Chapter 4: The next real thing
THE NEXT MORNING. LIGHT CASCADED IN. "JAVIS CLOSE THE BLINDS" CARL SPOKE AND the automated system hummed softly, the towering windows darkening to a deep, calming gray. The sudden twilight soothed the pounding in his temples. Ellie lay beside him, a warm line of heat against his side, her breathing still deep and slow.
He watched the slow rise and fall of her shoulder. Her hair was a wild spill across his pillow, a stark blonde against the white linen. One of his shirts was draped over a chair, a pair of her jeans pooled on the floor.
It was the first time this space held evidence of another person. Real, messy life. He found he liked the sight of it.
She stirred, rolling onto her back with a low groan. Her hand came up to shield her eyes from the residual glow. “What time is it?” Her voice was gravel and sleep.
“Just after nine.” He didn’t move to touch her. The space between them felt charged, different. “There’s coffee. Winston will have left it.”
Ellie pushed herself up on her elbows, the sheet falling to her waist. She looked around the dimmed room, then at him. “Javis?”
“The building’s system.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Voice-activated.”
A small, incredulous laugh escaped her. “Of course it is.” She swung her legs out of bed, her bare feet finding the cool floor. She stood, stretching, unselfconscious in her nakedness. He watched the play of muscle in her back.
She picked up his shirt from the chair and pulled it on. It hung to mid-thigh on her. “I need that coffee.” She walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door open.
Carl lay there for another minute, listening to the quiet clink of china from the kitchen. The previous night hung in the air, a palpable texture. He finally rose, pulling on his own pants, and followed her out.
She was at the counter, clutching a large mug in both hands, staring into the city’s masked windows. She looked adrift in the vast room. “This place is so quiet,” she said, not turning around. “It’s like a museum after hours.”
“You get used to it.”
“I don’t think I would.” She finally glanced at him, her eyes impossibly blue in the artificial gloom. “Last night was…”
“Real,” he finished for her, leaning against the doorway.
“Yeah.” She took a slow sip. “It was. Which makes this feel even more like a simulation.” She gestured vaguely with her mug at the pristine, tailored space. “That bed is ridiculous, by the way. I’ve slept on concrete slabs with more personality.”
A genuine smile touched his lips. “Noted.”
She walked toward him, stopping an arm’s length away. The borrowed shirt gaped slightly at the collar. “I should go. I have a valve job waiting at the shop.”
He wanted to ask her to stay. The words were a physical pressure behind his teeth. He swallowed them. “I’ll call you a car.”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I’ll get an Uber. It’s easier.” She searched his face, and he had the distinct sense she was memorizing it. “Thursday.”
“The bar,” he said.
“Maybe.” She gave him a last, unreadable look, then turned to gather her things from the bedroom. She dressed in efficient silence, not looking at the rumpled bed. He watched from the doorway, that hollow feeling expanding in his chest.
At the front foyer, she slipped on her boots. She didn’t kiss him goodbye. She just placed a hand flat on his chest, over his heart, for a single, weighted second. Then the door clicked shut behind her.
The silence rushed back in, deeper than before. Carl stood there for a long time. He walked back to the bedroom and looked at the tangled sheets, the imprint of her head on the pillow. He reached down and pulled the duvet up, an automatic gesture, then stopped.
He left it exactly as it was.
She was leaving.
The realization was a cold fist in his gut. He was on his feet, pulling on his trousers, not bothering with a shirt. He moved through the dark apartment, a sense of urgency sharpening his steps.
The private foyer was empty, the elevator indicator showing a descending car. He stabbed the call button, willing it to hurry. The silence stretched, taut and thin. When the doors opened, he stepped into the mirrored box, seeing a version of himself he barely recognized—urgent, unresolved.
The lobby was a hollowed-out version of its earlier grandeur. The security guard glanced up, nodding toward the revolving doors. "She just left, Mr. Fredericksen. Heading east."
He pushed through the doors into the street, the city's humid breath wrapping around him. The sidewalk was mostly empty. He saw her halfway down the block, a blonde head under a streetlight, walking fast.
"Ellie!" His voice cut through the traffic hum.
She didn't turn, but her pace hitched. He jogged to close the gap, the pavement cold under his bare feet. He reached her, his hand closing around her arm, gently but firmly turning her to face him.
Her eyes were bright, not with tears, but with a fierce, wounded defiance. "What, Carl?"
"You can't just go."
"Watch me."
"Why?"
"Because that in there?" She jerked her head back toward the tower. "That wasn't just sex. And I don't know what to do with that.”
“That’s not what this is.” He ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated, uncharacteristic gesture. “Carl, if we do this… I’m going to fall in love.” The admission hung there, quiet and devastating.
He stood, closing the distance between them in two strides, his hands finding her. “Ellie.” His voice was a low scrape. “I can’t not do this. You bring a fire, a chaos into my world. One that I’ve never had.” He searched her face, his thumbs tracing the lines of her collarbones. “I need that chaos. I need you pulling me into whatever direction you are heading. I need you. Not just on Thursdays.”
She stared up at him, the defiance in her eyes flickering, threatening to drown in a sudden, dizzying hope. “That’s a dangerous thing to need.”
“I know.” He pulled her against him, and she felt the frantic beat of his heart against her cheek.
He kissed her.
It was slow this time, a deep, searching press of his mouth against hers that tasted of salt and surrender. He pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against hers. “No one has ever done that.”
“Swallowed?” she chuckled, her breath mingling with his.
“Seen me.” The words were gravel in his throat.
She traced the line of his jaw, her fingers gentle now. “This place is a fortress. But you’re not in it. You’re floating above it.” She sighed, a soft exhale that held a note of frustration.
He looked wrecked, his chest heaving, his expression stripped bare of all its usual control. For a few heartbeats, the only sound was the rush of their breathing in the too-quiet room. Ellie watched him, her own pulse a frantic drum against her ribs, and saw something unfamiliar in his eyes: a sharp, surprised vulnerability.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the motion casual, but her gaze held his, unflinching. “You okay up there?” she asked, her voice rough.
Carl let out a slow breath, a sound close to a laugh but not quite. He ran a hand over his face. “That’s not a question I get asked.”
“I noticed.” She shifted, feeling the cool air on her damp skin, the vast bed making her feel strangely small. The city lights painted his profile in silver and shadow. “Your turn to look like you got hit by a truck.”
He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. The practiced mask was gone, leaving something more interesting in its place. “Maybe I did.” He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair stuck to her cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle. “You’re... a lot.”
“So are you.” She caught his hand, lacing her fingers with his, holding it against the sheet between them. The connection felt more intimate now than anything that had come before. “This place smells like money and silence. It’s fucking depressing.”
He didn’t defend it. He just stared at their joined hands. “It’s what I built.”
“Why?” The question hung in the chilled air.
Carl was silent for a long time. The hum of the climate control was the only reply. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, directed more at the ceiling than at her. “Because I thought it was the point. The finish line.” He turned to look at her again, his gaze searching. “It feels different with you in it.”
Ellie propped herself up on one elbow. She studied the clean lines of his face, the new softness around his eyes. “Different how?”
“Like the windows might actually open.” He said it simply, a stark confession. “Like it might be okay if something got in.”