TWO

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Lottie waited outside of the enlistment center, nervously chewing on her fingernails

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Lottie waited outside of the enlistment center, nervously chewing on her fingernails. Her eyes never left the door, waiting silently for the man behind it to reemerge and come back to her with the news. Part of her hoped it was good news, the other part of her hoped he was denied once again.

Men left the building, cheering with their friends about getting enlisted into the war. They whistled and cat called to Lottie who did her best to ignore them, her right hand clutching onto the skirt of her polka dotted, deep blue dress.

"Is that little Lottie Watson?"

The young woman rolled her eyes. She knew that voice anywhere, it was the annoying voice that always cat called her from table 5 of the diner during her shifts. Charles Issac was a snob who believed he was entitled to everything.

"You can call me Charlotte, only my friends can call me Lottie," she answered in a monotone voice. She spared him a quick glance as he leaned on the wall next to her, but kept her focus on the doors as she waited for her best friend to emerge.

"Come on, doll. I thought we were friends by now,"

Lottie felt his fingertips brush against the inside of her wrist, and memories flashed before her in an instant.


"Do it again!"

Charlotte huffed, blowing the stray pieces of hair from her face as she glared up at her father. He held onto her left wrist, looking down on her and waiting for her to make a move. She tugged, trying to break free of his grip, but it was useless.

"Daddy, I can't. You're too strong,"

"It doesn't matter how strong your attacker is, it matters how strong you are,"

Charlotte grunted, trying to spin her father's wrist and break free again. It was no use, though. His grip was like iron.

"I'm not strong enough!"

"It doesn't matter how strong you are physically,"  Thomas Watson stepped forward, touching his daughter's forehead lightly as she looked up at him. "What matters is that you're smarter. If you can't beat your opponent physically, you beat them mentally. Bucky can't be there for you all the time, and soon I can't either. Think your way around the problem."

Charlotte took in a deep breath, focusing on her father's hand. She spun her hand, her hand coming up parallel to the inside of his arm before she tugged, her elbow coming up toward his forearm. The release he had on her was broken as they looked at one another, grinning brightly in the living room of their apartment.

"Good, now do it again,"


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