Christy sat on the sofa in a daze. All the lights around had been turned off, leaving only a hazy lamp that illuminated Christy who was hugging her knees and curling up.
This was what Trevor saw when he came out of the room. Eleven probably knew that it had done something wrong and turned to face the wall.
Trevor gently walked towards the sofa. He was still not used to shoes, so Christy carpeted the floor. Afraid that he would be cold steeping on it barefoot, she arranged the floor heating system.
"Finished?" Christy first saw his barefoot, then wiped her face and smiled at him.
Trevor stood in front of her, tall and thin. He was wearing a hood, looking gloomy and special in the darkroom. He was covered by loose clothes, like being hidden in a safe air sac. Only a pair of eyes were looking around.
Everyone was wrong. This was not self-seclusion.
This was self-protection.
The self-protection of Trevor.