She gave up. The steak smelled amazing, and her stomach growled. She tapped her hands together quickly, to get his attention, and wrote, ‘may I have some water please?’ If he was going to insist on giving her things, she was going to be as polite as possible about asking. Maybe he would let her have a shower after she ate?
Just like with the apple, she took her time about starting in, breathing deep of the way the steak smelled, before putting a bit in her mouth. She was hard put to not just devour the whole thing as fast as she could. It had been so long since she’d eaten anything other than fast food or whatever cheap cold food she could get at the grocery store with the small change people gave her.
In between bites, again, she wrote out a list of things she wanted to know. Where could she get clothes? Where would she sleep?
Derek turned at the tapping and nodded. He got her a glass of water and set it in front of her. “Is it good?” he asked with some amusement in his voice. Of course he knew that it was good. He was a pretty good cook when it came to anything that was protein. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed his own plate before sitting across from her on a chair. He was watching her closely, wondering how someone so fragile could be ignored for so long.
He took a bite of his food when he saw her questions, shaking his head. “You need to stop worrying,” he said, simple between a mouthful of steak. “You can have some of Cora’s clothes and you can sleep on that couch.” He tilted his head. “Any of questions?”
Her hand closed more tightly on the knife for a moment, muscles trembling. Worrying was the only thing that had kept her alive this long; constant, relentless focus on what she needed to /stay/ alive. Shelter. Protection. Food.
She forced herself to relax her hand, setting the knife down. After the moment of anger passed, she wrote, slowly, ‘things have been uncertain for a long time. I want to be certain. and I still don’t know your name.’