Crossing Boundaries [COMPLETE]

Her Rescuer

As mentioned by his mother, Tiffany never talked much. She drowned her feelings in booze. Chris knew for a fact she wasn't exactly a drinker but the amount of bottles lodged in the kitchen gave him an inkling this was her way of coping.

Personally, he was opposed to the idea of her drinking beyond her limit, which during the last time they hung out, it was a bottle. But today, he was making an exception. He figured that if Tiffany wouldn't do this, she won't be able to sleep at all. So, he drank with her.

By 6 in the evening, his brother dropped by to give the two something to munch on. They chatted for a moment at the Foster's front porch so Chris could give him some deets about what was going on. Scott wished him luck as the former went back to their home.

Chris did much of the talking while Tiffany simply listened, nodding most of the time and commenting every once in a while. Before the clock struck 8, she was finishing off her 5th bottle, he, opening his 6th. He was saying something about his Captain America costume when Tiffany dropped the bottle on the coffee table.

Chris was now sitting on the floor, his back leaning on the sofa. He felt her friend moved about the seat, her right arm suddenly dangled from the side of his neck to his chest. "Are you alright?" he inquired. When she didn't answer, Chris turned to look at her. Her eyes were closed. How could she look so peaceful resting there. He felt a stabbing sensation as he brushes off stray hair strands from her face.

He consumed the remainder of his beer before he rose up from the floor. Now his entire body faced the sofa. He gently scooped Tiffany from where she was lying and carried her up to her room. It is with the same tenderness that Chris lowered her down to her bed.

He draped the comforter on the length of her form and at that instant, he planted a smack on her forehead. "Rest well, Bambi, for tomorrow is another day" he muttered as if she could hear him.

Before he left the room, he took in the entirety of the space. Years ago, this was where he studied for exams, toiled about Science and English. When he stood, the box of Disney movie tapes beside the dresser caught his eyes. His azures lit up. "She kept her copies, too... Disney nerd." She had everything including the Fantasia series.

After gawking at the box of the Wonderful World, he headed for the door. The clutter downstairs prevented Chris from going straight back home. He took in a large tin drum from the backyard, lined with garbage bag and started freeing the kitchen with the tons of bottles and empty take out boxes.

While sorting through the mess sprawled on the countertop and the dining table, Chris got a hold of a small chunk of paper stapled to one another. As he was about to shoot it to the bin, he froze. He retreated the hand holding what seemed to be litter towards his eyes. He could feel his blood raging from his heart coursing it's way through every vein in his body. THAT ASS HAT!

Chris flipped through page upon page of the document, his vital fluid quickly reaching magma levels. His jaws doubled up and if the nose could only release smoke, the smoke detector would have already sounded the alarm. I'M GONNA RIP THAT DICKHEAD INTO PIECES WITH MY BARE HANDS!

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as he reached last page of the document. A sticky note pasted there where Not until I get my dog was written. The phone vibrate again. Chris's mom was calling. He struggled conversing in a normal tone but it was hard for him to hide his outrage. "Yes, mom?"

"Is everything alright there?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. She's resting now... I'm just cleaning up the mess here." He had the urge to really throw out that freaking settlement-for-divorce document, but slammed it on the dining table, instead. He went to peek in the ref to find if there's something to throw out. There was nothing there but a few bottles of unopened booze.

"You don't sound too good," Lisa's voice tensed. She could hear her son's burdensome breathing on the other end. "She's not doing too good, is she?"

"Mom, that's the understatement of the year." He contemplated whether he would tell her about what he just read. "But at least she's not dismissive of company. That could be good, right?" He flipped through the kitchen cabinets. EMPTY. EMPTY. EMPTY. "Goodness, Tiff," he whispered but not low enough for his mom to not hear.

"What now?" Chris's mom inquired.

"She doesn't have anything here but beer, beer and beer." He made a lizardy sound. Temporarily, he had forgotten about the papers and the dangerous about-to-erupt volcano simmered down to the safe zone. Her husband had just got to wait for his fists some other time. "Mom, don't wait up on me. I'll just drop by the house for some change of clothing and fix old man Foster's place up."

Lisa would like to pry a bit more but hesitated. "So you're moving in with her now?" What she blurted was in jest. The answer she got from her son, though she expected it, surprised her, nevertheless.

"If that's what it takes to get her back up on her feet," Chris's verbal expression a manifestation of truth.

There's something at the back of her mind that wanted to prevent him from his plans. She knows her son's emotions more than he thinks he knows himself. For now, she'll just let this play out on his own terms. "I'll have your lumberjack clothes ready when you come over."

Chris hung up. He motioned to the table drawer near the entrance to the house and rummaged for the key to the main door. He heads out into the night a hundred percent certain of what he wanted to do.