streams, too much water to hide from him. She walked back into the den, found the maid band and locked it inside the panel of the wall. She didn't want him to ever see it again. She stood there with her back to him, still facing the wall, trying to get her tears to stop and her breathing to return to her normal inaudible soft inhales and exhales. It wasn't working.
She was suddenly dead tired, and sadder than she ever remembered being. And she was angry. For the first time in her life, she was angry. Then she surprised herself by knowing with absolute certainty that she was no longer afraid of this strange boy. He seemed far too broken to ever hurt anyone but himself.
Rosemary
Riley, March 28, 2236 Female Replenishers Compound
He didn't know what to make of this girl. He could tell she was still crying into the wall, facing away from him, not wanting him to see it. He knew what it felt like to not want to cry in front of people and knew he had to let her. He walked over to the dusty window on the other side of the loft, put his hands behind his back and looked out onto the lawn.
The part of the wall he fell over seemed too high for him to have made out as well as he did. Lucky, that. He was always lucky in that way though. It's the other things he had no luck in. The guard tower had a thin stream of smoke sneaking out through the roof. Drake must have been making some tea with that grass he added to it that you could smell on his breath. Drake wouldn't turn him in even if he saw him fall, but he might come looking for him, and that could be dangerous. He had to be more careful now. He took a few steps back, so that he couldn't be seen from the tower or the lawn.
He felt the girl's soft steps behind him. She was going to have to figure out what to do, but he needed for it to not take much longer. Something was breaking inside of him, softening, when he was around her. It made him feel vulnerable, and he couldn't afford that now. Maybe ever. He couldn't even lie to her. That stupid bit of owning up to what happened to her family. Beyond stupid, and he didn't even know if it were true, just that it could have been. She could have taken him to Hassinger then. Maybe she should have. He needed a bloody lesson in keeping his mouth shut. And her soaking his back with warm water, it nearly broke him. It hurt so much he couldn't breathe, and not in the way his scars hurt. He had to end this.
This would be easier not looking at her tear-streaked face, so he stayed where he was, hands still clasped behind his back, "I can't tell you what you want to know, Amelia. I won't. Knowing won't do you any good, and it might put someone else in danger, and I can't let that happen. You are going to have to do whatever you need to do with me without knowing anything else. I am sorry."
He waited through minutes of silence, and then finally turned around and there she was, standing as if frozen in place, staring at him with those impossibly big eyes. Her face had splotches of red and pink from all the crying, and the freckles were back. 'What could she possibly want from me?' he thought, 'let me be or don't, little girl. I can't hurt you.' The staring contest disagreed with him. His back ached. He could feel the scars burning, grateful that he wasn't dizzy yet from blood loss.
She walked towards him, handing him something she held in her small hand - a bar, a bloody breakfast bar. He wanted to laugh at the craziness of it. This scared, jumpy little girl didn't trust him not to hurt her without the slave band, but brought him breakfast. He took it from her trembling hand and walked back to the den. He knew she was trailing behind him, could feel her breathing a few meters back.
He wished he had another shirt to put on, one that wasn't soaked and drying on the sink, so she didn't have to look at his scars, but he couldn't help that now. She'd already seen them, and she didn't strike him as an idiot, so she'd know by now they weren't from the
She was suddenly dead tired, and sadder than she ever remembered being. And she was angry. For the first time in her life, she was angry. Then she surprised herself by knowing with absolute certainty that she was no longer afraid of this strange boy. He seemed far too broken to ever hurt anyone but himself.
Rosemary
Riley, March 28, 2236 Female Replenishers Compound
He didn't know what to make of this girl. He could tell she was still crying into the wall, facing away from him, not wanting him to see it. He knew what it felt like to not want to cry in front of people and knew he had to let her. He walked over to the dusty window on the other side of the loft, put his hands behind his back and looked out onto the lawn.
The part of the wall he fell over seemed too high for him to have made out as well as he did. Lucky, that. He was always lucky in that way though. It's the other things he had no luck in. The guard tower had a thin stream of smoke sneaking out through the roof. Drake must have been making some tea with that grass he added to it that you could smell on his breath. Drake wouldn't turn him in even if he saw him fall, but he might come looking for him, and that could be dangerous. He had to be more careful now. He took a few steps back, so that he couldn't be seen from the tower or the lawn.
He felt the girl's soft steps behind him. She was going to have to figure out what to do, but he needed for it to not take much longer. Something was breaking inside of him, softening, when he was around her. It made him feel vulnerable, and he couldn't afford that now. Maybe ever. He couldn't even lie to her. That stupid bit of owning up to what happened to her family. Beyond stupid, and he didn't even know if it were true, just that it could have been. She could have taken him to Hassinger then. Maybe she should have. He needed a bloody lesson in keeping his mouth shut. And her soaking his back with warm water, it nearly broke him. It hurt so much he couldn't breathe, and not in the way his scars hurt. He had to end this.
This would be easier not looking at her tear-streaked face, so he stayed where he was, hands still clasped behind his back, "I can't tell you what you want to know, Amelia. I won't. Knowing won't do you any good, and it might put someone else in danger, and I can't let that happen. You are going to have to do whatever you need to do with me without knowing anything else. I am sorry."
He waited through minutes of silence, and then finally turned around and there she was, standing as if frozen in place, staring at him with those impossibly big eyes. Her face had splotches of red and pink from all the crying, and the freckles were back. 'What could she possibly want from me?' he thought, 'let me be or don't, little girl. I can't hurt you.' The staring contest disagreed with him. His back ached. He could feel the scars burning, grateful that he wasn't dizzy yet from blood loss.
She walked towards him, handing him something she held in her small hand - a bar, a bloody breakfast bar. He wanted to laugh at the craziness of it. This scared, jumpy little girl didn't trust him not to hurt her without the slave band, but brought him breakfast. He took it from her trembling hand and walked back to the den. He knew she was trailing behind him, could feel her breathing a few meters back.
He wished he had another shirt to put on, one that wasn't soaked and drying on the sink, so she didn't have to look at his scars, but he couldn't help that now. She'd already seen them, and she didn't strike him as an idiot, so she'd know by now they weren't from the
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