Every Little Thing

37

|| Reed ||

It's nearing midnight when I bring Evelyn what must be her fourth cup of water. She hasn't exactly been asking for it, but since Mrs. Bracket left, I've been sure to follow each rule to the best of my ability. She's still lying on the couch, smiling at me weakly every time I walk by or try to sneak a nonchalant glance over at her. I just can't help it; my eyes immediately go to the bruises. Everywhere I look, there they are.

Finally, I release a breath, turning to her and saying,

"You need to get out of that dress and into something more comfortable."

She blinks, and I tell her to wait while I take the stairs to my bedroom, rummaging through my closet until I find sweatpants that don't fit anymore, along with a T-shirt that I got from summer camp two years ago. I bring it back down to her and place it in her lap. Her fingers brush over the fabric a few times, and she looks at me expectantly.

"Well, if you want me to find something else—"

She shakes her head, although it looks like an effort. Then, she reaches forward and grabs hold of her pen and paper, writing in a messy, drawn-out scrawl.

I don't think I can move.

"Oh," I breathe. "Right."

There's an awkward beat of silence before I say,

"Well, that's okay. I—I'll help you."

I set aside the paper and bundle the clothes in my hand, scooping her up in my arms for the third time today. I'll admit, my muscles are beginning to cramp a little bit, but I remind myself that it's nothing compared to what she's been through tonight. So I grit my teeth and tough it out, carrying her to the bathroom and setting her down on the closed toilet seat.

I hand her the shirt and tug it over her dress, thankful that it's long enough to cover everything. Then, as gently as possible, I move the dress straps so that it slips off of her shoulders and onto the floor in one motion. The sweatpants turn out to be easier, surprisingly, because Evelyn just has to move herself forward to slip into them. I tie the loose strings into a knot so that they only sag a little bit and lean back, smiling at her.

"Everything good?" I ask, and she smiles back with a thumbs-up.

"Alright, let's get you to bed. You can stay in Hallie's room, if you want." then, after a beat, "Or mine. I'm fine with the couch."

She lifts her shoulders ever-so-slightly, so I decide to take the safe route—Hallie's room. It's on the main level, so there's easy access to the kitchen and the bathroom, and the decorations are bright and cheery, much like my sister. I know it sounds stupid, but part of me is certain that the right decor might brighten up Evelyn, too.

I settle her into the soft, pink comforter and pull the covers up to her chin so that she looks like a little girl, all innocent and ready to be tucked in. I swallow, realizing that if I don't look down at her neck, she almost looks exactly like she did this morning. No bruises, no strained vocals, no violent attacks.

Just Evelyn Moore, being her wonderful self, living her life.

And now, just like that, everything has changed.