N-701124 {b. barnes}

XIV

Minimal memories came back to her over the next few weeks. She had more memories of her time with them than she did of her life beforehand. She remembered the pain she went through, the awful experiences, and all of the pain she caused others. Sometimes, often rarely, she got a glimpse of a happy memory. Something that made life worth living.

Her and James barely talked. They weren't mad at each other, or that's what she hoped. If either of them spoke, it was at night, when one or both of them woke up from a nightmare or flashback.

They'd whisper a soft "You okay?" and the other would nod or answer with a quiet "Yeah."

Over time, Autumn slowly became more relaxed around them. She eventually began to enjoy things that kids around her age would enjoy. She liked to color and draw, but never liked sharing her artwork. When she wrote, she wrote in colors. Dark blue, black, dark green, and dark grey, or even any other dark color she could find.

As much as she could trust James, he still got on her nerves. Forcing her to eat when she wasn't hungry, insisting she went to bed at a "reasonable" time, and seemingly watching her every move. It was as if she got zero privacy.

The little things like that irritated her. She wanted peace and quiet, not to be nagged about the little things in life. The last thing she was worried about was if she got enough sleep or ate enough. She was more concerned about staying under the radar.

Little pesky things like that sparked a bicker between them. Sometimes it was silent, sending glares across the table or distancing themselves from the other. Other times, they argued in hushed voices, not wanting to raise suspicion from their neighbors.

There was one time where she raised her voice and snapped at him. He quickly warned her that this wasn't the time or place to yell, and she had no choice but to lower her voice.

Despite all of their arguments, James had never once put a hand on her. As much as they seemed to argue, nothing ever got physical. Nothing was ever thrown, broken, or bruised because of their fights.

Belle had a feeling that would change soon. Her emotions were already all out of whack, and feeling James watching her every move was starting to get on her nerves.

She stood at the stove, stirring the pot of pasta. She knew James stood in the doorway. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to see him. He had some way of always making his presence known.

"You don't need to watch everything I do." She tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pot, letting water drip off.

"I'm not." 

"Yes, you are. You're always there. Always watching. I don't need a babysitter." She set the spoon down on the counter and turned around to face him.

"I am not always watching you. Look, if you want me to name off times when I'm not watching you, I will."

"Then do it."

"Fine. You get plenty of privacy when I'm out shopping. What about the times you're hiding out in the bathroom? You get privacy then." He shrugged.

"You're always waiting outside the door! That doesn't even count as privacy!" She threw her hands up and turned around, going back to stirring the pasta.

"Do you want to know why I'm always outside the door? Do you?" He walked up and stood behind her, putting his hands on the counter, one on each side of her, essentially trapping her into place.

"No, I don't. And I don't really care." Her voice shook slightly. He had her trapped. Cornered, almost.

"When will you learn that people actually care about you? People worry about you. When will you learn that I want to make sure you're safe?" James stood behind her, his voice close to her ear.