Thread: Such A Nonsensical Thing, Little Girls (PocketFullOfPosies)

That night Simon hadn't found his sleep right away. Too furious from the events of the day, too aggravated by the painful throbbing of his cut up wrists, too thoughtful of what he would do next to correct her. Not too guilty though. Such a thing never even entered into his mind. And so when the first three finally subsided, when he was too tired to think, too exhausted to notice the pain, and too quiet for the anger to linger, he slept, and he slept very well. The next morning he was awoken by a maid whom, upon seeing broken pieces of a vase she usually cleaned and specks of blood along a floor she was used to scrubbing, came to his bedroom in a panic. Simon brushed the topic off tiredly dismissively, even if he hadn't been. There was an incident, is all he would say. Draw me a bath. At breakfast the good doctor patiently waited for Lydia to arrive, dressed in a relaxed long sleeve burgundy shirt with similar brown trousers and shoes. His hair was neat. His face and neck were freshly shaven. His wrists were each bound by several layers of gauze which he made no effort to hide, they mostly white. When Lydia arrived at the table Simon simply smiled and wished her a good morning, and, having received no response, gave no further effort at conversation after that. He sipped at his tea. He ate his bagel. His eggs were fluffy and moist, quite perfect really, and the smell of the sausage before it even came out of the kitchen had a little smile at the edges of his lips. At noticing the pouting little brat across the table and how she made a point of not eating at all, he in turn made a point of eating extra, stuffing himself full if only to rub it in, even calling the cook over to the table to compliment the woman on such a marvelous morning spread. When breakfast was concluded and Lydia left without a word Simon remained seated there with a bit of a smug grin to him. He wasn't happy about this exactly, but he had remained in control of his emotions while all she could do was pout. There was a sense of victory to that, even if it wasn't a victory to be particularly proud of, that of both physically and emotionally dominating a teenage girl. He relished that moment after breakfast anyway, privately, smiling to himself. Soon he would have to begin his work for the day, but right at that second he could relax at the table, enjoying the last of the breakfast tea as he simply savored it. That was, until one of the maids came to him with a hesitant voice, a crude lipstick drawing held nervously at her side. It was... unsettling, to say the least. Simon dismissed the woman, sent her away so he could observe Lydia's... artwork, by himself. Fingers closed into a palm and that calm fist rose to rest against his lips. He breathed in. He breathed out. So he was a monster to her? ...Fine. Fine, then he would be a monster. Professionally, he was willing to. Dr.Burke was known for undertaking personal sacrifice if need be to ensure the wellness of his patients. But... but no sooner had he resolved to be that monster she drew him as, sneering at the picture, his anger very much a defense mechanism, than he started to falter. And started to think. He could be that if he were only a doctor, if she were only another patient, but as an uncle... Nine years was not so long ago to him. Simon's stern features faltered. His hand began to shake just slightly as he moved to set he picture on the table, face down. His other palm spread its fingers as it pressed up to cover his face, as if he were only sighing against his hand and nothing more. As a doctor, sure. But as an uncle he still remembered a time when she loved him dearly. Again, all he could do was breathe. His hand eventually drew down to cover only his mouth and nose, Simon's eyes scanning the room. It had gone quiet. A pleasant smell still lingered in the air but breakfast was finished, he was alone in the room, and everything had gone quiet. Simon simply exhaled against his hand, deep in thought. Eleanor? he called out after some time. Yes, sir? came the response. It wasn't very loud, but a second later she appeared through the kitchen doors, eyes attentive, a soiled towel draped over one arm. Are there any of those lemon tarts still around from yesterday? Um... yes, sir, I believe there is two or three still. Are they still fresh? Fresh enough, I would think. Excellent. Wrap them in a handkerchief for me? It didn't take very long to find Lydia at all. She was unmistakable around the place, sticking out like a sore thumb one need only ask a servant where she had run off to and be pointed in the right direction. The flower patch out by the long, shallow pool at the head of the estate came as no surprise as something that would attract little girls. When Simon descended the wide steps a the front of the house, shoes setting upon gravel, his first sight of his niece from behind brought a hard pang to the very core of his chest. A wince accompanied it, sharp and expected. Taking a breath, he approached her from behind quietly, taking care to not necessarily sneak, but to not make too much noise with his steps, not wanting to scare her away. The gravel behind him now and his feet setting upon the dirt, Simon took several more light steps until he was right up behind her, standing in the flower bed itself. He searched for the words, even wet his tongue, looking down at that head of gold from behind. He paused at length. He thought. He considered. But anything that came to mind was cast aside in favor of simply taking those last few small steps up behind her, of dropping to his knees in the bed and of placing his palms lightly upon her shoulders. Lydia, he breathed out softly, fingers rubbing back and forth in small circles upon her shoulders. Simon's gaze cast down. Then his eyes closed entirely. Leaning forward, he hunched just a little bit over her, the hands on her shoulders evolving to arms, encircling her collarbone in the gentlest of hugs. He even nuzzled against her, first at her hair to brush the thick curls aside with his nose, then his right cheek against her left, finishing up with a whisper and a kiss. I remember... a time, he breathed, before you ever hated me, when you could not wait to search through my pockets.