Woman of Silk and Stone

by Mattie Dunman

  I kept quiet for the rest of the class, avoiding the teacher's eye as he continually sought me out after every question. By the time the period ended, I was actually glad to see Preston's blond locks outside the door and dashed to meet him before anyone else could corner me. Unfortunately, he misread my flight for eagerness and gave me his homespun grin, taking my arm in his in an old-fashioned gesture. I recoiled from his touch and yanked my arm away reflexively, feeling chagrined as I took in his stricken expression.

  Despite the gloves and long sleeves, the jeans and scarves, I was always terrified of touching. There was always the chance that somehow the protection of clothes would be breached and there would be that dreaded moment of skin on skin, when there would be no defense against the onslaught of information from which I could never escape. Since awakening from the accident four years ago, every instinct I had told me to avoid contact at all costs, never let anyone get close, and run if they did.