"Some things are worth touching with care."
The gentle voice, the soft touch. She couldn’t imagine him touching anything in anger. But her anger raged and boiled and bubbled, threatening to spill out at any moment and wreak havoc on the world. He told her she could feel it. That it was okay. That it was safe. She believed that he believed it. How could he not? He saw the world through soft eyes with hands that did things other than hurt. She was sure there was no way he could fathom breaking something–or someone– just to watch them break. Would those soft eyes find harshness if he knew? She could stand the look, she’d seen it a thousand times before. Could she stand to be the cause of it in those eyes?
It felt good, she thought, to pretend this time. To pretend that she could be a person who touches things with care. A builder, not a breaker. A lover, not a fighter. Maybe this was what Nel meant? The pretending gets easier…feels more real, less like a lie.
But it was a lie, wasn't it? Childish make-believe, furniture in doll houses. Like the last time the world felt easy. The last time it felt safe.
Could she have a corner of the world where she could pretend that life was easy? Where she could pretend she was the sort of person to touch the world with care?
Sometimes, she thought, sometimes she touched the world with care. Just for a moment. Maybe it's like Cardinal said. Maybe it just took practice. And a bit of childish make-believe.