A Thousand Storms

04 chasing

"Hold your hands above the sink," I told her, and she surprisingly listened.

I felt her gaze on me as I carefully opened the tap on cold. Most of the peanut butter junk came off easily, but the small glass pieces seemed to be stuck and were still drawing blood.

Ever didn't seem to be bothered about the pain though, but seemed more interested in the side of my face. She was incredibly quiet, which disarmed me. She talked too much, and now here she was, not talking at all.

I sat her on the white couch in the living room, and she held out her hands patiently while I looked for the first aid kit. I was sure there'd be surgical tweezers in there. I was right.

I returned to Ever, kneeling in front of her.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked, quietly.

It was a while before I responded, smirking up at her. "Why not?"

I had managed to remove two pieces of glass without any reaction of pain from her. It comforted me, in a way. Then, all previous thoughts of comfort were thrown away when she hissed while I attempted removing the third, relatively large piece of glass.

Two more still needed to be removed.

We made brief eye contact before she looked away. She was still wearing that ridiculous animated t-shirt. It was undeniably cute, attractive, even. She awoke parts of me I wish could be left dormant.

Her left hand had somehow found my shoulder, and she squeezed when I pulled out the fourth piece of glass. Going slower would just prolong the whole process. Seeing her like this was messing up some part of me.

I finally got the last one out.

"All done, blondie," I said. Ever loosened her grip on my shoulder, the warmth dissipating.

Her reactions never ceased to amuse me, but this time, she didn't even protest at the nickname.

"Thank you," she said, bleary-eyed.

She looked up at me, and I thought it might have been desperation flashing in her gaze.

No. She was looking at me like one would when sorting out shelves at a supermarket. Trying to categorise me. Place me in one of those little boxes I'd never fit in.

"You want to know why I'm here?" she started. "Other than the fact that I have to go to college?"

I said nothing.

"I'm looking for something," she continued, features tensing. "I can't remember what it is, but I'm looking for it. It's here."

I frowned. "If you don't know what it is, how do you know it's here?"

Her expression faltered. "I don't know," she said, "I just do. It's...hard to explain. A gut feeling."

She stood, offering me one last glance before heading towards the door. It occurred to me, then, that she didn't have anything to eat, and her hands were screwed up.

"Wait," I said.

Don't do it, Mason.

She turned.

Don't fucking do it.

"Stay," I muttered. "I have extra food."

Too late.

"I'm vegetarian," she said then.

"It's pisto," I replied.

Ever showed no recognition of what I'd just said. Despite everything, I smirked.