Rudely

You arch a snarky eyebrow and give her a defined snort. "Afternoon," you spit, "by my calculation."

She gives no visible response to your negative tone, but simply rolls her head around in circles, as if trying to loosen it up.

Your arms cross defensively. "What do you want, Ms. Carson?}"

She actually chuckles a bit. "First off, it's Mrs. Carson. And to answer your question, I saw you staring blankly out the window a few minutes ago. Decided I should come see what was up."

You shrug and snort again. "Nothing is up. Nothing's ever up with me these days. You should know that. It's your job to stalk me."

Only then does her cheery facade fade, and she frowns the way she must want to, looking down at the ground. "Look, Jace, I know it's far from ideal, but you should consider yourself lucky." A small, wry smirk returns to her lips as she looks up at you. "Not everyone accused of what you've been gets a hot detective to 'stalk' them."

You open your mouth to speak, but stop short as you mull the statement over. And suddenly, you're rendered speechless, all aggression and annoyance gone as you see laughter dance in her dark but vibrant viridian eyes.

Unbidden, you start to chortle, and she soon joins you, gently pressing past you to cross the threshold of your "prison." She looks around curiously, as if something had changed since the last time she'd been in here. You had to smirk at the memory even as a small blush threatened to rise in your features.

You'd been here for about a week when you were awakened by a sound in the night. Wary as you were (and oblivious to the state-sanctioned stalker living next door), you crept toward the source of the sound, ready to fight at a moment's notice. And when you found the intruder, a slim figure clad in all black head to toe, fight you did, with everything you had. You got some decent licks in before managing to snag the cleft of the intruder's mask and yank it off. You'd been so stunned by the smooth features and long hair that you were left completely open to having the wind knocked out of you and your body flipped to the ground with a complex Aikido maneuver.

The next thing you knew, there was a black leather boot planted on your chest, mere inches from your windpipe, and the person on the other end of it was glaring down at you with the same piercing green eyes you're faced with now. It takes a tremendous effort to shake the memories off and focus on the detective currently lounging in your foyer. Another five seconds pass before you remember you were raised with manners.

"Hey," you call, "I don't have any hard stuff, obviously, but would you like something to drink?"

She smiles at you and cocks her head curiously, legs flapping idly as she sits on a table. "What do you have?"

You don't even need to check the fridge to review your inventory--you only ever drink water anyway. "Orange juice, grape juice, milk, apple cider--"

"Cider. You have a microwave?"

You arch an eyebrow at her in surprise. "And cinnamon?"

She grins. "Read my mind."

You snort. "Right," you mutter as you enter the kitchen, "That'll be a first."

"Don't sell yourself short," she says from directly behind you.

You jump at the proximity and face her abruptly.

"I saw your aptitude tests. You're definitely more perceptive than the average bloke."

Another snort as you pour the cider. "When it comes to things, not people. People are...a mystery to me. A cipher."

"Especially girls?"

You nod. "Especially girls."

She's silent for a moment as you prepare her drink. "You ever think that maybe you've just been looking at this...'cipher' with the wrong key?"

You straighten up and sigh as you push the microwave door closed. "Only every day. If I'd had the right one, I wouldn't be here."

"And would you want that?"

You whirl around to face her, expression incredulous. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'd want that. Who wants to be under house arrest and have their future endangered by some entitled bitch who has nothing better to do than sling mud?"

Her expression is pensive. "But at the same time, this experience taught you a valuable lesson about the dangers of desperation and knowing who you can trust."

You take a moment to consider her statement, then shrug and mutter, "I guess."

"Would you have learned that lesson otherwise?"

"If I'd had the key, I would never have needed to."

The microwave beeps before either of you can say anything else, and you silently hand the older woman her cider with a spoon for stirring the cinnamon. She quietly mutters a thank you and blows on its surface for a moment before taking a tentative sip. Her viridian eyes flutter shut in ecstasy as she sips the hot liquid, the brief lick of her lower lip making your breath catch for a split-second. A half-minute and several more sips later, she opens her eyes and looks back to you.

"So what's up?"

You hesitate, knowing that "anything you say or do can and will be used against you," but decide that anything and everything that's most incriminating has already been said and done. "I--I don't know what to do with myself." You sigh heavily and lean back against the counter. "All my life, I've had a plan. What I'd study, where I'd work...and now...now all of that's falling apart. I sit here in this god-damned house and I play video games and watch videos until my eyes bleed. And at the end of the day I just feel so...empty."

"Mhm," she hums gently. "That's how it starts. Feelings of purposelessness. It leads to depression, and then...other things." She frowns. "I've seen it before."

"Aaaand why are you telling me this?"

She looks into your eyes, her gaze intense. "Because I don't want the same to happen to you."

When she leans her head back down to take another sip of her cider, you get a clear view of her left hand and note the lack of wedding ring. The imprint of tan lines is present where one used to be. You wonder whether or not to ask about it.