Savior

The Girl with Chocolate

"Yeah, we will."

And we do.

Even though the plan was originally me baking and Layla teaching, I spend the majority of the time eating the chocolate chips and watching her run around mixing things and blending things and telling me what to hand her.

And I can't help but think that this woman in front of me is so different from the one that moved in just four months ago.

The girl of just four months ago could barely look me in the eyes, let alone bake in my kitchen. The girl of four months ago jumped at every loud noise and almost fell into a panic whenever anyone so much as tapped her on the shoulder.

The girl from four months ago was broken.

The girl in front of me now can be in a room with me and keep the door closed. She can speak to me normally and joke around and even tell me about parts of her life. She doesn't jump when I caress her arm or pull away when I hug her.

When I kiss her.

The girl of today may still panic whenever someone shouts at her and may have uncontrollably trembling hands and may still be secretive and guarded.

But this girl is not the same girl as just four months ago and the idea warms my heart.

The girl of today is slowly healing.

Every day I see her changing –coming out of her shell and trusting people more and recovering.

Recovering form whatever she has been through.

"Stop staring at me."

The soft-spoken demand pulls me out of my reverie and I focus back on Layla as she pours a cup of flour into the bowl –cheeks flushed and lip caught between her teeth.

Another thing that is different about her: she never used to confront me for my odd habit of watching her.

Now, since that night on the hill, she always makes it a point to tell me to stop staring and I can just barely make out a veiled meaning: Girlfriend and forget.

And the reminder makes my stomach churn, so I change the subject.

"So where did you learn how to bake?"

She pauses slightly, eyes downcast –no doubt deciding whether or not to share this part of her life- before sighing in defeat, "I've just always had a lot of time on my hands... lots of time to learn who invented bookshelves and how to ice a three layer cake. There wasn't much to do at the orphanage or when I lived with-"

She cuts herself off suddenly, eyes going wide and her hands shaking slightly as she begins to stir the batter.

"Well, I just had a lot of time... My grandma was some kind of baking connoisseur and passed down this giant book of recipes to my mom before she died. They didn't keep much for me after my mom died considering I was so young, but I got the book.

"So, I've just been baking ever since," A small smile curls up her face and she glances up at me with soft eyes, "It's the only connection I have to my family... I don't know... It makes me feel connected to them somehow as weird as that sounds."

My heart lurches, "S'not weird. It's not weird at all. I'm sure you mother would be very happy you put the book to use and your grandma very proud."

She looks at me then, eyes glistening and that same smile on her face. She says nothing, but she doesn't need to, her expression alone tells me that she is very happy to hear that.

And I'm just happy that she spoke about her family a bit more, even if the past isn't very happy or filled with love. Even if what she did say was short and sweet, it was something.