Here is the second part of Chapter 37, since the first was so short. There aren't many chapters left! Hope you all are enjoying :) I think my last chapters will be long, and hopefully won't be uploaded with too much time in between. Enjoy!

________________________________

The sound of silverware falling against a glass plate startles me, and I look up from my own. My father collects his fork that now lies on the table beside his dish, avoiding eye contact while his cheeks flush and my mother begins to speak.

“Stella, why would you have let him get you alone like that? You know he isn’t logical; he’s capable of anything! One second, that’s all it would take, and he could seriously hurt you – he could’ve taken you, even!”

“Mom, he was never planning to kidnap me. Do you remember anything about Jason Little? Anything that involves planning or strategy can be safely kept on the list of things that he’s incapable of.”

“Stella, this isn’t a joke,” my father pipes, softly, but intently, “You can’t underestimate that boy based on his wit. If he were smart, he wouldn’t have treated you badly in the first place, but he did. His stupidity didn’t make him any less of a danger then, and it’s not going to now.”

“He’s right, Stella. You just need to be careful. Not only you, and not only with Jason, a bit of caution never hurt,” my mother concludes before reaching for her water glass.

She always tries to soften her advice by reminding me that “everyone” should be more wary, and that “everyone” has that particular fear that burdens them more than the rest – I guess sometimes it made me feel better, like I was a little less alone in what happened to me. Too many times though, it just made me feel selfish because if everyone is afraid, and everyone feels alone, then I guess the time I spend fretting over who could possibly threaten me next could be better spent helping someone else.

My preoccupation with my parents has kept me from noticing Charlie’s reaction to their words. He sits stiffly beside me, his cheeks slightly red like my fathers, and his hands moving nervously in his lap.

“I – I won’t let her go off by herself again. And now I know what he looks like, I’ll make sure he’s never around. I’ll keep –”

“Oh, stop,” my mother comforts, “We don’t you expect you to be her body guard. I appreciate your concern, of course, but Stella would kill me if I let you leave this table feeling like we’d laid a burden of responsibility on you.”

She offers a genuine, yet animated smile at Charlie while I try to think of something sarcastic to say, but fall short because my mind is consumed with the notion that that I should, and do, feel endlessly guilty. So, I just start apologizing – ripping band-aids off one after another, because maybe I can’t save myself by making light of the situation, but I can try to save the people I love by reminding them that it’s really my fault anyway, that I’m to blame, and that I’m sorry.

“She’s right, Charlie. I’m not your responsibility at all; I never want you to feel that way. I’m sorry that you even have to deal with someone like him even indirectly. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell either of you all of the details about Jason’s visits,” I face my parents again, “I know you guys have dealt with so much already, and I just feel bad that you still have to worry about him being around me.”

“Well it is our job to worry,” my mother says, scooting her chair away from the table and standing. She takes her own dishes and makes her way back to the kitchen. “No one rush, I’ll just get a head start on cleaning up.”

“So, Charlie, you’re from Georgia, right? Stella told us you went to Atlanta recently to train.” My father begins to make small talk with Charlie, and I’m so thankful. When my mother returns, she sits down again and joins into the conversation.

I hear only bits of the conversation at first, all seemingly the sort of comfortable small talk that occurs between people trying to get to know one another. Meanwhile, I continue to worry about how my issues nearly ruined the night and wonder if I sounded apathetic in my apologies. I tune into the conversation again when I hear Charlie’s aunt and uncle being mentioned.

“You lived with them as a child, right? Are you their only child – your aunt and uncle’s, I mean?”

“I am. They always wanted kids – more kids, I guess, but they couldn’t. They’re great people, both teachers. Jack, he’s my uncle, he’s actually a professor at a local college.”

Charlie stops suddenly, as if he’s thrown himself in from of a verbal roadblock by merely the mention of higher education.

“And your aunt? Does she still teach?” my dad questions.

“She does,” Charlie collects himself quickly, “She teaches middle school.”

“Must have a lot of patience.”

“She does,” Charlie smiles, looking down at his hands nostalgically.

Charlie thanks my parents for the meal five times before dinner’s end. My parents insist that he not help with any post-dinner cleaning, and I avoid offering, telling my parents that, “he could very easily get lost in the house without me while I’m rinsing a plate, and it just isn’t worth it.”

So, Charlie and I retire to my room, and on the way up stairs, I promise him that we can do more tomorrow, confessing that I’m exhausted.

“I’m tired too. Besides, you don’t need to entertain me. I just like being here.”

When we reach the top of the staircase and I start towards my bathroom, Charlie lightly catches my hand with his, causing me to turn back to him.

“Hey, I’m sorry that I mentioned the bathroom scene to your parents. I didn’t mean to rat you out, but I felt dishonest.”

He rubs my palm between his fingers and his thumb and glances between our hands and my eyes.

“Well we wouldn’t want you feeling dishonest. Never mind anyone else’s consequences from your confessions.”

He frowns at me worriedly and I laugh, “I’m only joking. It’s fine, really. You’re right, it wouldn’t have been very honest to have left the table with any secrets,” I mock, biting my lip and turning away again.

“I’m going to wash my face and wait to shower until the morning. Make yourself comfortable,” I tell Charlie. He follows me into the bathroom only a minute later, and I can tell that there’s something weighing on his mind. His brow is furrowed and he fumbles with his toothbrush, dropping half of the plastic, travel holder upon opening it.

“Here,” I say, bending down to retrieve the container piece and then placing it back into his open palm.

We both quietly finish getting ready for bed, and I avoid asking if he’s alright. I want him to feel okay about telling me things, even when I don’t ask.

When we’re finally lying in my bed, and I go to turn off the lamp, he speaks.

“Are you sure it isn’t awkward that I’m sleeping in your room?”

“Actually, now that you’re in here – I wasn’t going to say anything – but it’s a little uncomfortable. Feel free to take one of my spare pillows into the bathtub with you.”

“Oh, I was actually thinking you’d be the one to sleep in the bathtub. Isn’t it the hostess whose supposed to be the self-sacrificing one?”

I giggle, happy that he’s comfortable again.

Surely that wasn’t all that was on his mind, I think to myself.

“Stella?” He says my name calmly, sweetly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you really not think you’re… my responsibility – that it isn’t my job to keep you safe, not at all?”

I scoot closer to Charlie, and he wraps his arms around me.

“I don’t know,” I say, “I mean, I like how you make me feel safe. And I do feel safe around you, but I don’t want to be that kind of burden to anyone, you know that.”

“You’ll always say that, won’t you? In the same way that I don’t like you worrying over me, you’ll never let me protect you, not fully.”

“Or maybe one day I just won’t need to be protected anymore.”

“Well I’ll still try,” he whispers, “even then.”