Vulnerable by Elise Pehrson

water for my eye!” Millie shouted.
                “Oh, I’ll help y’all out!” Brother Raymond said heading towards a cooler, where a bucket filled with waters was stacked together. He tossed them one.
                “Thanks,” Michael said as he caught it with one hand. He gave it to Millie, “Now don’t blink—flush it out as long as you can.” She nodded and did so.
                “So who won the war?” asked Michael.
                “I did!” shouted the chubby boy.
                “Figures…” Michael grumbled.
                “What?”
                “Congrats!”
                “Thanks!”
                “You’re good with kids,” Millie said while blinking out water. Michael scoffed.
                “Yeah, right.”
                She blinked a few more times and then looked up at him, “No, I mean it.”
                “I’m not good with kids; let alone teenaged kids.”
                Her face paled and she swallowed hard; her eyes made that distant look of shadowy loss that was too familiar to Michael. She stared off for a few seconds before replying, “You’re good with teenaged kids, Michael. I know people who weren’t good with kids; let alone teenaged kids.”
     

Chapter Ten
     
     
                The heavy evening air thickened as the sun kissed the horizon, beckoning them to return as it waved goodbye when they leapt into the silvery van. Michael knew that the air felt so heavy because of what Millie said to him. He felt it weighing on his chest, almost not permitting him to breathe. The secrets she kept caged inside of her heart must be more than she could bear, and Michael knew that it was more than his desire to help others that deepened the stabbing wound he felt pierce his stomach when cradled with the thought.
                He wished that he could have sat next to her on the way home, especially since she was silent for the rest of the day after she said those last few words to him. What could she be hiding? Something about her past… something with an adult… something evil .
                Michael’s desire to talk with Millie was getting severe and turned into literal physical pain.
                “Brother Michael, you don’t look so good,” said someone’s voice that he couldn’t make out over the dizziness spinning his mind around.
                Millie’s ear caught this statement, apparently, because she quickly pivoted around to check on Michael.
                “What’s wrong?” she asked. The weight on his chest felt a tinge lighter—the nausea was subsiding: she was talking to him… would it continue? He felt so immature, but he wanted to know. He needed to know. She needed to talk for herself, even if it wasn’t to him. Maybe in time… but maybe she didn't have time. Was that it? Where was she really over the two days before the trip? What was going on?
                “Michael?” she asked, becoming increasingly more worried. “Michael, what’s wrong?” Sweat was sliding down his face, neck, and back.
                “Can we pull over?” he asked.
                “Of course!” Millie said, relieved that he’d answered her, “Brother Raymond, can you pull over?” The car immediately pulled to a stop and Michael slid out, stumbling over his own feet before falling face-first onto a rocky dirt road.
                “Michael!” Millie’s voice rang out, singing a song of healing through his ears. “Michael! Are you all right? Was it something you ate?”
                He flopped over onto his back; his face was screwed around in pain. Millie hobbled over to him and landed hard on her knees as she knelt at his side. She stroked both sides of his face with her hands. The most worried expression made up the