𝓥𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓽

"I'm confused," Clara said, her brows furrowed. "I... I keep thinking about everything else... He was so nice." She looked up at me. "He was nice," she repeated.

"Clara... It can be so much easier for people to put up a mask and pretend to be someone else. He may have been nice to you at times, maybe even sweet, but... they're not always going to be that way."

I looked at her, watching as she peeled her eyes away and looked down towards the uneaten plate of pancakes.

"That's how they get you. Charming and kind and sweet..."

People can be scary things.

She glanced up and nodded, reaching out slowly after a moment for a pancake. "I'm really hungry," she mumbled.

A smile spread across my face, and then disappeared as quickly as it came.

"What's the mark on your wrist?"

She stiffened. "It's nothing. I burnt myself accidentally one day." She got up, walking over to the kitchen to start cleaning up.

I didn't believe her.

"Clara... what's going on?"

"Nothing, Violet." She turned on the faucet.

Her hands trembled slightly under the running water, and I felt a surge of concern. There was more to this than she was willing to share. The mark on her wrist, the way she avoided eye contact - it all hinted at a deeper pain.

I stepped closer, my voice gentle. “Clara, you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the swirling water. “The memories,” she finally whispered. “I can't... I don't know how to deal with them."

She glanced at me and quickly turned away, as if embarrassed, as if she was ashamed to meet my eyes. "I feel... poisoned."

I leaned against the kitchen counter, studying her. “The mark?” My mind raced.

Clara glanced down at it. “I..." she licked her lips and looked at me sadly, struggling to speak. "I... Violet... I hurt myself."