The Mechanic

-Chapter Eight-

Location: Central

It's been days, and I'm resigned to this. To leaving her alone.

I know that it's what she wants—she's said so several times already—and I'll stay away. Since that's what she wants.

I pull a little tuning pipe out of my pocket and blow it.

It says on the little thing that it's C... so I turn the little key on the middle C piano string until it sounds significantly similar to the device. And I move on to D.

I've been doing this all morning, and it doesn't sound like a wailing alley cat anymore. It doesn't sound perfect, but still much better.

I run my hand down the keys and actually get a uniform sound.

From half of them, anyway.

I keep going.

I'm three... no, four keys away from middle C when a quiet voice sounds behind me.

"It sounds much better."

I turn around and give her a small smile. "Hey. And yeah, I hope it does. I messed it up pretty bad before I figured out how to make it better." I chuckle for a moment, running a hand down the end of the instrument. "How are you doing?"

"It sounds much better," she assures me, staying where she is in the open garage doorway. "And I'm alright."

"Good," I say, smiling.

If I can convince this scorching sad to go away from the deep down of my heart, maybe I can keep this together. But she's making it very hard.

And that's okay. She didn't tell me that I had to bury everything deep down. That was my decision.

"How are you?" she asks, looking longingly at the piano.

"I'm making it," I reply, stepping away from it. "You can come in if you want to."

"No," she sighs, gaze darting to me. "No, I'm alright."

"How's Piper?"

"She's sweet." She smiles. "And in a good mood."

"As usual," I quip.

"Yeah."

I lower my eyes to the ground, and slowly bring them back to her sneakers. They're black and white, stained a mucky color by all of the puddles she has jumped in. Her jeans are black, too, and riddled with ragged holes.

She looks like she's been on adventure, but her eyes tell a story that corrects me. It hasn't been an adventure. It's been a nightmare.

"What led you over here today?" I ask, turning back to the piano.

I can't see her, but I can almost guarantee that she shrugs. "I don't know. I wander when Elena doesn't need my help. And I don't have any paints anymore, so I don't have any trouble to get into."

"So I'm the second best kind of trouble that you can think of?" I'm just teasing, but she responds in such a way that implies that she didn't get that.

"No. You're the only thing that doesn't involve wandering that isn't trouble," she says, leaning against the edge of the doorway.

"How do you know that?" Because according to all of the things she's said, she thinks I'm worth being afraid of. She avoids me. She wants me to avoid her.

"Because I know," she explains. "I know the look in your eyes, and I know that you won't hurt me. And you won't tell me to go away if I come around."