Chained - Jenlisa

Calm Before The Storm

The General promised me that Lisa and I would have time to acclimate to our new surroundings, so I'm using the new day to learn where everything is and change things to my liking. Knowing the location of items I need makes everything less stressful.

Lisa is in the shower right now, humming a song I've never heard, and I'm in the kitchen, trying to reach those damned stack of plates too high for me to grab. I don't know who thought putting something as essential as plates so high was a good idea, but it's definitely not. Which is weird because most everything else is at a reachable level. Some outrageously tall person clearly wanted to make trouble. I would ask for Lisa's help since she's few inch taller than me but that is currently not possible at the moment.

Groaning, I extend to my full reach and manage to lure the stack of plates out a little, just enough to cover my fingertips. Now it all comes down to balance. The stack should tip over and all I have to do is catch and bring it down. Easy.

But I vastly underestimated the weight of the stack and end up only catching the last three plates in the stack. The others on top fall over my head as I duck, and I curse as they crash to the floor around my feet. They shatter, sending shards everywhere, and I clutch the perfect plates in my arms, not wanting to move. My feet are bare and I'm in no mood to pick glass from my skin.

"Don't move," Lisa suddenly says, scaring me and causing me to drop the rest of the plates. She winces. "Sorry. Please don't move." Then she steps easily over the glass, on it, and wraps an arm around my waist. Her feet are bare, too, and I start to say something but she pulls me to her and lifts, carrying me away from the mess. She places me carefully in the living area then lets me go and moves away to inspect me. "Are you okay?"

I nod, feeling my cheeks heat in embarrassment. Lisa must have just finished her shower because her hair is wet and droplets are sliding down her face and neck to moisten her shirt. She isn't even wearing pants, but at least she put on underwear. I'm more embarrassed because I had to be carried away from my disaster like a child.

"Be careful," I manage to say as Lisa goes back to the kitchen to clean up for me. She squats down and begins to run her hands over the floor to gather up all the plate shards without protecting herself. "You can cut yourself."

Lisa moves her hands slower but doesn't try anything else to save her palms. "When you've done this as often as I have, you learn to be quick without hurting yourself."

My eyes fall to the bottoms of her feet as she waddles along and I see that there aren't any cuts there.

She just walked all over glass and didn't harm herself. She must have really done this a lot in the past.

"I'm sure we have a broom here somewhere," I say. But Lisa has already made a pile and is scooping it pieces at a time into the garbage.

"Done," she says triumphantly when the pile is gone. Then she runs her feet over the floor, looking for glass she might have missed, and asks, "Why didn't you call me? I could have helped."

I shrug, face hot. It's ridiculous that I'm so embarrassed, but I am. I'm supposed to be the caretaker here. "You were in the shower. Besides, it's just plates. I don't wanna trouble you."

Lisa tilts her head at me and pulls the wet shoulder of her shirt away from her skin, only to let it go and allow it to cling to her again. "I don't want you to get hurt, you know." She averts her eyes. "If there's something you can't do, I want to do it for you. I want... never mind. I'm sorry."

The blatant pain on Lisa's face, as if she's terrified that I might lash out at her for hearing her wants, makes my chest ache. She wants to help me, yet is ashamed to voice it. Who instilled that fear into her?