I get it. It’s too much for her. She’s not used to normal food or eating at a table with someone else. Her stomach’s probably weak from not getting enough food.
"Eat slow," I tell her. "You don’t have to finish it."
Her eyes lower then flicker back up, surprise flashing across her face. She watches me for a second longer before lowering her head and taking a small bite of eggs.
"How's your foot?" I ask, when she pauses.
"Hurts."
“I'll change the bandage after you eat."
She nods and keeps eating. I watch for another moment before speaking again. "Last night you said my name when you thanked me, but I never told you.”
“Saw you,” she admits.
"You saw me? In a vision?"
She nods again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"When?"
She opens her mouth, closes it, then raises one finger and makes a small motion like she’s writing. I grab a pen and notepad from the kitchen and slide them across the table.
She writes.
Not visions. I call them reading. I never read your father. Only other people. I didn’t know who you were. Last week your father showed me your picture. He asked about you for the first time.
Fuck.
"What did you tell him?"
Itold him you weren't plotting against him.
“But I am"
She looks me dead in the eyes and pushes the notepad closer.
I know.I lied.
"Why?"
She pauses, writing slower.
I don't know. Instinct.
Interesting.
"What else did you see about me?"
Not much. Your father hates you. He watches you and he doesn’t trust you.
"He’s right. He shouldn’t trust me."
She frowns, giving me a side-ways glance.
It’s worse now.
"It’s always been worse."
