Don't Touch Her

Chapter Fourteen

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We stood in line and waited as the cook handed us our breakfast. To those that were allowed it. Only a tiny biscuit and two fried eggs.

I wanted to gobble it down, my stomach rumbling. This meal being the first I had since yesterday morning, but I picked up my fork and ate slowly, as we were told to do.

Clara sat across from me. Thankfully, we were both allowed the privilege to eat today.

In that large gray and cold room, you could hear the other girls' heels, the ones that would not be eating, leaving the dining hall.

We never looked at them. We ate in silence. Forks dinging against plates, napkins placed in our laps, and elbows away from the table.

I looked across at Clara, she looked well-kept. Her hair was clean and combed, simple make-up on her face. She had turned fifteen and had been allowed the privilege to wear make-up now, as well as finally being able to start shaving her legs and other areas.

She looked different with the mascara on her eyelashes and the suble blush on her cheeks and nose, but she looked beautiful. I almost envied her, this privilege she now had. I wanted to expirement with make-up, to feel beautiful, to have clean shaven legs that felt so smooth.

"Clara," I whispered softly. She looked at me briefly and then the counselors at the front of the room as they ate.

"What?"

"I just wanted to say you look really pretty."
She looked at me and smiled, and then she lowered her head. "Thank you."

I nodded as we continued to eat.

Once our meal was finished, Sara tapped her cane on the floor loudly, and we all followed her quickly.

She assigned us to our groups with our chores. Clara had been moved up to the "working class," which is what they called it.

I had been assigned to Ethel, where we were to be in the garden today. Sara was almost always leading the working class.

Ethel led us outside. She had a straw sunhat and tiny shovels in a bucket for us.
The sun felt warm and inviting on my skin, like being rolled up in a warm blanket.

She gave us our shovels, and we began transplanting. The chatter was always louder out doors since we were the only ones of the other groups to work outside.

I liked planting. It was calming and comforting, and the warm sun on your back made you want to curl up in a ball and fall asleep.

Sometimes, Ethel let us. If we got done early, she would take us back behind the orphanage where the others couldn't see us and let us rest while she stayed awake to watch.

Other times when I couldn't fall asleep, which was quite often, I would sit beside Ethel and just talk.

She was a teacher before she worked at the orphanage. Sometimes, I would ask her questions about things, and she always explained in great detail and in a way that made sense.

"Are you married?" I had asked one evening. Ethel smiled and looked down, "no, I'm not married."

Ethel was young and pretty, she had a slim face and a small nose that always made me think of a bunny, and cheeks that were always pink.

"There was a man, though, when I was in college," she said. "He was tall and slim and just the nicest and kindest man you could ever meet," she swooned.

"We went on a couple of dates," she said, smiling, "and then he had asked me to marry him one day, but... I wasn't ready, so I had said no."

"But you didn't marry him when you were?" I asked.

She shook her head, smiling sadly, "he had died by the time I was." Her eyes grew teary, "brain tumor."

She sighed heavily, "we better go back. It's about time for your evening course."

She led us back and into the one classroom we had. She smiled at us softly as the other groups filed in. Sara was the only counselor allowed in this room after the days chores.

"Talking," she smacked her cane on the floor. "Is not allowed in the dining hall. I noticed a few of you whispering today." She walked around the room, in between the rows.

Panic started to set in. I stole a glance at Clara, who sat on the other side of the room. Though emotionless, her eyes were full of fear.

She came closer and stopped by my desk, and the next moment, her cane slapped against the desk on the other side of her.

"To the front," she said. A blonde headed girl named Krissa walked to the front, her eyes wide and starting to tear up. I felt guilty and thankful it wasn't me.

I stiffened, knowing what was coming.

Sara smacked her with her cane, over and over. Krissa would gasp, trying to hold back a scream. After the fifth one, Sara stopped and pointed to her desk.

"Violet."

I looked at her, and fear sank in.
"To the front," she said.

Slowly, I rose from my chair, glancing at Clara, and went to the front.
I turned around, facing away from her as Krissa did. Fear took hold of me. I closed my eyes, anticipating the smack of her cane and the pain that would follow.

Her cane landed on my shoulders, bringing me down to my knees as pain soared throughout. And she hit me again and again, to the point that I was lying on the floor.

After she had finished, she released the other girls, but Krissa and I were not to be allowed to eat that night.

Clara walked by me, tears in her eyes. I know she wanted to stop to make sure I was okay, but doing that would risk her getting hurt as well.

I lay on the floor as Sara left, trying to get up despite the pain and go back to my room for the night.