II. Ask
"Do you want to go to school?"
She paused, with her hands in the sink, looking at a particularly stubborn stain on the countertop. It looked a little like blood, which it quite possibly was. A lot of their furniture had never been the same since the night Soldat had arrived at the door. The repairs had almost outstripped the landlord's bribe.
She leaned back, peering round the corner of the kitchen. Kirika was sat at the table with her back to her, distributing scrambled eggs around her plate with a fork.
"Did you hear me?" Mirielle asked. The girl nodded, once, and brought the fork to her mouth. The woman watched her for a minute, but no reply was forthcoming and she went back to washing up. She had learned not to be irritated by the girl's frequent non-responses: she would reply eventually, after some thought. It was a growing trait of hers, but perhaps that was to be expected. The affair at the manor was more than just a brief shock to the system, injuries notwithstanding.
In truth, the question had been on her mind for a while, especially as she soon planned to go back into some form of work. They still hadn't discussed it, though. It was mainly on Kirika's part; it had quickly become evident that the girl had changed since the incident, as Mirielle was quickly coming to think of it, and in unpredictable ways. She slept lots, ate little, and spent a lot of time just staring off into space. Sometimes she read. She didn't draw unless Mirielle asked her if she felt like doing it, trying to prod her out of one of her trances that seemed to take her for hours at a time.
All this was aside from the physical damage. Part of the reason Kirika was so distant now was because of the large amount of painkillers she was on. Her injuries really had been very serious.
Mirielle drained the sink and rinsed her hands. It was easier not to think about it, and she preferred not to. Instead she took another look at the stain. What was it? Maybe she was just being paranoid. It would be typical of her to think it was blood. Not so much morbid as pragmatic, she decided. Taking up the dishcloth, she scrubbed at it. No effect.
"It's up to you." She said. "Getting you enrolled won't be much trouble."
"Mm."
The fork scraped slightly against the plate. Mirielle shuddered.
"You don't have to decide now. It's just something for you to think about."
"Uhuh."
"I'm going to go shopping later. Do you want to come with me?"
"Mm."
That could either mean yes or no. Mirielle threw the useless dishcloth into the sink and walked into the other room. Kirika didn't look up as she took a seat across from her. After a moment, she spoke.
"It hurts today."
"Oh." Well, that was to be expected. She had thrown herself around quite violently last night, during that dream.
Last night…
"Are you going to work again?"
Mirielle looked up in shock at the girl, staring down into her plate. Where did that come from?
"Well—"
"It's just that…I know I'm not well enough yet, but…"
The fork squeaked against the china a second time.
"I honestly don't know." Mirielle said. "We have enough to last us a while, if you're worried about money."
"I don't want…"
Mirielle leaned forwards.
"Yes?"
Kirika's eyes slid shut, her hair hanging in her face. When she spoke, it was slowly.
"You shouldn't just stay here…because I…I am."
The words seemed too loud in the quiet apartment. Everything was still.
(It was part of their agreement that things stayed unspoken).
What agreement, thought Mirielle suddenly, when did that happen?
The answer came to her: it had never really happened, things had always just been that way between them.
The chair scraped back as she stood. The girl's expression hadn't changed, but she was very, very still.
"You think too much." Mirielle said.
Kirika nodded.
"Don't worry about school." She said. "It's just a thought, that's all."
"Ok."
"I'm going out. Are you coming with me?"
"…I don't know."
"Well, make up your mind. Are you finished?"
"Yes."
She walked round the table, scooped up the girl's plate with her half-eaten breakfast on it, and carried it away into the kitchen. But instead of cleaning it, she set it down on the counter and just leaned there, staring at the blank re-plastered walls. She suddenly wondered if there were any bullets left in there, covered over, unseen.
And then something made her walk back over to the table where Kirika was sat, her head in her hands.
"Kirika."
"Mm."
She stood behind the girl, watching the uneven rise and fall of her shoulders, the slender fingers knotted in her unkempt black hair, and suddenly her mouth was dry.
"Are you…crying?"
"I'm okay."
"You are crying. You shouldn't lie to me, you know."
"Sorry."
She sighed.
"What's wrong?"
She didn't respond. Mirielle laid her hand on the girl's shoulder.
"I….I'm not sure."
"You don't know why you're crying?"
"…..no."
That put her at a loss. Staring into space, non-responsiveness she could deal with, but this sort of emotion with seemingly no reason for it threw her for a loop. The girl's shoulder was quite bony. She squeezed it.
"You don't seem well. I think I'll go another time."
Kirika's head came up.
"Don't—"
"Does it hurt?"
After a moment, her face sunk back into her hands again, body seeming to slump.
"It hurts." She said.
Mirielle's fingertips brushed the skin under the girl's ear. She leaned into the touch.
"It really hurts, Mirielle."
Something stirred painfully inside the woman's chest.
"I know." She murmured back. Her fingers slid slowly down the girl's neck, towards her shoulders.
"I know."