Episode 42

She led him up the service stairs to their floor. He stumbled a few times, bumping into her.

"Sorry, I can't see well without my glasses," he apologized.

"It's alright. Here's your apartment," Scarlet answered. "And here's what's left of your glasses," she continued as she placed the pieces in his hands. Her voice was shaky, and it was then that she realized that she was trembling. She started to turn to go to her apartment when she felt a hand reach out and grab her.

"Could you… would you be willing to help me fix my glasses?"

Though he'd not brought attention to it, he had heard the tremor in her voice and could feel how her body shook under his grip. And something inside him had told him that it would not be a good idea to let her be alone. This was the true reason he'd asked for her help.

Scarlet nodded before quietly saying. "Sure."

She then followed him into his apartment. He then led her to a table full of different parts and pieces from various machines.

"This is my workbench. My tools should be somewhere over here," he said as he groped about. "Thank you for helping me, by the way."

Scarlet shook her head but said nothing. She didn't feel she deserved to be thanked.

"What's your name?" he then asked.

"… I. I don't…" She couldn't manage to get any more words out.

She felt her body going cold. And she couldn't stop the shaking in her limbs. She knew she must be going into shock, but she couldn't seem to gain control of her body.

She couldn't stop thinking about how she'd shot those men. It wasn't that she didn't feel they deserved it or that she even regretted it. But it was the first time she'd done anything like that.

And a part of her even wondered if she should have just gone ahead and killed them. After all, despite how they reacted in the alley just now, they could still decide to seek revenge later. Then what will she do?

Her emotions and thoughts had created a superstorm in her head. She hadn't even realized she'd taken to sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. And in the next moment, she passed out.

Flinch had noticed her distraught state and was kneeling in front of her. His hands clumsily roamed over the girl to find her pulse and check her breathing. He was relieved that both were still active. After another moment of contemplation, he decided to let her sleep there while he fixed his glasses.

It took some work, but he finally managed to fix his glasses well enough that he could use them. It was something he'd done many times. Only then did he go back over to the sleeping girl on his floor. Scarlet would never know how he frowned, and his bow crinkled upon looking closer at her.

He had taken notice of the girl who had become his neighbor some time before. And like the man in the alley, he had not failed to notice how pretty she was. At first, he thought she'd surely end up like a lot of young women in the slums and felt it was such a waste.

But day after day, she showed no sign of caving into that lifestyle. And day after day, his interest in her had slowly grown. Without realizing it, he'd memorized her habits and mannerisms. She was always quiet. She always kept to herself and talked to others only when necessary.

She kept no certain schedule, coming and going at any and all hours, though one might never notice for how quiet she was. She was never pushy or rude when using the community bathroom. And he felt certain that she liked barbecue sauce as what little he'd seen her eat always had some on it.

Honestly, she could have easily been mistaken for a ghost or some soulless spectral that saw no one around it and went unseen by most. In fact, usually, when he'd overheard others in the apartment building talk about her, it was in this fashion.

But he knew that she wasn't some soulless ghost. He'd seen the way her jaw would tighten as she slightly pressed her lips together every time she'd seen those men harass someone. He'd notice the angry glint in her eyes as she would look at them. He'd also not failed to notice how that glint would give way to something else when her eyes would fall on their victims. It wasn't quite pity, and it wasn't quite empathy.

He would never forget the first time he'd received that look from her. It seemed to say so much. It seemed to acknowledge his pain, acknowledge that what was happening to him was wrong, and at the same time, apologize that it was happening and also apologize that she felt helpless to stop it. That look had come to mean something to him. It somehow gave him strength.

He'd become thankful that she had avoided being targeted by those men. He didn't want her to put herself in danger for his sake. So, when he'd realized that she had drawn the attention of those men in the alley, his heart panicked.

He brushed the hair from her face as he continued watching her. He hadn't expected her to brandish a firearm and shoot those men. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't glad that she had. He seriously thought that he might not survive his encounter with them this time. Now here he was, beaten but still alive and breathing, all thanks to the woman who lay on his floor having passed out from shock.

He was glad that he had not let her be alone. Repositioning himself to sit beside her with his back against the wall, he quietly waited for his savior to wake up.