Chapter Three
Talking to Danny is hard; she has never been an especially social person and speaking her thoughts aloud has always been hard, but what little social skills she did possess have long since faded. The fact that she's done little but waste away for the last several months doesn't particularly help her repertoire of conversation topics, but the important thing is that Danny makes her actually want to talk.
"Hey Iz, y'know how your like clichély good at doing typical stay at home mom housework?"
It was something she had mentioned to him the other day, or rather she had told him the list of chores she did one of which happened to include making dinner for her dad, and they'd commiserated over the fact that there parents couldn't make a safe meal to save their lives; though he seemed to put a certain amount of stress on the fact that he was afraid his parents' food could actually kill him.
"I know how to do housework… I don't know if I'm… like… especially good at it" she managed to get out somewhat awkwardly, which was better than their first couple attempts.
Danny was very patient about it all for someone who claimed he had a terrible temper, but she supposed that was one of the things he'd been working on.
He was still snarky and sarcastic, and even lightly made fun of her boring talk about there being an hour more rain today then there was yesterday or bringing up chores as a topic; but he never stopped trying to include her in the conversation, never mentioned the long pauses in her speech, or the even longer pauses when she has to get her breath back because something inevitably would remind her of (left, gone, pain) more negative things.
He never once presses for why it is she's on this hotline in the first place either.
"Great" he soldiered on as if they didn't just have to wait an hour for her to get a sentence out, "purely hypothetical question, how do you get a red, with maybe small bits of green, stain out of a T-shirt. I asked my only other chick friend, but she read me the riot act about women's rights, even though we both know Tucker is inept and a fashion disaster on top of that. Which all escalated into another argument by the by. I also don't trust google."
"Not Jazz?" She mentioning the frequently talked about sister; she doesn't ask why he apparently doesn't trust the internet.
Fact number 5 about Danny; he's somewhat reasonably (and definitely unreasonably) paranoid about a lot of things and has major trust issues because of it.
Also on the list are circuses, gorillas, authority figures, his own refrigerator, his dad without fudge, anything dealing with his Uncle- understandably, and near the top of the list are- not surprisingly- psychiatrist.
"…She'd ask where I got the stain" he says very slowly and deliberately, and she already knows she's not supposed to ask.
She knows Danny well enough by now to know that he probably got his shirt stained in a fight, that the green might be from grass but the red is definitely (red eyes, feed) blood.
"Lemon and seltzer water" she answers promptly, she once had a vested interested in keeping blood stains of any kind away even before; she then continues whispering the next part, unsure how he will take it, "…or you can just wear red"
"…I'll think about it." He answers after a pause, and to her relief he only sounds appreciative of her silent concern, and she really doesn't know why she feels good about helping a delinquent hide the fact that he's getting hurt from his family.
No, that's a lie she does know, it's because she cares about these little mostly one sided talks.
It takes a while for her to figure it out, but he treats her like she's normal, not the fragile (crazy, suicidal, dumped) doll that everyone, especially her dad, thinks will fall to pieces the moment they try to interact with her.
…Granted she hasn't wanted any interaction previously, but being treated like she's normal makes her for the first time in a long time want to feel normal. Listening to Danny laugh, even through whatever insanity he's dealt with in the past (and is obviously still dealing with) makes her want to reach that point too.
"So" he says abruptly changing the subject, "What have you been up to today?"
She allows it, eager to rack up viable evidence of her "getting help", too selfish to let things like his possible safety come in the way of her own needs...
"Nothing" comes her quick reply
"You said that yesterday, and then we found out that you were Rachel Ray"
"That's not what I said"
"So Iz, what hidden talents are you hiding from the world?" he stressed her nickname, having found if he said it like that enough times she would eventually stop correcting him, it didn't stop the short pinch of a mini headache every time he did it.
What hidden talents are you hiding from the world, huh?
'I could ask you the same thing'
She won't, it will affect the silent no questions rule they both adhere to, because she knows whoever breaks it will have to offer up answers in return, and she doesn't quite care enough about life to breach that one precious rule yet, she's not involved enough in the world enough yet.
She might never be, the wound is still and it shows no sign of healing there (she doesn't want it to heal, want it to fade, she doesn't want to forget), but Danny's putting a band aid over it.
She's starting to learn to ignore it, to live-function- on with it; it might not be healthy, but who in the world has the right to tell her these things.
"…I used to take ballet?" she finally states more as a question than anything
There's a long pause
"No. Freaking. Way. GIVE ME THE DEETS!"
At least she's not alone anymore