Saoirse looked down for a moment before looking me in the eye again. “Could you tell me your name?”
I stumbled with my thoughts. A few hours with this girl and I hadn’t even thought to give my name. “Anthony,” I replied.
“Thank you, Anthony,” she said, bowing her head.
“You're welcome.” The room fell silent. I looked around for a moment, and avoided her eyes. The weight of our situation finally hit me.
“Wh-what's wrong?” she asked. I let my worry show.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” I lied. My eyes came back to her. For the first time, I noticed her clothing – gray, nondescript. The edges and seams were frayed; collars and sleeves, torn. Her pants were worn at the knees and ripped near the top – the pockets had been torn off. “ We ought to find you some actual clothes.”
I led Saoirse upstairs. She still clung to my shoulder like she had in the manor. While we ascended, I considered taking some clothes from my mother's wardrobe, but she might've suspected something if her clothes went missing. Instead, I searched my own dresser, and dredged up some older clothes from the bottom: an old T-shirt a few sizes too small for me, and a pair of cotton shorts with strings.
“I'd provide something a bit more... uh, feminine, but this is all I can do.” I unfolded the clothes and laid them out on my bed, and paused awkwardly for a moment. “I'll just... leave you to it.” As Saoirse examined the outfit I'd given her, I left the room and shut the door behind me.
Tick, tick whispered the clock on the wall. The hands read four o'clock. Considering the fact my mother would be working late, I didn't know how long she'd be gone. Perhaps until nine or ten. I thought it would be best if Saoirse slept some. I couldn't risk her waking up in a nightmare while my mother was home.
I heard the doorknob click behind me; the hinges squeaked with the sound of a door being opened cautiously. I turned to find that even my ill-fitting clothing hung over Saoirse's neglected frame with room to spare. Shorts that would normally just barely reached my kneecaps reached about halfway between her kneecaps and ankles. The strings were tied in a large double knot at the front to keep the shorts on her hips. The shirt suited her a bit better, but still extended a noticeable length down her thighs. I smiled a bit. “It'll have to do for now.” Saoirse smiled slightly in return.
We avoided each other's eyes for a moment, until Saoirse spoke up: “Could I have a glass of water?”
“Of course,” I replied. We returned to the kitchen. She sipped gratefully from the glass like she had from the bowl of soup. I took her silence as an opportunity to say what was on my mind.
“I think we need to go to sleep soon.”
“Why?” Saoirse asked with wary curiosity.
“You're nightmare. I can't reveal you to my mother right now. If you and I sleep earlier, then we'll be able to stay up through the night while my mother's home. If you have another nightmare, then you'll be less likely to wake her with your screaming.”
Tears welled up in her eyes; her head bowed. “Screaming isn't allowed in the manor. I'm sorry...”
“N-no! No. That's not what I meant!” It was too late, though. She turned away and hid her face with her hands.
“I'm sorry,” she whimpered. “I'm not allowed to scream.”
I took a step closer to her. “Saoirse, it's okay.” Again, she turned away. More sounds of crying.
“No, it's not. It's not okay to scream in the manor.”
“You're not in the manor anymore.” She didn't listen, it seemed; she just kept weeping. Her voice murmured more words from the manor with a timid, fearful tone.
“Saoirse,” I said as I rested my hand on her shoulder. She jumped with a yelp. I turned her around, and lifted her face toward mine. My hands cupped her cheeks, and my thumbs rested on her cheekbones.
“I'm sor–” she began.
“No. I'm sorry.” My hands fell from her face and wrapped around her back. She rested her head on my chest. I slowly ran a hand up and down her back.
“It's not your fault.”
--
Updated 4/21
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