Enough | ✔️

+ 12 +

Swiftly removing my jacket and shoes, I tap my knuckles lightly on the door.

"Miss Neversea?" I speak up.

When I try the door handle, I'm surprised to see it click open. Still, I hesitate, unsure of whether I should enter.

"Can I come in?"

She doesn't reply.

I take a tentative step in.

Instantly, my breath hitches and something painful hits me in the chest.

Knees pulled to her chest, she resides in the corner. Her head rests on her knees, a curtain of dark blonde hair creating a barrier between us. The floor is soaked and so is she, raw skin dripping with water as she shivers. Red scratch marks pull at her skin, not drawing blood but the colour just as shocking. Her clothes are littered messily over the counter, leaving her bare in her undergarments.

I glide my eyes down her body, concern rising in my throat.

"Quorra?" I speak softly, a billion questions racing through my mind.

Grabbing a dry towel from the cabinet outside, I cautiously make my way towards her. The humidity of the room tells me that the shower was put on full blast, explaining the rawness to her skin.

Sinking to my knees in front of her, I ignore the dampness seeping through the fabric of my trousers and offer her the warm towel. She doesn't take it.

She sniffs and coils tighter into a ball, her matted hair draped around her uncomfortably. The only disturbance in the room is the quiet drip drop drip drop of the tap.

"Quorra, I'm going to bring you outside, okay?" I say, but drop the idea as she shakes her lowered head and mumbles a faint, "No."

Deciding not to ask what happened, I inspect the scratch marks on her skin from a distance. They look painful. Angry. Self-inflicted.

"Stop judging," she says in an unstable voice, breathing shaky as she finally lifts her head to rest it against the wall behind her.

Still, her eyes don't meet mine. I scan her face for physical injuries but redirect my gaze as soon as she looks up at me with watery eyes.

I know I'm the last person she wants to see her like this.

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask carefully as she shakes her head, a tear escaping her eye as she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

She swallows down her emotion, as if keeping herself strong, "No."

I bring my legs out in front of me, handing her the towel. She doesn't just look broken, she looks like she's been reduced to nothing. She accepts the towel, pulling it over her shoulders to cover her drained skin.

Anxious at her state, I run a hand through my tousled hair, "When I was younger, I used to collect shells. Not the expected ones either - the half broken, muddied, old ones. I used to argue that they deserved more recognition because they had been through many tough times and were still somewhat intact," I share, finding that the story applies more to this current situation than I thought.

Her wobbly gaze fixates on mine, "Too bad you can't fix me up a little and turn me into jewellery. I'm not good enough for that."

Her words hit me hard.

"Of course you are."

She clearly disagrees.

I loosen and remove my tie, unbuttoning the first few buttons of my shirt as the heat of the room gets to me. Quorra notices and looks down at her lap, fidgeting with the ends of her towel like she usually does with her sleeves, "You can go if you want, you know."