We Won't Give Up On Love [Romance/ Slice-of-Life]

[February 13, 2043]

Dinner was slightly stilted that night. Cal had gone simple: spaghetti and meat sauce with garlic bread he had prepared in the kitchen's toaster. There were sprouts of conversation, but they mostly died off naturally on their own — the attempts strangled by short or monosyllabic responses. Aina, in particular, seemed affected by the tense atmosphere, uncharacteristically saying very little. She picked at her food, tangling the noodles repeatedly around the prongs of her fork listlessly, and for the first time that anyone could remember, she left her meal unfinished, pushing the half-filled bowl over to Ellie, who took and devoured the remaining food voraciously. Occasionally, Aina would glance at Cal, who ate his food in complete silence, opening her mouth now and again, only to close it. When she left the table to retire upstairs, claiming to have magic to practice on her own, she looked quite upset.

One by one, the rest of the tenants of Otter Manor departed. Ram had a date with Sirius (though she refused to call it that): they were going to watch a new superhero movie at the downtown cinema, and then she would stay over at his dorm. Ellie also claimed to have plans that would take her out of the accommodation. The local planetarium was offering a half-off night and a special show. She offered to take Cal, but Cal refused, saying he wasn't in the mood.

"That's a shame," Ellie said, clicking her tongue and running her hands through her braided hair. "It would be fun to do that kind of activity with someone of this era — I want to tell them all the random space and planet stuff the show is going to get wrong or misunderstand. Honestly, people in the 21st century had absolutely no idea what was going on in the universe around them. It's ridiculous."

She laughed in a derisive, pretentious manner.

Bridget, who had been listening, shook her head contentedly. "I'm afraid I would also be unsatisfactory in that regard as well. Luvinia has its own laws regarding outer space and the rotations of planets; I likely would not be able to make sense of such an experience. I've done my best to acclimate to this world, but… I concede that anything related to outer space is currently beyond my scope of study."

"You could take Mel," said Cal, suddenly, like he had been considering the thought for a long time. "She's invisible to anyone outside the manor, thanks to Aina's little spell. No need to pay for an extra ticket."

Unexpectedly to Cal, Ellie seemed to purse her lips in dissatisfaction at this suggestion, like she and the ghost weren't close enough to hang out together without a buffer. "Mel, huh? Do you think she would want to?"

"Ms. Mel is always speaking about how she wishes to explore more outside the bounds of the mansion in her astral form," said Bridget, encouragingly. "This would be the perfect time for such an expedition. She just needs a little push, a convenient excuse. If you frame it like she would be doing you a favor, I'm sure the lady of the house wouldn't be too resistant to the idea."

Ellie let out a big sigh, ran her hands through her hair again, and then slapped her cheeks to pump herself back up. "You know what? You two are right. It can't hurt to ask! And if she says no, I still get to spend a night watching on planets and stuff! It's a win-win! Bye, you two. I'll be back around eleven or twelve."

She pointed at Bridget. "You'll be in the entry hall, I suppose?"

Bridget nodded, wearing a mischievous expression. "I will. I'll be sure to stay up for you, Ms. Ellie."

"Cool, dude. Alright, I'm off!"

"Make sure to wear a coat this time!" Cal called after Ellie as she strolled quickly out of the room. Then he rubbed his forehead. "It's the middle of winter, and she still dresses like she's going out for a day at the beach."

"Ms. Ellie is quite liberal with her dress, that's true." Bridget looked thoughtfully down at her brass-buttoned uniform, which fully covered all the skin of her upper body. "Women in this world seem to follow her example: dressing in ways to emphasize their physical body."

"It's not the same in Luvinia?"

"Well, no lady often rejects a flattering, form-fitting dress if she's going to some important ball," said Bridget humorously. "But in general, no, skin is often not shown besides the neck and sometimes the back. You've observed this in my lady's dress, correct? They certainly are beautiful, but not the sort you would wear to seduce a man. They are functional to elevate her natural beauty, nothing more. In general, in Luvinian high society, a lady would show off their body only if there's a particular party they are trying to impress."

Cal processed this. Personally, he thought all of Aina's clothing was quite lovely, but maybe that was just because of how pretty the princess was. "You're always wearing that uniform, but you could buy whatever you want with the funds from Aina's grandfather, couldn't you? Do you ever wish to dress in a way similar to Ellie?"

Bridget's brown eyes widened. She put a hand instinctively against her chest, clearly not expecting such a question. "That's… I don't know." She winced slightly. "I fear I'm a little shy when it comes to such things. I wouldn't be against it, but I think my insecurity would make it difficult — an undoubted byproduct of serving my lady for so long."

"You're insecure about your appearance? Why?" Cal said, frowning with confusion. "Aina is no more attractive than you."

Bridger looked at him for a long moment, then shook her head mirthfully. "Oh, Mr. Cal… You say everything in such an even voice that it becomes difficult to parse sincerity from mockery. Have you ever been told that? You should be careful. It will make others who don't know your personality liable to dislike you."

Cal nodded in a grave manner. "Sirius has mentioned it to me once or twice."

"Regardless, thank you for the compliment," Bridget said, turning her face away slightly from the gaze of Cal's dark eyes. "That sentiment is not reciprocated in Luvinia. I'm a little tall, you see."

"Are you? I hadn't noticed."

She laughed at the joke — which she recognized Cal was making despite the faux-sincerity in his voice. "Yes, I am, Mr. Cal. It goes against the standards of attractiveness in Luvinia. The prevailing thought is that a woman should be just a little shorter than the average man, the perfect height to lean her head against his chest."

"And that's why you always wear the same uniform?"

Bridget shrugged. "Partly. I also do so for formality and convenience. It's what I'm used to."

Cal tapped his finger once against the table, as if trying to retrieve a fleeing thought. "What about that outfit that Aina and I picked out for you? The skirt and the brown sweater. I thought it looked good, but I never saw you wear it."

Bridget blushed slightly. "I'm… saving that for a special occasion, I think."

The conversation stalled. They sat for a few moments in silence across the dinner table, looking at the dirty dishes that had yet to be cleared. In unison, Cal and Bridget rose, gathered the dishes and silverware, and took them to the sink. Then they assumed positions: Cal at the sink where he scrubbed items with soap and water, then he would pass the items to Bridget, who would dry the items with a clean rag and place them in an appropriate place on the drying rack next to the sink. This was a ritual well known to both of them by now, which they had perfected in efficiency over the last few months.

When they finished this, Cal took a separate rag, damp with water, and used it to clean the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Bridget stayed by the counter and prepared some lavender tea with a light blue ceramic kettle that originated from a second-hand store — the only object she had bought purely for herself since arriving from Luvinia. By the time Cal had finished cleaning the table and sweeping up crumbs from the floor with a broom that was kept in the hallway closet, the tea was ready. Bridget poured the warm-colored tea into a pair of small cylindrical mugs, handed one to Cal (he spoke a soft "thank you"), and they sat back down at the table,in their original positions.

Besides Cal's quiet thanks, neither of them had spoken a single word.

Now, the conversation appeared to have reset, and both Cal and Bridget seemed to be waiting for the other to begin as they blew on their tea, taking small, dainty sips before placing the mugs on coasters Cal had retrieved from the utensil drawer.

Finally, Cal took the plunge. "You don't have any questions for me?"

He said this rather anxiously, tracing the lip of his own mug with a pale finger.

Bridget raised a playful eyebrow. "Oh, you'd answer them if I asked you?"

"That would depend on whatever Delilah told you — and don't deny it, I know she said something." His finger traced the lip in quicker rotations. "She can't help herself."

"She told me what she knew," Bridget replied simply. "The abridged version of it, I expect. Your original parents, your adopted parents, the nature of the spirit, the circumstances that led you here, to this place. No details, truly."

Cal's face was frowning again. "Okay. Okay, I see."

"Would you prefer I knew nothing, Mr. Cal?" asked Bridget politely, though her stomach felt a little disquieted.

He pulled at the collar of his pink dress shirt, trying to get more air. "Yes. I would prefer if everyone knew nothing."

That stung a little bit, but Bridget managed to keep her expression neutral. "And why is that?"

"Because it's useless," Cal responded. "Because there's nothing left to do."

He laid the side of his hand vertically on the wooden surface of the table, the fingers stacked on top of one another, all pointing directly at Bridget. "Ms. Bridget, I'd like to speak with frankness and honesty for a moment. Is that alright?"

"Why, I believe I've been telling you to do so from the first day we met, Mr. Cal," Bridget said. She almost smiled jokingly, but something within told her that now was a time to be completely serious. "Speak candidly, then."

He fixed his eyes directly on Bridget, and she thought she saw for an instant things dancing there, behind the pupil and the iris, like shadow-puppets. It was strangely alluring to her.

"When you look at me," said Cal, his head slightly tilted, his body completely still. "Do you see a normal person?"

"That's an ambiguous question," Bridget said. "Normalcy is quite subjective. You are, after all, asking this question to an attendant of a princess who was born beyond your world. But I'll take the bait, Mr. Cal. No. You are, to me, an extremely unique person."

"To what degree?"

She pondered the question for a minute, taking a sip of the lavender tea. "You are an inherent contradiction. You mimic the daily patterns of life very well, achieving a kind of quiet domesticity, but you never seem to ingratiate yourself within that stream of days — you hold yourself apart. It's the same with your personal relationships. You are glad to give personal advice, to hold consideration for others, even to act in accordance with the principles of taking care of those around you. You did it for Ms. Mel and my lady, though you appear ignorant of your influence. And yet when the same principles are turned onto you, you react caustically, you flee, you deny, you escape the obligation of actions you yourself have taken. A duty of care is reciprocal in nature-"

"Stop, Bridget," Cal said, a little forcefully. "I can see where you're going with this, that I ought to accept the companionship of others, and it wasn't the reason I asked the question. I'm trying to make a point-"

"Doubtless one where you turn my words coyly to reveal some inherently disgraceful aspect of your nature," said Bridget. She held his gaze and hadn't been thrown off by his interruption, as unexpected as it had been from him. "You're trying to elegantly lead me into defining some pathology so you can criticize your own character. It won't work. It might work with my silly lady or your ghostly roommate, but it won't with me."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She said this last part quite stonily, and he looked at her, startled by her bluntness.

"My point," Cal said, emphasizing his words. "Is that I reject that 'reciprocation', as you call it, because it's an empty exercise. I have nothing left to give. That's why it's best to remain as invisible and anonymous as possible — to accept everything that happens without judgment or influence."

Bridget's brown eyes, typically so warm and patient, had a touch of ice in them. "Are you perhaps some once-in-a-generation thespian, Mr. Cal?"

He shook his head, confused. "What?"

"Or are you perhaps suggesting that I am some naïve, silly woman who can be led astray and manipulated by any younger man with an attractive face and insincere smile?"

There was a moment of silence. Cal met Bridget's stare, his throat slightly tight. "I would never suggest anything like that about you, Ms. Bridget."

"You suggest it through connotation," Bridget replied quickly. "You're implying that your actions have no greater significance, that they reflect a greater antipathy that you think lies at the core of your being. And so, I suppose you must feel you are very clever, very wily, able to engage with others without ever revealing your true characteristics. For I have observed in you, or think I have observed in you, many admirable qualities: kindness, patience, intelligence, and virtue. And now you tell me those observations, those feelings, are worthless."

She stopped to take a breath and sip another mouthful of tea, but also to regulate herself and her own emotions. "So, congratulations, Mr. Cal," she said, finally. "If all that is truly the case… you have fooled me."

There was the sound of raindrops against the glass pane of the windows. It had begun to shower after the sun had gone down. With a sigh, indicating she was annoyed by the timing of this inconvenience, Bridget rose and crossed the room, closing the pane of a window that had been left ajar to ventilate the space when Cal had been cooking. Then she sat back down, her long legs crossed, adjusted a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear, and fixed Cal with an expression that seemed to say that she had given him plenty of time to formulate an appropriate response.

"You're right," Cal said, shaking his head with self-admonishment. "As you always are, Ms. Bridget. My words were arrogant and indelicate."

"Good, I'm glad you agree, Mr. Cal." Bridget made a half-smirk. "Are we having another fight?"

"Not yet, Ms. Bridget," Cal said, sighing. He took a sip of tea himself. "Though I suppose that depends on what I say next."

She made a grunt of agreement.

Cal stretched his fingers around the warm cup of tea in front of him, as if trying to cover as much area as possible with his skin. "Let me put it another way. I…" He stopped, considering, agonizing. "When you, Ms. Bridget, or any of the other tenants... when they learn anything new about me, when they take an interest in my past or my personality, I find such an event terrifying."

Bridget wore a surprised expression at this choice of words, but she let Cal talk uninterrupted, as she could tell he was having a lot of trouble simply finding the words he wanted.

"I feel like I'm holding onto these passing days with the most precarious grip," he continued. "Anything that disturbs that sanctity I automatically view as a threat or an omen. This means withholding information. This means withholding myself. To be invisible, functional, an anonymous face in the crowd."

"But isn't this place safe?" said Bridget, her expression worried and sincere. She was leaning her body forward across the table, closer to Cal. "What precisely do you think is going to happen if you… make yourself vivid?"

Cal let go of the mug and grasped his hands together under the table, intertwining the fingers roughly and with a strong grip, not wanting Bridget to detect the way his hands were beginning to shake. "Delilah told you that a spirit attached itself to me. A bad spirit. That is true. Her name was Freya. I first met her when I was five years old."

Bridget shook her head, not quite understanding what he was implying. "What? What are you saying, Mr. Cal?"

"I did her a favor of sorts," continued Cal, though a film was beginning to fall over his eyes, making them distant and strange. "And in exchange, she placed her favor onto me. At first, it was fun. It was like having an imaginary friend that nobody else would see or believe in. I thought of myself as a rather special child back then — that I had been chosen, like a hero in one of those comic books that Ram likes to read. I may be quite dumb regarding sensitive matters, Ms. Bridget, but I was a thousand times more foolish as a child. I believed everything she told me. I indulged in every promise. And when she asked favors from me, I gave her what she asked for."

Cal let out a long, staggering outtake of breath before finding the strength to look Bridget in the eyes again. The look he saw there almost made him stop his story, but he persisted, knowing that if he didn't tell her now, he would never be able to find the strength again.

"Ms. Bridget," he said, plainly. "That child that I was. That person I used to be. There's nothing left of it. Everything I was, I gave to Freya, willingly or through coercion. Everything has been taken. Who you see now sitting before you is the result of those experiences. Now I simply want to live out whatever days remain to me, in quiet, in peace, without dramatics, without fuss. That's why it's difficult when others acknowledge me, when they take interest, when they insist upon learning more."

He blinked. The surprise in his dark eyes seemed to indicate he hadn't realized the truth of his own words until the moment they were said aloud. "I… I feel as if I will evaporate when exposed by too warm a light."

Bridget had been staring directly at Cal for a long while. Then, he felt the warm touch of her hands on his own. She seemed to have removed the gloves from her uniform, and without looking, instinctively reached out for where Cal's hands were under the table. He flinched at the contact, his throat tightening, but he managed not to pull away from her touch, though his hands began to shake more.

"Ms. Bridget," he said, almost in a whisper. "I think I'm quite empty. I apologize for that. I'm afraid nothing more can be done. I seem to remember once having a lust for life, a command of spaces and social climates, even a kind of tenderness that I could imagine one day extending to a person who was special to me — but these are gossamer, insubstantial memories. I can only behave in a way that I feel I ought to, even if I can't explain to myself the motivation behind my actions."

Cal closed his eyes for a moment. "I don't know why, but I feel it's important I try to communicate this to you. My actions and emotions are not the result of talented acting. They are not crafty manipulations. It's nothing so impressive. I am merely a self-plagiarist." He smiled, warily, bitterly. "Some days, I can barely look at you, Ms. Bridget. I don't know why. I get gripped by an indescribable nostalgia that ignites feelings of resentment within me. An impossible nostalgia — like I've traveled back in time without remembering it. The sight through a doorway that I never opened."

He finished his words and said nothing more. There was a creaking noise upstairs that made both of them flinch. Aina walking around, perhaps, or going to the bathroom. Then it faded, to be replaced by the sound of raindrops hitting the window panes. The rain from earlier had increased slightly in intensity; if Ellie was still not at the planetarium, she would get soaked.

When Bridget spoke next, the tone of her voice was weirdly casual in comparison to the intimacy of the conversation and their bodies. "May I share something with you, Mr. Cal?"

"Of course, you may. Anything you would like."

She grasped his hands more tightly. He could feel the strength of her body, careful yet powerful, and the calluses that had long formed on her hands, their hard texture brushing against his own soft palms. "I don't know if I have the words or the knowledge to console you, or to provide guidance on how you should act in the future. But I would like to share a story from my past, one that I feel may help in some way. A memory, my first memory, I ought to say. An experience I've never told anyone else, not even to Aina."

Cal wanted to ask another question, but he kept his mouth shut, letting Bridget tell the story at her own pace. She took her time. Another sip of lavender tea, a cough. Another adjustment of a lock of her brown hair behind her ear — one of her most common habits — and then, finally, a stare, directly into his soul, it seemed.

Then she spoke.

"I call this my first memory, but that's obviously a simplification. I have conceptions of memories that predate this event, scattered images, voices and sound cascading through a haze of light. Sometimes the sensation of a touch, like my father grasping my little finger, or the feeling of my mother's lips touching my forehead. But that is all prologue, because what I'm about to tell you now is the moment I became myself, that I began to exist in a way where I was cognizant of that very existence, and thus was forced to contend with the fact that my fate was something that could be altered through my very own actions. So, this is what I have decided is my first memory. The first instant of vivacity."

One more sip of tea — a big one. She had drained the mug.

"I was four years old, and I was walking down a deserted street. I was barefoot, exhausted, and hungry. I hadn't eaten since the previous evening, and by that point in the day it was past noon. It was cold. Winter was on the rise after a warm spring. The chill wind was skipping off the whitecaps of the surging river to the west, carrying with it frigid moisture that made me shiver. My ears were bleeding, and the blood had run down the lengths of my arms to stain my palms, and when I looked down at them, it gave the impression that I had been crushing pomegranate between my fingers. I thought of pomegranate because I seemed to recall having eaten that fruit recently, and the red juice getting caught on my chin and making it sticky, and maybe one of my parents laughed while they wiped it clean with a handkerchief, but I can't be sure. I hadn't existed at that point, you see. But I existed now. I existed because I could feel the cold wind go through my thin body, and the sharp claws of hunger tearing apart the inside of my belly, and the ringing in my ears that never seemed to cease. And I knew then, right then, even though I was a child of four, I knew with extraordinary certainty… I knew it. I was going to die."

Bridget held Cal's shocked gaze, letting her words sink in for a moment before proceeding. She squeezed his hand once — as if reassuring him of something — and the nail of one of her knuckles brushed against the almost invisible hair on the back of his hand.

"I was a child, of course, and had no solid concept of what death even was, or what it meant. But that did not matter, did not make the fear and anxiety dissipate. It was all real enough. I kept walking, and as I did, I looked up at the sky. In this vivid memory, that sky is the most vivid white you've ever seen in your life. It was snow, marble, foam. It was porcelain, enamel, ivory. It was emptiness, the void, the afterlife. In Luvinia, most legends say that the specter of death is an old woman named Mashia ag Luya, and when it's your time to pass on, she comes down from the sky with wild gray hair and a great cackling laugh, and she reaches down and rips your soul from your body, dragging your consciousness into the great beyond by the tips of her wrinkled, bony fingers. Well, that's about what I thought was going to happen. By that point, I couldn't even walk; my feet were completely numb. Afterward, I lost a baby toe to frostbite, my left one, but anyway, at that moment, I thought something close to: 'Well, that's all it will be.' So, I stopped under the twisting bough of a large dark tree that had been planted in the town square and was now bare of leaves, and I fell against it, face-first. I chipped a tooth, then hit the ground. I had twisted with the motion and ended up on my back. The whole world was the white sky. I couldn't see anything else. I breathed in and out, letting myself relax. There was nothing more to be done. Once I thought that, a kind of great and meaningful tranquility washed over me. Time stopped. The world darkened. And then I died. And then I woke up."

The light in her eyes danced playfully at the look of confusion on Cal's face. "Oh, I was speaking poetically. I didn't actually die. I just passed out. However, I must stress that in that first moment of oblivion, it sincerely felt like dying. A lot of things occurred after that, the long story regarding the circumstances that led the Dornlathe clan to pretend an insignificant and dying peasant girl was their female heir, but I'll spare you that for now. The part pertinent to the story is the emotion I felt when I first woke up, when I realized I could still move and still breathe, and there was a roaring fire in the hearth, that feeling, that singular feeling, overwhelming, all-consuming, that has dangled over the rest of my life, omnipresent. Can you guess what emotion that was, Cal?"

He knew and didn't want to say. He said it anyway. "Disappointment."

"Disappointment," Bridget repeated back. "Black and bitter. I almost threw myself into the fire right at that moment to protest the unfairness of it all. But I didn't. And so, I sit before you. If I have any moral to impart by sharing my tale of woe, it's only this: human beings are not states of matter, states of spiritualism, states of repair. We are, as far as I have determined, a single organ in a remarkable and destructive state of frenzy. Everything can happen, or nothing may happen; we would rip apart ourselves either way. Our forms lash out in every direction, tearing scars into each body around us. Thus, and this is just my humble opinion, Cal, there is nothing so simple within any of us that it could truly be gone forever. All I ask is that you consider that."

They locked eyes, and he nodded.

She let go of his hand. Then she reached her own hands up and started to unbutton her uniform. For a mad, flustered moment, Cal thought Bridget was taking off all her clothes, and he started in his seat, but she only removed her dark jacket with the large brass buttons, draping it over the back of her chair. Underneath, Bridget was wearing a thin white dress shirt with ruffled sleeves that was tucked into her pants at the waist. Pulled down the way it was, the dress shirt seemed to hug the powerful and curvaceous form of Bridget's body, not just the outlines of the breasts and waist, but the sinewy muscles that were clearly visible as she stretched her long limbs over her head, in her arms, her shoulders, her back. For a moment, she held herself in that particular posture, in the way somebody loosening their body before running a marathon would, seemingly perfectly aware of the way Cal was staring at her. Then, with a big sigh, she rose and left the kitchen. At first, Cal thought she had gone without a word, but the sounds that followed told him she had only gone to the bathroom, and she soon reemerged into the kitchen, looking satisfied with herself, if a little tired.

"You barely touched your tea," she commented, glancing at the table.

"Sorry, Bridget," Cal responded. "I suppose I was too engrossed by your words."

She chuckled. "Don't start, Cal. Glib compliments don't suit you."

He did take a sip, then. It was barely warm but still tasted good. "Do you mind if we talk for a little longer?"

Bridget seemed sincerely surprised at his words. She had been walking over towards the counter to place her mug in the sink, and Cal's words made her whip her head around, and her brown hair twirled. "Truly? You've typically retired by this point in the night. I wouldn't mind, though perhaps we can discuss slightly less hefty topics for a time."

He smiled. "Of course. It doesn't matter what. We can talk about anything. I just don't feel like going to bed yet."

"Alright, then," Bridget nodded to herself, trying to keep herself from smirking with delight as she looked down at the mug she was carrying in her hands. "I suppose I shall brew some more tea for myself, then."

The pair talked for the rest of the night, until the door slammed in the entry hall and the voices of Ellie and Mel carried into the kitchen, announcing their return from the planetarium.