part four: quarantine.

KATE
The next morning I woke up to rays of sun pouring through my balcony window. I lay like that with the sun warming my face for an immeasurable period of time before swinging my legs off the side of the bed and heading into the kitchen.
As I made myself a raspberry tea, I noticed the lack of dining table in the blank spot on the floor. The empty space on the linoleum decided my day for me. I was going exploring. Well, as far as I could go without a car.
Finishing my drink on the balcony, I daydreamed about the possible things I could do that day. I scrapped that idea, and decided that it would be best if I just went about town without planning beforehand. Isn't that how amazing things happened anyways?
Choosing a spring outfit from my still un-packed luggage, I felt more butterflies grow in my stomach. It took some more self-convincing before I truly believed that I was here, in London, and about to go exploring all by myself.
All my life, I had felt trapped and bored, feeling like there was nothing else to do and I had done it all. In fact, that was what provoked my interest in studying abroad. I'd been living in the same town, the same house, doing the same things, seeing the same people for my whole entire life. I figured that in England, I could be anyone I wanted to be. No one knew me here. I could be anyone, I thought giddily.
Stopping to glance in the full length mirror before I left, I studied my features individually. My long brown hair tied into a side pony-tail, contrasting against the fuchsia t-shirt I was wearing. My fair legs sticking out from underneath my stone washed Capri's, leading into my plain black, low-rise converse. Huffing in frustration at my plain looks, I stepped out into the hallway, double checking my bag before locking the door behind me.
I took the elevator down to the main floor, admiring all the old fixtures in the room. Popping in my headphones, I started down the busy sidewalk. Following my instincts, I decided just to stop by a cafe before continuing on my journey. I was so busy running around my house with delight, I had forgotten to eat. I passed by several cool-looking shops and coffee places before finally choosing one that was called 'Steeped'.
According to the black and white sign in the window, it featured live music while people enjoyed their baked goods and such. With a good feeling about this place, I pushed open the door and was granted with a spill of coffee scents, people, and what sounded like an acoustic guitar.
It was nearly impossible to see the performer through the heaps of people—what was it with London and people?—so I sauntered up to the counter where a young man greeted me with a smile. I ordered my muffin and (another) raspberry tea, and then picked a fair-looking spot along a bar-like counter.
Letting my tea cool off, I turned to watch the performer at the front of the small stage. He was good. Really good. He played my kind of music. It didn't really have a genre name I didn't think, but it was like a combo of acoustic guitar/indie/alternative and folk. I couldn't necessarily see his face because he was looking down at his spiffy guitar. His dark-blonde head reminded me vaguely of someone I thought I knew until he looked up at the cheering audience. Tom!
What the hell? I thought. How come I didn't know he could sing or play guitar? And well, too!
Apparently that was the end of his set because he walked off the stage, beaming with delight. Suddenly about a half a dozen –very pretty—girls ran up to him, twirling their blonde hair and blinking their fake lashes in his direction.
I glanced down at my hands feeling a little disappointed. He probably had already forgotten about me.
Losing my appetite, I wrapped up my muffin and stuck it in my bag and started heading toward the door. What was that all about? I thought as I pushed the door, then realising it was a 'pull' so I followed the instructions with a little  more force than necessary, and continued on my mini rant. It's not like I cared, really. He was just a guy that I met on a plane.
Scaring the life out of me, someone yelled behind me. I turned to see who the speaker was, already knowing it wasn't going to be for me and to my greatest surprise, I saw Tom jogging lightly up to me with is his guitar still slung around his back.
When he reached me, he was smiling and slightly of breath. "Hey," he said in a form of greeting. "Where are you going? I saw you at the bar back there, but when I looked up you were gone." He explained.
I blinked in shock. He... was coming over to me? Certainly he was lying. Surrounded by pretty English girls and he was on his way to me? Regaining composure I said, "Oh, yeah. I wasn't really hungry anymore... and you seemed pretty busy, anyways." I added meaningfully with a small scowl.
He was a little confused. "Aaaalright... So what are you up to today?"
I told him my plan for the day and he scoffed quite loudly. "What?!" I demanded indignantly. "What's wrong with me trying to explore a little bit?"
"Okay." He amended. "So where are you planning on going?"
"Well... I haven't... I was just gonna go wherever I wanted." I said sniffing.
We both burst out laughing. "I don't know," I admitted miserably. "I need a dining room table, and books, and clothes, and food..." I trailed off.
"Well, what do you say we head back to my house so I can drop my guitar off and then I'll show you how to 'explore' the real way?"
"Sounds good,"
*
Driving on the left side of the road still kind of freaked me out. I constantly felt we were going to run into some poor old fellow, but we never did, thankfully. Attempting to make some conversation, I started with the topic of his rad guitar skills.
"So, Mr. Jerry, how long have you been singing and playing guitar per se?" I asked in a voice that most news reporters would use.
He laughed at my tone of voice. "Well, I started playing when I was 8 years old and I started singing just last year. How long have you been drawing?" he countered.
"No, no. This is about you, not me. Why did you not mention your musical talents before?"
He shrugged. "Never came up, I guess." He paused. "Why? Do you think I'm good?" he said, looking at me sideways and grinning.
"Maybe," I answered evasively. "Are you looking for a career in it? Cause you could totally be on some sort of British 'American Idol' or something."
"No, I don't really want to be famous. I like just playing at little coffee shops and parks around town." I thought quietly about that for a few seconds. I could understand him. "Why have tons of people always peering in on your life when you can just do what you love for fun?" I wondered.
"Exactly." He replied, looking at me appreciatively. "We're here!" he announced in a sing-songy voice.
I marvelled at the outside of the building I was looking at through the car window.
"Wow," I breathed. "You like it?" he asked, grinning and raising his eyebrows.
"Like it? It's... amazing." I said lamely, for lack of a better word.
The outside of the small cottage was made out of grey and black stone. The dark heavy looking door had a cast-iron knocker on it. The perfectly kept yard was enclosed by a quaint, white picket fence. Flowers lined the outside of the house, while a red-brick chimney had smoke billowing out of it.
"While you take in the glory of my 'nest', I will be right back."
I was still staring at it when he got back into the car. "Alright," he said, slapping his hands on the wheel. "Where to?"
"You tell me," I answered confidently.
*
People were starting to stare. Here we were sitting under a tree in the middle of a popular park, and I was attempting to teach Tom how to draw a portrait, and let me tell you; it was golden. By now, my stomach was almost seizing up because I was laughing so hard.
When I got up from lying down, I was faced with a very disgruntled Tom. He had charcoal on his handsome face, and all over his hands, masking the skin underneath. He had just tried to draw me in one of my travel sketchbooks, without any instruction beforehand.
Looking triumphant, he had handed me over the book and before I could stop myself, I burst out laughing.
My eyes were directly under my hairline, and my nose started from under the curve of my eyebrow. He had used single lines, and pressed very hard, so I looked like an ancient old woman. My lips were the size of a fish's and my neck was almost as long as a giraffes, not to mention the stringy hair that fell straight beside my face.
"Oh, Tom, I'm sorry. I really am," I apologised between giggles. "It's just... it's just..." but I couldn't finish because I had erupted into more laughter.
After containing myself, I asked him, "Do I really look like this to you?"
He grumbled incoherently so I repeated the question. "No," he said loudly this time. "You are much prettier than that, I can assure you."
Feeling the blush slowly climb up my neck I told him, "Well, I guess we're going to have to work on that, won't we?"
"I guess. But if you ever come over to my place, I will most definitely make you try and play the guitar."
"Oh no," I groaned, flinging my head back. "My hands are too little! I tried learning the guitar a couple years back, and I couldn't do any of the chords properly because I have the hands of a twelve year-old."
He held up his hands for me to compare mine to. I put my small hand against his large, warm one. He could curl his fingers halfway over mine. I didn't fail to notice the electric jump my pulse took on when our hands touched, and he certainly didn't miss it either. To avoid further embarrassment, I hopped up off the grass and grabbed my sketch book while doing so.
I put my hands on my hips. "Tom," I said in my most serious voice. "I need you to do something for me."
He looked up at me in amusement. "Yes, your majesty?"
"I need you to take me to a hair salon."
"Uhm, why?"
"Oh, you'll see."
*
Tom was a good sport and didn't ask any more questions on the way there. He pulled to a stop, and we both simultaneously hopped out of the car. Finally he cracked.
"You plan to tell me what you're going to do anytime soon?"
"No way, José; you can wait." I replied, grinning mischievously at him.
He shrugged nonchalantly. "'S your hair, I suppose."
The door rung when we opened it to announce our presence; it smelled strongly of shampoo and other hair products.
"Hello," a middle-aged woman greeted us, spending a little too much time looking at Tom. She had a pair of black frames perched on the end of her long nose, and short multi-coloured hair sticking up randomly on her head. "How can I help you?"
"I would just like to get a little trim," I said innocently, but dropping a wink at her before Tom could notice.
He raised his eyebrows sceptically, "You dragged me all the way out here... for a trim?"
"Yup. I guess I did." I shrugged. "Now well I go get my 'trim,' feel free to stay here and practice your drawing skills," I added sarcastically.
He just scowled in reply.
*
TOM:
An hour and a half of waiting later, Kate walked around the corner and I nearly choked on my sweet-tea. She had cut all of her beautiful brown hair off. When we first walked in here, it had been nearing her waist. Now it was just barely brushing her collarbone and not even touching her shoulders in the back.
She continued to pay and walk with me out the door as calm as if nothing happened at all. I was too stunned to say anything.
I finally broke out of my shock-edness by grabbing onto her hand as she reached for her seatbelt.
"You..." I trailed off, not knowing what to say.
She looked pointedly down at her hand then back up to me. "Me...?" she mimicked.
"What in God's name did you do?!"
"Well, Tom, it's quite simple you see—"
"I'm not mentally impaired!" I yelled cutting her off.
"You don't like it?" she asked, looking hurt.
"Like it?! It looks amazing!" I exclaimed truthfully. "It looks totally and completely amazing." I repeated.
"I wasn't fishing for a compliment, just so you know. And thanks, by the way. I just needed a change I guess." She decided, breathing out heavily.
"Well it was a good one," I announced.
She smiled shyly at me before I turned away and started driving again. "So where do you live?"
As she directed me to her home, I couldn't help but sneak sideways glances at her. A couple times she caught me but didn't say anything. Instead she just smiled and looked down at her hands.
"Here we are," I announced, "And good timing too," I added because the sky was turning a very dark purple. A real storm was on its way. When she bent down to retrieve her purse, I couldn't help but notice the light scar that ran from the base of her neck to finally disappearing under her shirt. Then she did something that really surprised me. Leaning over, she hugged me tightly with one arm and quietly thanked me for taking her out.
"So, when is our next date gonna be?" I joked. Instead of returning the joke, she just looked at me and smiled. Trying to direct her attention away from my pink face, I offered to help her carry in the box which held her new dining room table, but she blatantly refused; assuring me that she would be alright. As I watched her walk into the building, I couldn't help but laugh quietly to myself, remembering our day together in the sun.
*
KATE:
What an awesome day, I thought to myself as I rode up in the elevator. I struggled with opening the doors, but when I did I saw something that I hoped wasn't part of the ordinary.
Yellow caution tape covered—from what I could see—all the doors along the hallway. I stopped the nearest man and asked him what was going on. He explained briefly that someone in this hallway had contracted a foreign flu and that the area would be quarantine for the next week. My options were to either stay in my house for a week, with no leaving whatsoever, or to live with someone else for a bit. Immediately I thought of Tom and his cosy little cottage. Making a snap decision, I grabbed one of the free surgical masks and placed it on so that it covered my mouth and nose.
Heading into my house, I dropped my box and other items in the living room. I continued to my bedroom where I dumped out the contents of my bag onto the bed. I chose what I would need for a week and got out there as fast as I could, just allowing myself enough time to supply Tom with three simple words via the telephone; "I'm coming over."
*
TOM:
After Kate called me, I tidied up as quickly as I could before I heard a quiet knock at the front door. The rain was really pouring now, so it took me awhile to realise that it really was a knock and not just thunder. I swung open the door and there was Kate, sopping wet with her luggage bag sitting behind her just as wet, and a huge smile lighting up her face. "Hi." She said simply.
*