Flightless Bird

Cold Water

A faint mumbling was all I could hear besides the distant chatter of a keyboard when I came to. I was afraid of opening my eyes, for fear of getting in more trouble for existing in the wrong time. From my other senses, however, I could feel something soft and smooth beneath me, more comfortable than my own bed. Something cool and wet was on my forehead, and the room was a warm, relaxing temperature.

Assuming that I was not dead yet, I figured it was safe to open my eyes.

I woke to find I was still in Mr. Knightly's office, laying on the black leather chaise in the corner. Someone had gotten me a cool cloth for my head, and a pillow and blanket to lay with. My cheeks grew hot just thinking of how embarrassing this all was, and knowing that for the first time in my life, someone had taken care of me, though I did not know who.

I slowly moved my hands to my head, rubbing my eyes gently before moving the cloth away and attempting to sit up.

"You're awake," breathed a voice across the room, seemingly relieved. I looked towards it to find Mr. Knightly, standing and walking briskly towards me. I shivered, remembering his angry eyes and worried to find them again.

He was much more calm now, it seemed. His eyes returned to their natural blue, not a trace of anger to be seen.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Like I just got hit by a truck," I rasped out honestly, looking at my feet. My head swam uncomfortably.

"If I had known you were ill I would have made arrangements, I just thought-" he started, but I held up my hand to stop him.

"Sir, it was my fault for not notifying sooner. I was just very...out of it I suppose. My only focus was making it to work, regardless of how late it was. I should have called off but I felt I had to show at least...." I trailed off, unsure of what to say. He placed his hand gently on my shoulder.

I tried my best not to wince, but he seemed to catch my slight flinch and removed his hand gently.

"Miss. Rosalia, please calm down. I don't want to see you fainting again at the office," he answered, sincerity in his eyes as he passed me a glass of cold water. I took it carefully, sipping it slowly before realizing how thirsty I truly was. I couldn't help but nearly chug the whole glass, as it quenched the burning thirst that had been plaguing my throat.

My head seemed a little more clear after too, most likely a result of dehydration. I blushed slightly to realize how I was acting, and lowered the glass before I finished the whole thing. He chuckled quietly and smiled a small smile at my eagerness.

I would never understand this man's mood changes.

"I apologize for my unwarranted behavior earlier." He said, suddenly somber.

Mr. Knightly had been kneeling this whole time next to me, and as soon as I realized this I moved my legs off the chaise and sat up more, patting the space next to me to invite him to sit too. He took the offer and was seated by my side, telling me about how he tried to reach my family, but couldn't find any contacts in my paperwork.

Suddenly, he caught me off guard by his proximity, and by his following comment.

"What happened to you?"

I froze, muscles tensed and every injury protesting to the tension.

"W-what do you mean?" I stuttered, fearing for the worst. He looked me over, searching for something in my appearance. His hand moved towards my face, and I flinched, uncomfortable at the contact. He was looking directly at my forehead, and I could only imagine why.

I feared the wet cloth may have removed some of the make up, and I quickly turned my head towards the ground.

"Scarlett, are those bruises on your forehead? Did you have an accident?" He grew alarmed.

"No, no!" I panicked, trying to stand up, but stumbling slightly. "I mean, I just...I tripped and fell down the stairs yesterday. I already saw a doctor—it's just a slight concussion...I'll be okay," I stumbled over my words, trying to excuse myself.

He stood up too, confusion and alarm still on his face.

"Why did you even bother coming to work today? You could've just told-" he started, disapproving.

"Sir, I'm really okay," I hoped he would believe me.
"I just didn't want to call off, I'm only in my second week and all...I'm fine, I just need to get to work."

"No, you need to go home and rest. That's final," he instructed sternly. I could never oppose those demanding eyes, and he knew it.

There was something in his face that told me he didn't fully believe me, but recognized that I really wasn't well. He couldn't know–it would destroy everything I'd worked for!

"I'm not sure if you're telling the truth, Scarlett," he said softly, confirming my suspicions.

"Sir, with all due respect, that is none of your business," I said, afraid my response put too much distance between us and that he would be angered by it. It was the only way to keep him from knowing.

He seemed to have flipped on a dime as I expected.

"Well if that's true then I suggest you stop bringing your problems with you to the office. Is that clear?" He seethed. I nodded, knowing all too well that his anger was the only thing that would keep him safe from the truth.

"Get out of here. Go home. I expect you back tomorrow morning on time," he growled. "And don't let this happen again!" He turned his back on me.

Whatever good graces I'd gained over the weekend had been seemingly lost with just the right choice of wording.

It was for the best.