I could tell something was wrong with Florence when she kept staring out of the window of my car with unfocused eyes after I pulled into her driveway. I knew her smile was anything but genuine and I only got more worried when she slammed my door shut before I could say goodnight.
Despite all that, I let her go without asking if she needed anything. I couldn’t bring myself to drive off either so I ended up sitting in my car like a creep. I told myself I just wanted to make sure she got inside safe but I stayed even after she shut her front door.
I got a bad feeling when none of the lights turned on inside. I entertained the possibility that she was trying not to wake her parents but she’s home alone so it made no sense.
Finally, after seeing her phone on my passenger seat I had an excuse to go after her. I rang the doorbell and waited patiently. When nothing happened, I rang it again. And again. I eventually pressed my ears against the door only to hear concerning noises. It sounded like someone was crying. Scratch that, it sounded like someone was full-on sobbing.
I hated the way the knot in my stomach twisted. I wasn’t particularly proud of breaking into the girl’s home either but any guilt vanished when I found her curled up in a ball mid-panic attack.
It was horrible. She looked so broken, rocking slightly and pulling at her hair while sobs racked her body. I went into panic mode myself, frantically calling her name and trying to stop her from hurting herself.
Now I’m standing in her kitchen, searching for water to give her while a voice in my head’s calling me an intruder. The shock reflecting in her eyes when she recognized me told me Florence didn’t want me here but how could I possibly leave? It’s a rhetorical question, I can’t.
When I go back to the entrance, Florence is in the same position she was in when I left. I quietly hand her the glass of water which she accepts without looking at me.
I feel like the most useless little shit alive, standing here with no idea what to say or do. And I hate knowing the silence is probably making Florence nervous all over again.
It’s a desperate attempt but I end up reaching for my phone and playing the song she showed me two weeks ago. When that doesn’t seem to upset her further, I carefully reach out to grab one of her hands. She doesn’t protest and even goes along when I pull her to her feet and into her room. She’s shaky on her legs but she follows me.
I’m freestyling this as I go but considering how she hugged her own legs so tightly to herself; I take a leap of faith. I lead her onto her bed, kick my shoes off and pull her into my arms. The music is still playing, now the song Florence showed me last week.
The girl seems a bit unsure in my arms, as if she didn’t quite understand what was going on. Her skin is cool to the touch and she’s shaking slightly so I try to pull her a little closer and start rubbing circles on her back. It’s how my mom used to comfort me whenever I felt bad.
I hate to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t found her. Would she still be in the position and state I found her in or would she have passed out by now?
My irritation towards her parents spikes again. They shouldn’t leave her alone as much as they do.
‘You don’t have to stay,’ Florence whispers hoarsely.
‘Please don’t ask me to leave you alone. I’m afraid I won’t be able to respect your wishes,’ I tell her. I’d hate it if my presence made her uncomfortable and if she asks me to, I’ll let go of her in a heartbeat. So far, it seems I’ve been helping though so I won’t move away just yet. I really believe she needs some comfort right now.
For a while, the music is the only sound in the room. Then, ‘thank you.’ It comes out so quietly I’m barely able to make out the words.
‘Don’t thank me,’ I reply just as softly. Really, she shouldn’t thank me. If I hadn’t let her leave or waited for less long, she probably wouldn’t have had a panic attack in the first place.
No idea how long it takes but I can feel the girl in my arms slowly drifting off to sleep. I can hear it in the change of her breathing and feel it in the way her body relaxes fully against mine. My thoughts are still a jumbled mess and I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep in this position but I’m more than glad to stay awake all night if it makes Florence feel better.
–
Turns out I could fall asleep judging by the daylight streaming through the windows in Florence’s room. It also seems last night has taken its toll on the girl in my arms since she’s still fast asleep. I’d love to stay in this position for longer but I really need to use the bathroom and Florence’s arm pressing on my bladder isn’t helping.
I try to sneak out from beneath her without waking her up but I’d say I failed since she speaks softly when I’m just about to exit her room.
‘Thanks again,’ she mumbles. I realize she thinks I was about to sneak out on her and that thought sits very wrong with me. Taking in the way her back is now turned to me and the tension in her shoulders I’d say she doesn’t want me to either.
‘I was just trying to go to the bathroom. I’m sorry I woke you,’ I tell her, taking a step back towards the bed.
‘You really don’t need to stay,’ she insists. She sounds better than last night but her voice is still a bit hoarse.
‘Can I get-‘ I break off after taking another step towards her. From this angle, I’m able to see her arms. More precisely the red, angry trails along her skin and the hint of blood adorning some of them. ‘Holy shit,’ I mumble. Then I curse myself for it because Florence visibly winces.
‘Florence, please look at me.’ I kneel on the bed as the girl slowly turns toward me. She sits up herself, her posture on point as always but doesn’t look at me. I gently take her hands in mine.
‘Did this happen before?’ I ask. No idea where I’m going with these questions but I really want to understand. The girl’s silence is answer enough.
‘Is there something you need? Some way I can help?’ I scan her body for more injuries, pausing on the sliver of skin that peaks out between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her skirt. The skin there is even redder and I’m sure if she pulled her shirt up a bit, more marks would be revealed.
‘No thanks. I’m fine.’ She gives me one of those fake-ass smiles I hate so much but I don’t call her out on it. ‘You should probably get going. I’m sure your family is asking themselves where you’re at,’ she goes on. I’d like to tell her that they don’t matter right now. That I don’t want to leave her alone and that she might feel better if she talked to me. I want to hold her again. To comfort her and feel the way her body fits so perfectly with mine again.
I say and do none of those things. ‘Are you sure?’ The girl nods, much to my dismay. It’s fine if she doesn’t want to talk to me though. I’m not much more than a stranger after all, no matter how much I wish I weren’t. I just hope she can confide in someone.
