(Kyle)
She sits on the bed. I grab her enormous grey blanket and drape it around her, turning to find her towel hanging behind her bedroom door and grabbing it to get it to her. She takes it –her hand still shaking- and proceeds to dry her hair.
Her movements are slow. She finishes up and rests the towel on her lap. She looks down at her trembling hands again. She shuts them both into fists but it doesn’t stop them from shaking. A tear falls from her eye and lands on one of them.
I stoop to look at her closely –just about a foot in front of her. My hand finds hers. She looks at me, unable to express how she’s feeling.
“Do you want something warm to drink?” I ask her. She doesn’t respond. “I can make you some tea –some hot chocolate, maybe?” She keeps staring. Her expression doesn’t change. “I’m sure I can manage around the kitchen if I try hard enough,” I tell her, smiling. She still doesn’t say anything.
…Nothing.
“Cat got your tongue?” I whisper, smirking.