“Jenny.”

I love the way you say my name. 

“Jenny?”

I lift my head up from where it’s resting against the window and turn it so that I can look at you.  You’ve got that worried look on your face again.  I hate it that I’ve made you so afraid of leaving me alone with my own thoughts.  As if you know about the monsters and are trying to keep me away from them.  “Yeah?”

“So you’ll call me, right?  When you get there?” You ask, hooded eyes darting away from mine to look at the road for a moment. 

“Yeah, I will,” I say, nodding slowly.  I smile, trying to get you to smile, to make that worried look go away.  You do smile, but it’s not the smile that I love to see. Your concern for me has contaminated that, too.  Infected it.  I wonder if you’ll always look at me this way from now on.  I hope not.  “Hey.  I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know,” you say quietly.  “You are.  You are gonna be okay.”  You’re saying it to reassure yourself just as much as you are to reassure me.  I really did scare you.

“I am,” I say, feeling laughter stirring in my chest.  It escapes and I cover my mouth with my hand. 

“What?” You ask, glancing over at me, a curious glint in your eye.  You let out an uneasy chuckle.  “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” I say, after I’ve let my hand fall back into my lap.  I twist my fingers together, trying to ignore the nagging sting of the bandaged cuts on my thighs.  I remember your hands, that day… shaking… as you pressed a towel to the cuts.  You’re the kind of woman who mends broken birds’ wings.  You have such patience and compassion inside you.  It’s one of the reasons I love you so much. 

“Promise me you’ll call if you need anything?”

“I promise,” I reply and draw a cross over my heart with my fingertip.  I lace my fingers together in my lap and bow my head.  My hair is conspicuous, for once, by its absence.  I miss it.  I miss the shelter it could give me when I wanted it to.  I reach up and run my fingers through my bangs.  “I wish you could have cut my hair for me again before I left,” I say softly, sadly tugging at the strands.  “It’ll be a ***** mess by the time I get back.”