#piecestorn

                   IT’S A SECRET TUCKED INSIDE MY CHEST, WITH THIS HEART                                     OF MINE THAT’S GUILTY NOT REMORSEFUL.

           she’s nearly buried herself into a corner of the sofa, knees pulled closely to her chest & whole self shaking. even while mr. finch speaks, her mind is ceaseless -- remember how you used to be able to do this on your own? remember when you could just be okay? what happened? what broke? you used to be stronger. you used to be able to keep your problems from burdening others. how pathetic. now it feels like you just want the attention. is that it? is that your big secret? you know where you’re heading. why drag anyone with you? & while her thoughts don’t stop, her grip around her knees tightens with the icy wash of guilt she suddenly feels. how despicable she must be. though she ought to respond, no words can surface. the best she can manage is an unsure expression & a slight pinching of her brow, as if to discourage.

         she looks even smaller than usual, hair mostly flattened with rainwater. smaller curls are stuck to the sides of freckled & scarred face, but the majority of her characteristic hairstyle is simply weighing almost heavily on her shoulders. this sight isn’t the result of some tragedy -- she’d only neglected to check the weather, & been stuck unprepared on her walk home. annette nearly protests, half of her thinking this is what she deserves for not being just a little more proactive & the other half apprehensive about leaving a dripping puddle in her wake. “are ... a-are you -- i. i mean, i ... i’d just -- g-get the f -- the floor all ... all wet, i --”

          already-soft gaze clouds with a sense of vague confusion -- even before his death? mister finch has mentioned in passing his family, so she can’t help the disconnect. brows pinch together, gaze dropping to her lap. “i ... i’m sorry. i know ... w-well, i -- i don’t, but, um. i know that’s. that’s no good.” she knows how loneliness feels. the same way that a freshly-brushed set of teeth echo in your mouth when you try to sleep. the same way it feels when your lifelong classmates can’t recognize your name. she has no solution for a problem that she’s been soaking in her whole life. “i -- i mean, um. i ... i don’ know. i d -- i don’t know what. what t-to do about that ...”