of expressing yourself is extremely painful and cold."

Looking at it from the opposite side, I wasn't much different. Demonstrating feelings was still something difficult for me, ever since the traumas I experienced in the past!

- It was kind of you to speak your mind about people. I personally don't like it; sometimes a person can be like that for a reason. Before you ask, I don't have reasons, and I don't think of myself as a cold person, Mr. Williams.

I was speechless and didn't want to end that moment either. The waiter didn't take long to bring our orders, and I didn't even care about the time. Émie seemed unconcerned, as if she didn't care about anything, although her mother almost didn't let me see her. "Damn it!" I cursed when I saw that it was already past two in the morning.

"Do you not have a curfew to get back home?" I asked seriously, so it wouldn't seem like I was joking or teasing. Her heavy sigh was enough for me to realize how tired she was.

"Fortunately not, after all, what difference would it make, since when I get there, they'll already be asleep, or not even at home. My parents are problematic, so the more time I spend away from home, the better it will be for me."

"And why haven't you left yet?"

"Isn't it obvious? Well, I haven't left yet because I don't have enough money to support myself in a house alone, at least I still don't pay rent. I don't even know why we're having this conversation; it's like we've known each other for years."

My assumptions were confirmed; she was just a soul who felt the need to talk about her pain with someone, only I didn't know if that would be good. Besides, it seemed like we had known each other for a long time; she looked at me as if she understood me even though I hadn't said anything.

"I'm glad you trusted me. If you need a friend, I'm here," I said, touching her hand, and I felt happy when she stroked my hand too.

"Thank you, Mr. Williams, know that I'll remember that someday."

"Please, call me Michael, after all, from today on, we're friends."

It was late, and I needed to rest; I had to submit a report from a student early in the morning, but I didn't want to let her go, and she didn't care about the time either.

"Émie, if you don't mind, I'll drop you off at your house and say goodbye for today. It was a pleasure to have dinner with you; I hope you'll accept my invitations more often."

"Okay, I'll be grateful if you do that."

We made our way to her house, and I didn't leave until someone opened the door, which didn't happen. I couldn't leave her there alone; there was music playing inside the house, a strong smell of marijuana, and all the lights were off. I felt sorry for Émie having to live in such a depressing environment. The wind was strong, it was thundering a lot, and she insisted I leave because they would open the door and she would go in soon... but twenty minutes passed, and no one came. She then sat down and lowered her head.

"Please, come with me, don't you think this smell of marijuana and these ridiculous lights are awful? Look at you, this isn't a place to live. It's going to rain; I don't want you to stay in the rain; you could catch a virus or something worse. Please?" With a sad look, she held my hand and stood up.

"Okay, but know that I'll repay what you're doing for me, Michael," she said finally, feeling comfortable, and she admired the scenery as we went to my house.