"At one point I concluded that I had had enough so I picked up my plate, still holding the remains of my dinner, and frisbeed it at his head. To this day, he's still in a coma because he never left instructions to what he wanted should he end up a vegetable. As for me, the orphanage could have been a valid option, but I never wished to fall victim to that system. So I stayed with friends and once I became old enough, I bought my own apartment and ended up working here", she finally finished.
Fletcher didn't speak. He knew no type of responses to her life story. Skye wished that he would accept that she may need some form of assurance albeit spoken or physical.
"I've never told that to anyone before"' she whimpers. Finally taking a hint, Fletcher opens his mouth to acknowledge her new found level of past level intimacy. Drawing the idea that he may read the situation inaccurately, as he was infinitely notorious for doing. Skye places a finger on his lip, hushing his words. Nursing his confusion, she spoke up again.
"If what you are about to say to me, includes an unwanted amount of pity, don't bother. Feeling sorry for me does not change my history nor does it make me feel better. In fact, it would probably just upset me further. I've had months of counselling on my anger management issues provided by the state. Besides I'm the one getting paid to take care of you, not the other way around" Skye concluded.
Fletcher visibly inhaled and shook his head uncontrollably before stating, "I was just going to point out the paper that flew into your bag, Peach" As stupid as she made herself look, she fostered a burning curiosity as to what he was talking about. Slowly, Skye pawed through her purse and sure enough, there lied a yellow page. Mentally Skye's brain begun playing tug of war, debating whether to open it or leave it be.
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