Don't Touch Her

Chapter Twelve

"Violet?" Katie waved a hand in front of my face. "Everything okay?"

I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the room, a few of Katie's friends were looking at me. I realized I was at a restaurant, and there was a bowl of Risotto in front of me, untouched.

"... Yes, I'm sorry. I... I'm okay," I said.

"You sure?" Katie asked. Her brows furrowed together.
"I can drive you home," she offered.

I opened my mouth to decline but then decided against it. Maybe I should go back.
"... No, you stay. I'll call Clara to get me."

"Well, hold on. I know it's a school night, but my brother could be out around here. I'll call him," Katie said. She picked up her phone and dialed his number.

I wanted to stop her, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Yeah... He said he would come. He's not very far from here actually, only about ten minutes," she shrugged a shoulder.

I nodded, thanked her, and waited until he texted Katie he was here.

Carefully, I opened the door of his Mustang.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi," I said quietly.

"You doing okay?" He asked. His voice had softened then as he started to pull out.

"Yes."

He glanced at me, "you sure? You're already a pretty quiet person, but you seem... quieter."

I nodded, turning to look out the window. I held my other shirts in my hand, the original I had worn earlier, and then the uniform Mary-Lee had given me.

"Hm."

I could feel him staring at me the car ride back, but he didn't say another word, and I was okay with that. I didn't want to talk. I needed Clara, I wanted to talk to her. The memories felt like they were crowding my mind.

"Bye," he said when we'd got to my house.
I opened the door, "bye."

"Hey," he said before I shut the door, leaning down so he could see me. "You sure you're okay?"

I stared at him and nodded.

"You know... if you ever wanted to talk, we could," he said. "I've been told I'm a good listner," he smiled.

I managed to smile back, "thank you, but I'm okay."

"Okay," he said. "I'll see you later then," he seemed almost hesitant, as if he wanted to say something more, as if he wanted to stay longer, but he never did.

I walked up to the house as he left and opened the door. Clara was there in the kitchen, cleaning the counter and putting away dishes.

She glanced up, and one look at me, and she knew. Knew I needed to talk, knew something was bundled up inside.

She put down the towel and walked over, taking my hands and squeezing them.
"Tell me," she said, and I did.

We sat in the love seat, sometimes quiet, sometimes one - or two word sentences managed to come out, but that was all I needed. Someone to be there for me, someone to understand the burden, the pain, someone that knew the things I did.

She held my hands the entire time, squeezing them every now and then, letting me know it was okay.

It wasn't okay. Nothing that happened in that orphanage was okay, but I wanted to pretend, just for a moment. Pretend my life was okay.

I looked at her arms, underneath those long sleeves she always wore, and wondered. Wondered what had happened, why had she deserved the pain she had.

But as much as I wanted to know, I didn't ask.