Damaged beyond repair

Chapter 7

My jaw practically drops to the floor, my eyes are wide open, staring at her as if she's something paranormal, supernatural. She stares at me, but I can't find the words to say. Thankfully, she realizes this.

"I thought I'd stop by to see how you're doing," she explains herself. For a second I contemplate closing my mouth manually, for it doesn't respond to my brains. I can't believe she's here. Never before has someone come to my door to see me.

"How... how did you find me?" I ask her. I want nothing more than to punch myself in the face. Who cares how she found me? Why can't I just reply normally?

"Student list," she explains. "But how are you? You seemed very upset."

"I'm fine," I tell her. She stares at me, and I can tell she feels awkward, but I don't know what to say. She claps her hands together and steps back.

"Well... I suppose I should be getting back, then," she says. She waves at me and turns around. It takes me a few seconds to decide what I should do, but when I close the door behind me, I wonder if I made the right choice.

Leilani turns around and smiles at me.

"Do you... do you want to go for a walk?" I ask her. She nods.

"I'd love to,"

I walk up to her and walk alongside her.

"I'm going to be honest with you," she then says, and for a moment I think I made the wrong choice and contemplate turning around and walking away. Here it comes.

"I'm incredibly curious about you, and there's so much I'd like to ask you... May I?"

Her question doesn't catch me off guard. I did however expect her to tell me I am a freak, but most of them want to know more. Not because they want to understand, but just because they're curious. I like to call them disaster tourists. I shrug. As dr. Nolan always says, I might not control the questions, but I do control the questions. I decide when I answer them and when I don't.

"When Sarah called you homeless, you said you weren't anymore. What did you mean by that?"

I shrug, again.

"I used to be homeless for a period of time," I tell her. She just nods.

"I feared that was the case," she replies. Her eyes are filled with pity, and I have to avert my eyes.

"It was just a brief period," I tell her, trying to cheer her up.

"But why were you homeless?"

"I was thrown out," I reply. I really don't feel comfortable with this conversation, I'm not sure I want to answer this many questions.

"What happened?" I shake my head. She understands.

"I'm sorry I'm asking so many questions, but you're such a mystery. Would you mind if I keep asking questions, If you don't answer, I won't push on."

I think about it, but nod. If she won't make me answer them, it can't be that bad, right?

"The teachers explained to us during introductions that you have a disorder called haptophobia, the fear of being touched."