The Hooded Girl

XII

Drake had pulled up an old, damp chair to the cell bars. He swept off the cobwebs, turning it so her could watch her. He lit a torch, and it was the closest source of heat in this cold, damp dungeon. The girl sat on the mouldy mattress quietly, hands folded. She looked at Drake often, waiting for him to say something. At first, she'd just thought he was shy, but he hadn't even said a word to his brothers. She'd seen him whispering in Dexter's ear, that of whom would parrot for him -- and just how accurate his parroting was, she doubted.

"I'm sorry if this sounds rude. But I have to ask... can you talk?" she asked softly.

His eyes flickered up to her. He pursed his lips, looking nervous. He didn't do anything but stare for a few seconds, until he nodded... then shook his head. Then, the two gestures merged, followed by a sighing shrug.

She cocked her head, smiling sadly at him. "Don't feel like you need to answer, if you don't want to. I mean, don't feel bad about it," and, adding after a pause, "I'm sorry. That was rude of me," she shook her head.

He waved her off, and he smiled back a bit. Her own grew a bit happier.

After a moment's hesitation, he mouthed something. At first, she looked at him quizzically, trying to read his lips in the low light. He repeated it, and she realized what he was trying to say. I'm sorry, he mouthed. His lips shut tight the moment he saw the understanding in her eyes, and he looked as if he'd just done something that terrified him.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," she said to him.

He gestured around them. To the bone-chilling, stone prison around her.

She shook her head. "Don't be," she said softly. "Don't be, not one bit."

He was looking at her again, still with that hint of shame, and pointed to her sweater. She looked at herself, at first not sure what was going on -- for a split second, she was worried there would be a spider -- but she realized he was pointing to the puke.

"Yeah. I hope it comes out. I really like this sweater." It was old, black and tattered, with West 49 written in cursive across the chest. She'd had this sweater since she was twelve, and she'd wore it since the day she'd gotten it from the girl who'd outgrown it. Sure, it was a bit smaller now, and it had lost much of its warmth, but she still liked it. Whereas it had once been long and baggy, it now hugged her figure tight.

Drake paused only a moment, before taking off his own sweater. Without a word, he reached through the bars, holding the dark grey hoodie out to her.

"You don't have to..."

He shook it once, insisting. He smiled. She couldn't help but get teary-eyed. She took the sweater, zipping off her own, and snuggling inside Drake's. It was already warm, and lined with fleece. It was too big for her, but she didn't care. She stuck her knees inside, curling them up to her chest. "We don't even know each other, and you've been so nice to me. I realize this might sound a bit weird, but I wanted to thank you for that. I haven't met a lot of nice people these past couple months, so..." she wiped at her eyes, and sniffled once. "Thank you, is all I want to say."

Drake shrunk into himself a bit. He had that nervous, mousy look again, until a smile overtook it. He didn't mouth anything more, but his eyes said enough. Both knew then and there that they would grow very fond of one another.