The heavy hand stirs, twitching, reaching and feeling the girl’s worn skin, covered in scars and cuts that have marred her cheeks for as long as she can remember. His eyes open, examining her face visually, seeing the true form of the injuries he feels with his fingertips. He doesn’t see any pain in her face, but he knows it is there. He traces a long slash that stretches down from her eye to her jaw, the skin surrounding it is tender, but there is no sign of healing at all.
After a moment running his finger along the cut, the heavy hand taps her cheek gently, hoping to wake her gently. She does not stir, so the heavy hand shakes her shoulder, causing her eyes to snap open. She sees him looking at her and sits up quickly, averting her gaze from his. She folds her arms over her chest and brings her knees in. His heavy hand supports him as he stands up and steps over to her. He offers her his heavy hand, but she declines and stands unaided.
She looks straight at him, trying to understand what he is doing and why, but as with every other attempt to read him, she is unable to make any sense of him.
“Where next?” she asks, tired of waiting to be shown where to go. He raises an eyebrow gestures to both doors.
“Where would you like?” he asks, his tone of concern is not entirely false. The girl walks right up to him and examines his face for signs of fakery. He leans down and catches her lips with his, causing her to step away in disgust. He smiles, more to himself than her. She scowls at him, striding over to the second door.
“Open it then.” She demands. His heavy hand just points at the handle, she tries it but it doesn’t move. She tries again, still no movement. “Open it!” she shouts, getting angry now. Still he points, which makes her kick the door out of frustration. It does not budge. She pounds her fists against it, before turning on him. He steps back, not wanting to be involved with her rage.
She tries to corner him but his heavy hand simply brushes her aside as he walks purposefully towards the door. He smiles, again to himself, and his heavy hand tries the handle. The door swings open, the girl stops and stares, hatred filling her eyes. He does not react. She walks towards the door and is halfway through before his heavy hand catches her wrist. She tries to shake him off, but he holds tight.
“I am in control.” He states, plainly, before releasing her.
She steps through.
The heavy hand closes the door behind her.