Raising his brow, Dominic leaned on his palm. “What made you think that I wasn’t doing fine back then?” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. She had no reason to worry nor talk to him any longer.
Desdemona gave him a confused look, mirroring an alternative version of the man’s body language. What made her think he wasn’t doing fine? Wasn’t it obvious?
“You were bruised,” she said a bit bluntly, and then realized how she had sounded, slowing down. “…And I was wondering why you needed the bandages you were wearing. I thought you must have been hurt to need them,” she added, losing direction between her sentences.
The girl shrugged, and wished she too had a fork to toy with on her plate. Perhaps she should have gotten breakfast, but she did not wish to be rude and interrupt their conversation that had just started. That was awkward, according to mom and dad, even though she did not know how to feel about it.
Dominic very cordially thanked her for her concern, and then attempted to shut her down. She could just not process why he would want to end that conversation. If she had been injured that way, she would surely be talking about it; trying to understand what happened by telling somebody out loud.
Though, perhaps she would not want to share either, in the case that she had been broken by someone else. She wouldn’t want to ruin their reputation, being how she is. Dominic likely had no interest in ruining his own, because the real explanation for his injuries was much too vulnerable.
But who would want to hurt him? So soon into the school year? The concept was not fathomable for Desdémona.
Instead she assumed he had a bad fall, or something along the lines of that.
“Can I ask what happened?” She dropped her arm onto the table, asking for permission to ask the question, because it felt nicer than the obvious choice on how to ask him. Still, a pull in her gut told her he was not going to tell her the truth. Her intuition was often much smarter than she was, because it did not belong to her.
Desdémona’s thoughts consisted of her memories, lessons she learned firsthand with very limited life experiences. Her subconscious knew the rituals of her ancestors, and they knew betrayal. They knew what life was like before the fire, and they ran the information not to her head but through the wires in her arms and legs.
As she took in the details of his features, it became apparent that his mind must have been occupied by a million things. He fiddled with his fork, but did not eat. And he had greeted her, but then did not speak. He hardly looked up at her, and only stared at his full plate of food, which had not become any less since she arrived in front of him. Although he was supposedly healed now, she wondered if there was something she had missed when she tried to help him feel better; a part of his mind that was too deep within him to bandage. That was her worst fear; running out of options to help people. Because if she was not contributing to someone else’s life, what purpose would she have?
Suddenly, in front of her face, Dominic lightly waved his hand. Desdemona came back to reality, giggling because she had just realized what had happened. Although she hadn’t processed his earlier monotony, she did recognize that this gesture was much friendlier than the previous ones, and she felt a bit proud of herself for bringing just a bit more emotion out of him, her lips quirking into a half-smile before she answered.
“No,” Desdemona replied bashfully, “Sorry…”
She put down her arm, watching how her fingertips kissed the surface of the table. She was unsure of what else to add, as there was likely no way of explaining what she was doing, not without sounding silly.
During the next bit of their conversation, however, Desdemona was perched on her palm once more, listening attentively while he answered her question about the scavenger hunt.
“Well…” he trailed off, and looked somewhere else trying to think of what to say. Her gaze followed where his went, as if beside his plate of food they would spot the words he was looking for.
Eventually, though, he seemed to conclude that he would not continue on that point, and his gaze darted back. The man changed the subject, asking about her instead. But sadly, that was a mistake on his part, since Desdemona hated making conversations about herself. She would much rather talk to her friends about themselves, and spectate instead of story-tell, so she ignored his question, going back to the first point.
“Well, what?” Mona asked him curiously. She tilted her head, crossing her arms over each other. A puzzled look claimed her expression, her doll-like features communicating her whole thought process.
Desdemona watched him contemplate his reply, and she thought about her recent entrancement. She had no wish to go through another awkward silence… so she threw him a bone.
“Okay…” she interrupted his thoughts, rescuing him from them. He looked at her, and she knew he hadn’t suspected her to speak again so soon, so she chuckled nervously. “I am excited. I’d actually been meaning to go back to the garden! The one we went to when we met. I was hoping we’d be looking for something hidden there.” The girl pushed a loose piece of hair behind her ear. She was grasping for something to discuss, but what she said was true. She missed the bugs crawling on the garden’s green leaves, craving nature badly since she’d arrived at Wyndham. Her friends said maybe she was just homesick.
@idiot.exe Dominic
Notes:
Sorry this took eons
wasnt feeling that inspired but some parts are cute i think!!