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They All Brought Flowers: Prelude
“No sense beating yourself up over it, love.” As he spoke his voice lowered, and Savannah smiled painfully at his sweet east-coast accent; it was ironic how he always seemed to twist sarcasm into the brutal truth.
Yesterday was a wrinkle on her forehead, and her bruises were one drag away from yellowing. She prayed silently, grateful that Nicholas was five states away, oblivious to the danger that drooped itself over her front porch every two or three weeks. It had never occurred to her to mention Brawn specifically when they talked; for all Nick knew, there was no such person as Brawn DePaumer.
“Oh, I know. I just hate not knowing exactly what I want. All my life I’ve known what I’m looking for, and now that I don’t it makes me feel a bit insecure.” She cradled the receiver close to her ear and had a sudden desire to cry. She sniffled softly, nothing that would seem out of the ordinary- just a side effect of the common cold.
“You, not knowing what you want? I hardly believe it, Miss I’m-so-stubborn-and-not-easily-swayed. What could possibly have you so shaken and confused?” He shifted awkwardly on his sofa, waiting patiently for a reply he knew he probably would not receive. She was so determined to always be independent, relying on no one else because people simply cannot be relied on. Savannah interested him, this self-sufficient wildflower who seemed charming but never really let anyone close enough to confirm her sweetness. “You don’t fool me. I can hear it in your voice, the way it wavers ever so slightly. I can sense it the way I sense rain; your melancholy makes my bones ache and I wonder how someone could ever hurt you.”
A tear trickled lightly over her cheek, and she let it run from the tip of her chin and fall into the palm of her hand. Had anyone been around she might have been ashamed of the pea-sized drop of emotion, but she lived alone in her small, one-bedroom apartment.
“No one can hurt me,” she whispered.
