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I watched as Clara followed after the other girls. Her head hung low, and her steps were slow, reluctant.
There was a set of stairs, only three before it reached a wooden door, beyond that even more. I watched as the girls walked up those stairs.
Ethel put her hand on my shoulder. "Come along now, we have our duties."
She guided me back to the kitchen, right across from those stairs.
I watched as Elizabeth locked the door, a metallic old key in her hands.
The door was always locked.
"Everything will be okay," Ethel whispered, though the brief look in her eyes showed her reservations.
"What do they do?" I asked boldly, as girls started getting out old pans and wooden bowls.
Ethel turned and looked at me. Her mouth opened as if she was going to answer but had decided against it.
"Well...," she started, thinking. "They work. They work really, really hard. And... my Mentor," Sara was always informed this way by Elizabeth and Ethel. "Doesn't let them have breaks very often... They're very tired at the end of the day."
I stared at her, but she wouldn't meet my eyes.
"What do they do?" I asked again.
She opened her mouth again, but the same moment, a bunch of pans came crashing down from the cabinet, and the girl who had been reaching for them squatted to the ground in an instant, starting to shake, because with Elizabeth, we were always hurt for our mistakes.
Ethel rushed to her side, embracing her there on the floor, trying to reassure her.
I looked out the kitchen opening to that door. That old wooden door with scratch marks on the outside and mold growing on the corners where the hinges were, the stain peeling and its notches, some deep, some just the size of a fingernail.
I wanted to know what they did, what Sara did that could possibly change them. What happened?
Night after night, Clara returned with that same expression on her face, that same look in her eyes.
She didn't talk as much as she used to. She was distant. Once the girls returned, she would curl up in her bed, wrapping the blankets around her body in a little cocoon, her knuckles white as she gripped the sheets.
I came to learn that this made her feel safer, as if those blankets were armor, gripping them so tightly so no one would take away her safety.
But just like armor, it can so easily be damaged.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Touch Her
Romance"What did he - Where did he touch you?" His voice had hardened, mad. I swallowed and looked down. "You son of a-" He walked off the porch, angrily running his hands through his hair. "What did he look like? I'm swear I'm gonna kill him. Tell me what...
