I have a feeling that this woman appreciates having me around, though she doesn't exactly make it apparent. From the very beginning of this day, with her, she's been very opposing of my presence and my help, for the most part. She's gone from running off and yelling at me to stay away from her to subtly showing me that she really does want my help with things or that she wants to help me with things. Sure, she hasn't come out to say it yet, but I have seen the little hints, like bringing me those pill bottles, or asking for a boost up to that stool.

To be honest, as stressful as this situation has been so far, it's a lot of fun for me. She's a handful and she's not exactly loving towards me, but I am enjoying her company. Had I not found her, I'd probably just be sitting around, eating a sandwich by myself. Instead, I'm getting food ready for my special, little short guest. She's bossing me around a lot, but I don't mind that. It's a lot better than being alone all the time. I know that, all too well. I may be an optimist, but that doesn't mean I never get lonely, living out here, all by myself.

The bowl is easily gotten from the counter, seeing as how I already had a good bit of soup in the bowl by the time I had left to help Rebecca up into her seat. There is a little steam coming out of it as I walk over, so I stop at the corner of the counter, taking my time in blowing on it and stirring it up with a spoon I'd gotten out earlier. The woman's senses were amplified by being so short. Or, at least, that's my theory, given how she reacted to the smoke alarm. I don't want the food to scold her mouth or anything of the sort.

Am I given the time to completely cool the food off, though? No, of course not. This woman was seeing to that, showing her attitude to me once again. “Hey! I'm hungry!” I look over towards her and she is pounding her fists on the table, like some impatient child, waiting for their meal. It's almost too cute not to laugh at, but I refrain, only giving her a small grin as I set the bowl in front of her, the spoon's handle sticking out of it. As I set it down, I warn her that it's hot, which she only responds with more attitude. “I'm not some kid! If you can eat it, so can I!”

I walk away, to get my own bowl of soup, as Rebecca digs into the food. As I walk around the counter, I hear what sounds like another whimper from her. As I get my own bowl of soup ready, I look back at her and see a shocked look on her face. The soup was clearly too hot for her. Her eyes were on me, though, and she saw that I was watching her. “Is something wrong, Rebecca?” I ask, wishing to know if she was actually going to tell me that her food was too hot. She quickly shook her head as she muttered under her breath, acting like everything was just fine.

I frown a little at this, wishing that she would just be honest about it. I can't make her tell me, though. So, I just turn around, acting like I'm not worried, finishing up my own bowl, getting ready to go sit down at the counter, next to her. I hear a loud gulp from behind me, followed by long breaths. Realizing that she's going to need something to drink, I prepare a small glass of water and take it back to her, along with my own bowl of soup. She nearly snatches the glass from my hand, putting both her palms around it and starts guzzling down water, streams of water dripping down her face and onto her blouse.

Setting my bowl down, I reach down and wipe the water from her cheek, which causes her to jerk back, shooting me with that “I don't trust you” look again. Retracting my hand, I try to act as confident as I can as I give her advice. “You know, Rebecca, if it's too hot, you should just wait for it to cool off, not force it down. It's just soup, after all.” Her look got even more fierce as I told her all of this. She looks as it she has a huge problem with me giving her advice, like this. She shrugs my statement off and took more water into her mouth, not saying a word.

Sitting down, next to her, I return to my own bowl of soup. I half-expected her to have another outburst and make me move to the table or something, but she didn't. She just sat there and stared at her soup. I took my first sip and blew on it as I did so. I smiled as I took in the warm, delicious spoon of soup. As I brought in my second, it almost sounded like I was blowing on it twice. Taking a moment to think, I smile as I realize what's going on. I don't look over at her, but I have a strong feeling that she really did take my advice to heart.

Maintaining a steady pace, I allow my blowing to take longer than usual, making sure she has enough time to do the same, as we both eat our soup. A good 15 minutes go by before either of us are finished. Eventually, though, I hear a metal clanging noise from beside me. The spoon she had been using hits the table and she spins the stool around, looking as if she was ready to get down. I set my own spoon down, thinking about how I had to help her get on top of the stool. She might need some help in getting down, since this stool sat a fair amount higher than she normally stood.

Turning my own stool, I reach over towards her. “You want some help getting down?” She looks at me, with that same look she had been giving me this entire time, giving me an answer I probably could have guessed. “I can get down by myself, Trent! I don't need you for everythi--” She yelped as reality, once again, settled into her tiny, thick skull. The moment she pushed herself off the stool, she tumbled and fell on her side. Her arm hit the ground and she started crying out. “Ah....OW!!!” Her other arm clenches the arm that hit the ground and her eyes shut, cheeks getting red.

I immediately jump down and kneel next to her. Her body starts shaking and she doesn't respond to me when I ask her if she's okay. Is she going into some sort of shock from falling on her injury? I have no idea, and I don't have the time to debate with myself over it, either. I reach down and start to lift her into the air. “N-No....don't touch me!” I respect her, but I also respect that she's hurt. “I'm sorry, Rebecca, but you're hurt. I need...I want to help you. I can't just let you stay here and be hurt. We're going to the bathroom, where my medicine cabinet is.”

She whimpers, but doesn't fight me with words any longer. Pulling her tiny body into my arms, I lift her from the ground and begin walking her out of the kitchen, a look of sadness coming across my face as I see the pain in her facial expression.