Saving Ella by Kirsty Dallas Page A

shook.
                  “Not since I was ten.” I glanced at her. She looked sad, another glimpse at the real Ella.
                  “Your mother?” I gently nudged her into conversation. Her eyes flared for a moment with silent fury, interesting.
                  “No. My mother didn’t do things like that.” Had her mother been the one to hurt her? I knew not to push, she needed to tell me things in her own time.
                  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s been a long time since someone made me lunch too. And it’s nothing to get excited over. It’s just a sandwich, muffin and an apple. I didn’t have to cook a single thing, so you should be safe.” Her frown disappeared with a shy smile as she leaned against the counter, holding her mug of coffee in a death grip as if worried someone might try and take it from her.
                  “Toast, with jam,” she muttered. I quickly put two pieces of bread in the toaster. I thought it best to keep the conversation light, easy.
                  “You are quite an artist. Ever think about doing something more with that?” She got that whimsical faraway look and smiled. This was good, a topic she liked to talk about.
                  “I love to sketch, portraits and landscapes especially.” She blushed at her confession.
                  “You’ve never thought about going to university to study, maybe trying to pick up work in a gallery?” She looked at me like I’d grown an extra head. “It’s not impossible you do have options.” She shook her head.              
                  “It’s not in my future anymore. In fact I am very careful not to think about the future at all. My plans usually don’t stretch beyond a few days. What I need to do to stay safe, having somewhere to sleep. My life is about survival now, not fancy dreams of art.” She was so matter of fact about it but there was no missing the disappointment in her words.
                  “You’re not safe here in Claymont?” I asked. She shrugged and emptied what was left in her mug into the sink and washed her plate.
                  “Thanks for this,” she held up the last bite of her toast. “And this,” she grabbed the lunch I had prepared for her and pushed it into her backpack.
                  “Not a problem, just make sure you eat it. You don’t need to faint to get me to fuss over you.” She blushed and I pretended not to notice as she quietly snuck away.
                  “Jax, come take a look at this.” Mercy called from the doorway a few minutes later. I followed her down the hallway and into her office where she promptly shoved a piece of paper in my face. It was a receipt for the electricity I had paid two days earlier. I shrugged.
                  “Uh-huh. And?” I knew she would be pissed that I had paid the bill, but I also knew the shelter struggled to make ends meet and relied heavily on donations.
                  “Jax, I don’t need handouts.” I laughed and threw the bill back down on top of the crazy-ass clutter that Mercy called an organized mess.
                  “Mercy’s Shelter survives on handouts, don’t be petty.” She scoffed and looked away.
                  “My son shouldn’t be paying my bills. The shelter is mine. I started it; it’s my job to keep it running.” Stubborn woman.
                  “Yeah well, consider it a donation from Carter Constructions.”
                  “Carter Constructions has already given several hefty donations this year. It’s a small company and I’m sure they can’t afford to make another one.” I shook my head. My company was doing more than alright. It was making a comfortable profit and I hardly had to stick my head in the door. I could knock