Chapter 50: Even I Can’t Help Wanting to Kill You
Chapter 50: Even I Can’t Help Wanting to Kill You
The takeout arrived quickly. By the time the two finished dinner, the sky had already turned completely dark. After leaning against the sofa and watching television for a while, Eric took Drew upstairs to prepare a bedroom for her.
“Eric, I want to sleep with you,” Drew said, pouting as she took the blanket Eric pulled out of the cabinet and hugged it in her arms.
Eric took out another pillow, patted it, and casually said, “Stop fooling around, Drew. You don’t want me to get into trouble again, do you?”
“But this is your house. Who would know?”
“Have you already forgotten what happened last time? If you hadn’t fooled around, all those messy things afterward wouldn’t have happened. All right, come with me.”
Drew followed Eric reluctantly to an empty bedroom.
“This room will do. There’s hot water in the bathroom. Oh, I forgot you can’t take a bath right now, so just leave it at that. Sleep early.”
After giving a few instructions, Eric left Drew’s bedroom and headed for the study.
After writing a few pages of the Resident Evil novel, Eric stretched, took a box of cigarettes from the drawer, and went out onto the balcony. Looking out, the whole of Los Angeles was wrapped in a brilliant, bustling sea of lights.
He sat down on a lounge chair on the balcony, lit a cigarette, and leaned back against the chair. For some reason, he suddenly remembered what Aniston had said over the phone at noon. Did he really seem like a passerby?
A faint sound came from behind him. He turned his head and saw Drew, wearing one of Eric’s oversized T-shirts because she had no pajamas, tiptoeing over like a cat. After Eric noticed her, she cutely stuck out her tongue.
“Eric, I can’t sleep.” Drew came over, pushed Eric toward the other side of the wide lounge chair, then lay down beside him and rested her head on his arm.
She snatched the cigarette from Eric’s hand, took a practiced drag, blew out a smoke bubble, frowned slightly, then stuffed the cigarette back to Eric.
“It doesn’t taste as good as marijuana, right?” Eric pinched the cigarette butt and flicked it as he asked with a smile.
“Of course,” Drew answered as if it were only natural.
“Don’t touch those things again in the future.” Eric patted the girl’s shoulder.
“Mm…”
Los Angeles nights were cold in this season. Eric himself was fine, but Drew was only wearing a T-shirt, with her two pale, bare legs exposed beneath it. Eric hurriedly took two more drags, crushed the cigarette out, and tossed it into the trash can. Then he leaned sideways and pulled out a blanket from beside him, covering them both.
“Eric, what were you thinking about just now?” Drew tilted her head and asked curiously.
Eric carefully tucked the blanket around Drew and said softly, “I was thinking about Annie. I wonder where she is in New York right now.”
“Actually…” Drew hesitated for a moment. “I know.”
“Mm?”
“Didn’t I promise you I would explain what happened that day to Aniston? After that, I asked around and got her contact information. She’s living in Manhattan, New York now. I don’t remember the exact address, but I wrote it down on paper. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
Eric smiled. “Why are you willing to give it to me?”
“I want you to be happy.”
“Good girl.”
Drew immediately pressed her advantage. “Is there a reward? You should at least kiss me.” As she spoke, she brought her doll-like face closer.
Eric lightly kissed Drew on the cheek. Drew narrowed her eyes and hummed in satisfaction, then kissed him back. In the end, she even stuck out her little tongue and licked Eric’s face, then giggled.
“Eric, can you sing? Sing me a song, okay?”
Eric did not refuse. Patting Drew’s shoulder, he began, “Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur…”
“Ha, I don’t want to hear a nursery rhyme.” Drew laughed and scratched Eric. Then she suddenly thought of something, slipped out from under the blanket, and walked into the house. When she returned a little while later, she had a wooden guitar in her hands.
“This was hanging on the wall in my bedroom. Eric, can you play guitar?”
Eric took it and casually plucked a few notes. “No. The previous owner left it behind.”
“Try it. I want to hear.” Drew acted spoiled and slipped back under the blanket.
Eric had no choice but to sit up, place the guitar on his lap, and try plucking it a few times. He glanced at the brilliant lights below Beverly Hills, gathered his mood for a few seconds, and softly began to sing:
On the window of the Boeing 727, your tearful eyes were reflected
Looking down on this city, everything had already grown faint
When the setting sun painted Hell’s Kitchen into heaven
You turned your face away
I brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear
And said, everything would be all right
As long as we were together, forever, forever.
As long as we were together, forever, forever.
…
The guitar techniques he had learned back in university had long been mostly forgotten. Eric only plucked along by instinct. His slightly hoarse voice drifted into the night wind, winding out strands of nameless emotion.
When the song ended, Drew narrowed her eyes and savored it for a while before saying, “Eric, will we be together forever?”
Eric set the guitar aside and lay back down again. Aniston’s words surfaced in his mind once more, along with the memory of how he had inexplicably come to this world after getting drunk. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll wake up one day and already be dead.”
Drew pulled Eric’s arm over as a pillow and gently rubbed against it. “If you die, I’ll go with you.”
Eric smiled. “That would be romantic. According to Western custom, maybe our story would be turned into a tragic love story, then staged year after year in theaters as a play called something like Eric and Drew. And if it were in an Eastern story, we might be a pair of unyielding lovers bravely pursuing love. In the end, we’d turn into a pair of butterflies and fly wing to wing. Lovesick men and bitter women would cry over our story again and again, while old-fashioned parents would use it to educate their rebellious children: if you dare fool around again, be careful or you’ll turn into butterflies.”
“Haha.” Drew laughed softly. “Eric, hearing you say that, even I can’t help wanting to kill you, then kill myself. That way, in people’s stories, we’d be together forever.”
Eric flicked Drew’s forehead. “If you really did that, our story would more likely become a bizarre murder case in the police department’s archives.”
As usual, Drew protested while rubbing her head. The two quietly leaned together for a while before the girl looked for something to say again.
“Eric, what’s your dream?”
“Why are you suddenly asking that?”
“I’m just curious. Tell me.”
Eric straightened slightly and changed his position. “I don’t like the word ‘dream.’ I prefer ‘ideal.’ Dreams are always boundless, but ideals have to be grounded.”
“Then what’s your ideal?”
“My ideal…” Eric pondered for a moment, then said very mood-killingly, “Does hooking up with a whole bunch of female stars and having a whole bunch of little child stars to become a legend in the film industry count?”
Drew raised her head and lightly bumped the back of her head against Eric’s arm, laughing. “So vulgar!”
“All right, it’s late. Sleep.”
“Mm. Can we sleep here?”
“You’ll catch a cold.”
“Then carry me back.” Drew raised both hands and looped them around Eric’s neck, acting spoiled.
Eric helplessly stood up and reached out to lift Drew. Just as he straightened, he suddenly seemed to lose his strength and sank downward, groaning, “Aiya, you’re so heavy. I’m old. I can’t carry you anymore.”
“You’re so annoying.” Drew, who got startled, laughed and hit Eric, but she clung tightly to his neck and refused to let go. Eric had no choice but to carry the girl toward her bedroom.