When he accepted the bowl but held it only, Ariel tilted her head. Was he not hungry? Did he not find the color of the fruit as tempting as she did? He was so curious and different. It was strangly refreshing though she couldn't place as to why. She didn't have the words to form an answer.
The pads of his fingers trailed over her hair and her eyes lifted up to watch his fingers push at the strands. Her own fingers moved to set the half-consumed berry into the sink for later, and she wiped her moist hand on the denim of her shorts. They could be washed, her fingers were wet and sticky and she needed them clean.
After he spoke, Ariel lifted her arms, curled them around his torso as best she could and held on to him. She shook her head. It wasn't James' fault. It was hers. It was hers. She had something another person wanted and she tried to understand why. Why he had taken her, why he had hurt her, that man. But her understanding of such things was limited. For the most part her human experiences had been good, there had been a few painful instances but she liked people.
Pulling back from the embrace, Ariel left her arms around him loosely and looked up, "It's not your fault." Finally, words.