Closed Doors [#Wattys2016]

Questions

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates vision for tomorrow."

- Melody Beattie

"Danielle! Good morning, dear," Mr. Parker replies cheerfully as I enter the restaurant. "Such a nice, unexpected surprise to see you and Jena here this morning."

"Reed saw us waiting for the bus and gave us a ride," Jena pipes up happily from a table in the dining room. She already has a plate full of baked goods in front of her. I'm guessing Mr. Parker gave her free reign to pick whatever she wanted and her eyes were a little bigger than her stomach.

I feel my heart leap to my throat as I hear Reed enter the restaurant from behind me. I don't feel like answering or acknowledging any of his questions about my neck, and I really hope he lets the subject drop. I nervously twist my hair in my hands, bringing it forward enough to cover the cut. I don't need Mr. Parker asking questions, too.

Reed comes up right beside me and asks quietly, "Will you follow me to the back room? I need to show you something."

I narrow my eyes at him in warning. I can tell he's lying so his dad won't think something's wrong. Mr. Parker smiles to himself and shakes his head as if amused about something, then walks into the dining room to sit with Jena.

"I'm not talking about it, Reed," I whisper forcefully.

He starts to walk to the back room, gesturing for me to follow him. I hesitate at first, but reluctantly give in and do as he wants.

I stand there quietly, staring at him in defiance. He can ask all he wants, but he can't make me talk, after all.

He walks over to the far corner of the room and retrieves a white metal box from a shelf, which I instantly recognize as a first-aid kit. What does he expect to do with that? It's not like he can make the cut on my neck vanish or anything. The damage has already been done. He makes his way back over to me, places the box on the counter, and opens the lid without a word.

I break the silence in spite of myself.

"What are you doing?"

He finally looks at me and then back down at the cut again. He answers with a frown, "Regardless of how it happened, it looks pretty bad. I don't want it to get infected."

"It's not even deep at all, Reed. It's a surface wound. A scratch, really. It'll be just fine," I reply defensively, and add as an afterthought, "Anyway, I've had a lot worse than this before."

"I know," he says meaningfully without meeting my eyes, "I've noticed."

"You have?" I ask quickly, without really thinking.

He takes a bottle of antiseptic out of the container and pours some of the liquid onto a piece of cotton. A wistful sigh escapes him as he meets my eyes once more. I look away, suddenly feeling very self-conscious under his seemingly knowing gaze.

"You're really not as invisible as you think you are."

"Maybe not to you-"

"Never to me," he answers in a serious, yet sincere tone. Our eyes meet again for a brief moment, in which he raises his eyebrows to make a point. I sigh and look down at the floor again. I then feel his hand on my hair-moving it to the side to gain access to my wound-and I step back from him quickly, folding my arms. "Come on, you need to let me do this. It won't hurt-"