Chapter 9: Diane's Interrogation
The scent of fresh coffee and the chemical tang of gesso fought for dominance in the sun-blasted living room. A week had passed since the dawn with the deep green walls and the irrevocable string. The hallway was now a forest, rich and matte, Catriona’s bold brushstrokes suggesting hidden pathways in the shifting light. The lavender candle was gone, replaced by a simple beeswax pillar that smelled of honey and clean wax.
Catriona was curled in the armchair, a sketchpad balanced on her knees, one foot tucked under her. She wore Aidan’s old university sweatshirt, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Aidan was at the dining table, which served as a temporary desk, his laptop humming beside a spread of star charts and component schematics. A comfortable, focused quiet had settled between them, a new language they were both learning.
The knock at the door was a blunt interruption. Catriona unfolded herself, padding to answer it.
Diane filled the doorway, a bottle of wine in one hand and a paper bag from the bakery in the other. Her sharp eyes took in Catriona’s borrowed sweatshirt, the new paint on the walls, the way Aidan looked up and smiled not at the door, but directly at Catriona first. “Well,” Diane said, her voice ripe with implication. “Don’t you two look domestic.”
“We’re a hive of industry,” Catriona retorted, stepping back to let her in. “Mostly. Come in before you let the heat out.”
Diane swept in, depositing her offerings on the crowded coffee table. She settled onto the worn velvet couch, a throne amidst the chaos. “I need details. The sanitized version you gave me on the phone was unacceptable. Start with the hallway. It’s incredible. When did you have time?”
“Last weekend,” Aidan said, getting up to fetch mugs. “She painted for twelve hours straight. I brought her water and sandwiches like a dutiful gallery intern.”
“He sanded the trim,” Catriona added, joining Diane on the couch. “Without being asked. It was unnervingly competent.”
Aidan returned with the coffee pot and three mismatched mugs. As he poured, Diane watched him, her head tilted. The easy way he touched the small of Catriona’s back as he handed her a mug. The way Catriona leaned into the touch without thought.
“So,” Diane began, blowing on her coffee. “The big stuff. Liam. Is he… handled?”
“I got a text,” Catriona said, her voice flat. “An ‘apology’ for losing his temper. Said he just cared too much. I didn’t reply. He hasn’t tried again.”
“Good.” Diane’s tone was final. Then her gaze sharpened, flicking between them. “And the other thing. The original thing. I’m still stuck on it. Aidan.”
He looked up, mug halfway to his lips. “Yeah?”
“That first morning. After the sleepwalking. You really didn’t wake up when she just… climbed into bed with you?”
Aidan set his mug down. A slow, private grin spread across his face, the one Catriona had come to recognize in the dark. He leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxed recollection. “Not really. I was half in some dream about faulty telescope arrays. I just… registered a warmth. Someone shivering. So I pulled her in, snugged her against me. Went right back under. It was pure, dumb instinct.”
Catriona watched him, hiding her own smile behind her mug. Her green eyes were bright, fixed on him.
“The morning, though,” Aidan continued, his voice dropping into a more intimate register, for the room, for her. “That was the weird part. Waking up slowly, feeling this incredible weight on my arm, this skin against mine. Opening my eyes and there’s this… gorgeous, naked woman in my arms. Realizing my hand was on her ass, had been all night, like my body just knew. And then, obviously, being completely unable to stop my dick from responding to that information. It was like a system overload. Beauty, confusion, a healthy dose of panic.”
Diane let out a low, appreciative whistle. “A system overload. I bet.”
The memory, voiced so plainly, hung in the air between the three of them, vivid and charged. It was no longer an embarrassing anecdote. It was an origin story.
“And you,” Diane said, turning to Catriona. “You woke up on top of a stranger, felt that particular situation, and your first thought was to introduce yourself?”
Catriona shrugged, a fluid, unapologetic movement. “What was I supposed to do? Scream? It was already happening. He had a nice face. And he was… impressively equipped. Curiosity won out over terror.”
Aidan coughed on his coffee.
Diane laughed, a rich, unfettered sound. “God, I’ve missed you being like this. The last few months with Liam, you were so… edited. It’s good to have the uncut version back.”
The conversation spiraled from there, into easier topics—upcoming work, gallery shows, the absurdity of a client who wanted “whimsical yet sinister” otters. Aidan listened, interjecting with dry observations that made Catriona snort into her wine. He watched her come alive under her friend’s attention, her gestures becoming broader, her laugh more frequent.
As afternoon light slanted gold across the floorboards, Diane stood to leave. She hugged Catriona tightly, whispering something in her ear that made Catriona’s eyes soften. She offered a casual wave to Aidan. “Don’t break her, astronomy boy. She’s one of a kind.”
“Not planning on it,” he said, and he meant it.
The door clicked shut, leaving a sudden, profound quiet in its wake. The energy of the visit lingered like perfume. Catriona started gathering the mugs, but Aidan caught her wrist. He pulled her gently to him, so she stood between his knees where he sat on the couch.
“You okay?” he asked, searching her face.
“More than,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “It was good. Normal. Something we used to do all the time before…”
“Before he isolated you.”
She nodded, a simple acknowledgment of the truth they’d already named. “It felt like reclaiming something. Having my friend here, in our space, with you in it.” She traced the line of his jaw with her thumb. “You were really cute with the ‘system overload’ bit.”
He nuzzled her palm. “It was accurate.”
She was silent for a moment, her expression turning contemplative. “That morning… I wasn’t just curious, you know. I was testing.”
“Testing what?”
“If the reality of you matched the… suggestion. The feeling of being that safe while I was that vulnerable. It did. More than.” She bent and kissed him, a soft, lingering press. “My sleepwalking hasn’t happened since. I think my subconscious feels like it’s home now. No need to go searching.”
He held her there, his arms around her waist, his face against the soft cotton covering her stomach. The confession felt larger than the one about Liam. It was about trust, deep and neurological.
Later, after they’d cleaned up and night had firmly settled, Catriona stood in the doorway of her own bedroom. She’d been sleeping in his bed since the incident, but her things were still here, her art, her clothes. Aidan paused beside her on his way to the bathroom, brushing his teeth.
“Thinking of repainting in here too?” he asked, foam at the corner of his mouth.
She shook her head, her eyes scanning the room—the familiar mess, the childhood quilt on the bed. “No. I’m thinking I should probably start moving my stuff. It’s stupid to have two rooms when we only use one. If that’s… I mean, is that okay?”
He rinsed his mouth, wiped his face with a towel. When he looked at her, his hazel eyes were clear and certain. He walked over, took her hand, and led her not into her room, but across the hall toward his. Theirs.
“It’s more than okay,” he said, and closed the door behind them.