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Clara woke me that morning with water and an apple in hand.
Slowly, I took them from her, looking at her eyes, those emotionless eyes she wore.
"Thank you." I opened the bottle and took a sip.
She sat down next to me, bringing her bruised legs up to her chest, but then lowered them back down.
With each day, we talked less and less. There was nothing to talk about. We had nothing. It was the same thing every day.
Trying to survive. Staying hidden. Staying safe.
I looked at Clara, holding an apple in her hand, untouched. She gripped it tightly, sinking her nails into its red flesh.
"Clara?" I said hesitantly.
Her grip softened as she looked at me, tears in her eyes. "It never changes, does it? It's always the same." She stood, but it wasn't done easily.
"I can't... I can't, Violet." Tears spilled over her cheeks. "I can't do it anymore. These men." She shuttered and hit a fist against the wall.
"Clara!"
She brought her hand back, her knuckles starting to bleed.
"I can't," she cried heavily, trying to stop at the same time.
I stood up, wanting to hug her, but I couldn't.
I never could.
"Clara..." I started hesitantly. "I could."
"No!" She screamed, instantly regretting it as she knelt to the ground in fear.
I hated seeing what the orphanage did to us.
Living in fear constantly for normal human emotions, scared for the punishment, the hurt and pain that always followed.
"Clara," I knelt next to her and took her hand and squeezed. "You can stop."
She looked at me through tears and nodded, as if that was all she needed to hear, all she wanted, to know this was not obligated of her.
She didn't have to let the things that happened in that orphanage continue.