Chapter Six: The Girl that was not Quite Tessa

The snow had begun to fall in earnest long before Tessa reached the first streetside motel she could find, somewhere down Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard. Though not a large dog, the weight of Pickles on one shoulder and the pack on the other, combined with the whipping of the freezing wind had her trudging along tiredly. The new jacket was dusted with a light covering of snow and the boots had already proven their worth, keeping her feet warm and dry, in bitter contrast to her hands and face.

The motel was a typical drive-in affair, a single-story sprawl of small, cheap rooms that was sorely in need of paint and a patched parking lot. Tessa had no complaint. Anywhere, she knew from past experience, was better than spending the night in a New York snowstorm. She approached the man at the desk, who watched a battered old TV, half-dozing, with his feet on the desk.

"Help you?" he asked, without getting up.

"I'd like a room," Tessa said.

The man eyed her over and then shook his head.

"We don't allow pets," he said.

"Please," Tessa pleaded, "I don't have anywhere. I'll pay extra. Just one night."

He pointed to a sign that stated, "No Pets Allowed," and shook his head again.

Tessa looked around the empty lobby.

"Maybe I can do... I can do something else for you?" she asked.

The man considered her, looking her up and down again.

"Undo that coat," he said gruffly.

Tessa set Pickles on the floor and unzipped the jacket, opening it. The man stared at her breasts under the thin, worn shirt.

"It'll be $300," he said, "and I'll stop by the room after my shift in an hour."

"The sign says $89," Tessa protested.

"The other sign says no pets," he reminded her.

Tessa nodded and rooted in the backpack, coming up with the cash. The man eased himself out of his chair and typed at an old computer.

"I'll need an ID," he said.

"I don't have one," Tessa said, despairingly.

"How old are you?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

"Nineteen," she replied.

He grunted and said, "I have to have an ID."

"Please," she begged again, "I'll do whatever you want. Just... I can't take my dog back out there. Not tonight."

"$400," the man stated.

Tessa reached back into the bag and gave him the money. He handed her a key.

"See you in an hour," he said, grinning.

***

The room was clean, if old, with a large, framed photo of the Brooklyn Bridge over the East River. Two mismatched table lamps sat on either of the side tables, next to the bed, which was covered by a horrendous bedspread in some sort of paisley pattern. Tessa set Pickles down next to the bed and retrieved a small metal bowl from the pack, filling it in the bathroom sink and offering it to the dog. He lapped at it tiredly.

She broke off a quarter of one of the sandwiches, left him with it, and then showered. Wrapped in a towel, she broke open the package of new cotton tees and put one on. Otherwise nude, she laid on the bed to wait for the arrival of the man. She dozed, mentally putting Tessa away in that dark, but safe place where she belonged when it was time to do what she'd been trained for.

In the dim light of the lamps, she touched herself, caressing the smoothness of her pussy mound, waiting, getting hotter as her mind turned toward providing pleasure. She played the words in her head, the words from the dark that were always there, deep, masculine, commanding. Slut. Fuck toy. Whore. The words brought the memories of sensation, a mixture of pain doled out along with pleasure.

The memories had images, faces, but those weren't important. The faces belonged to Tessa, and right now Tessa was safely locked away, where she didn't have to fuck. But Tessa remembered the faces, while the girl that fucked remembered only the sensations, the words, the pleasure and the pain. A whip cracked, searing flesh, drawing blood, then a spike of insane pleasure accompanied it a second later, just a memory, but a vivid one that brought forth the wetness, the arousal.

A light knock on the door brought her to her feet and she opened it to find the man, as expected. She held the door open for him. Wordlessly, he shut it, locked it, and began to remove his clothes. He was fitter than she'd imagined him to be, solid and muscular.

"You clean up pretty good," he said, his eyes appraising her body, wandering from the stray lock of dark hair over one eye, down past her breasts, and settling between her legs.

The girl that was not quite Tessa sank to her knees in front of him, palms flattening against his thighs, caressing them lovingly, the amber of her eyes nearly black in the dim light.

"Is this what you like, Sir?" she asked.

The man blinked, surprised, but he nodded, taking his half-hard cock in his hand and putting the tip to her lips. Tessa opened her mouth and let him push the head of his cock into it, then trembled as his big hand rested firmly on her head, fingers snaking through her curls. Her pussy gushed wetly when the grip tightened, and he eased the length of his prick into her mouth with a deep growl of satisfaction.

Tessa submitted to his thrusts, the heat growing inside of her as the man pumped his rigid stalk between her lips. Her fingers played between her legs, and she moaned, looking up at him, lips stretched about his girth. He looked back down on her, towering dominantly, dark eyes uncaring. He pushed his cock to the base, nestling her lips against his crotch and grunting with approval when she didn't so much as gag. Repeating the motion, he gripped her hair and pulled her head back, only to slide his full length back into her roughly.

This time she glurked, but still didn't choke. Well-trained, she never broke eye contact, letting him watch the haze of arousal at this treatment gloss over her eyes. This was where she belonged, the training told her, this was her place, where she was useful and where she should feel pleasure. She felt it, but also a stab of misery from Tessa in her dark place. It was fleeting, though, and when the man hauled her to her feet and pushed her back onto the bed, the surge of pleasure returned.

His fingers found her pussy, warm and wet, coated in her nectar and ready for him. A slut should always be ready, she remembered. The man pushed two of his fingers into her, pumped them roughly, and then put them to his mouth.

"You're a wet little thing," he said.

"A good slut is always wet," she hissed.

The man chuckled again and spread her legs wider, settled himself on his knees, then pushed the throbbing head of his cock into her. His crown parted her wet lips easily, making her body jerk as she gasped. One of his hands grasped her leg, just behind the knee, while the other lay flat against her belly, pushing her shirt up to her breasts. The length of his jerking shaft burrowed more deeply, inch after inch of it sliding into her warmth. The grip of her pussy walls made his cock jerk and his body shudder as his breathing quickened.

Tessa slowly worked her hips, humping his cock as her mouth opened in a low, throaty moan. His hand on her belly slid the shirt over her breasts, latched onto one of them and squeezed it. Tessa's hand came up and held onto his arm as she continued to moan for him and hump his cock, showing her eagerness to please, to be good for him.

"Fuck me," she breathed.

The man obliged, meeting her thrusts with his own, losing himself in the serpentine motion of her body and the excited gleam in her eyes. She was panting now, breath coming in small huffs as he took her, issuing hard, sharp thrusts and equally sharp grunts. His hand moved from her breast to grip the back of her neck, and she flinched as his fingers brushed the scar there, a memory of a sound, the click of a lock, the feel of cold leather on her skin, coming unbidden at the feeling of his touch.

The memory faded, swallowed up in the dark place where Tessa waited, as the approach of a building orgasm worked up her body. The pace of the man's thrusting increased, became rapid, hammering into her hard now, making her breasts jiggle as the wet slap of flesh against flesh made her eyes roll back. Her body shook, the grip on his arm tightening, her breath drawing in. She felt a bead of sweat drip onto her naked tummy and the man giving a groan, and then she hit her peak.

"Huh!" she cried, once, shivered, then was overtaken with the bright flash of sensation.

The man grunted and pulled his cock free of her, splashing her mound, her belly, with a hot spray of cum that was quickly followed by a second, then a weak third. Her body continued to tremble as he held her a moment longer. Gradually, he released his hold and climbed off of the bed, pulling on his clothes, his face flushed.

"Thanks," he said, and then let himself out.

She rose from the bed and wiped the remains of his ejaculation from her belly, her pussy mound, then showered again. As the spray pelted her body, washing away the cold bit of cum and her own arousal, the girl swapped places and was Tessa once more. Cleaned, now, Tessa returned to the bed. Pickles looked up, wagging his tail. She pulled back the covers, picked up the dog, and put him into the bed, covering both of them with the blanket. Pickles gave a contented sigh and was soon asleep. Tessa's slumber did not come as quickly.

Chapter Seven: The Unexpected Visit

"Who is she?" Aaron asked, looking over the spread photos on his desk.

"Honestly," said Kelso, "I wish I could tell you."

Aaron whistled, picking up a photo of a smiling Tessa on the Seaglass Carousel. The girl's smile choked him up just looking at it. A dark curl dangled cutely over one eye, and the little wave in the camera's direction was utterly adorable. The photo encapsulated the joy of New York on an autumn afternoon, as though the girl had not a worry in her life.

"How much do you want for them?" Aaron asked.

Kelso shook his head, saying, "Not these. I just... I needed someone else to see them, to tell me I'm not crazy for thinking they're special. I do that, you know, get lost in the moments."

Aaron nodded, answering, "No, you aren't crazy. This girl's got a look about her. And this one," he picked up the first photo Kelso had taken, showing Tessa and Pickles by the bridge, "Jesus. The look. I don't know if I've ever seen something that sad."

Kelso nodded agreement, saying, "I just wanted to put her in your head. I've got an idea forming about these, but I'm really hoping I can get more."

"I hope you do. I can think of a dozen spots I'd use her in right now," Aaron said.

"Thanks," Kelso said, gathering the photos, "I'll be in touch again."

They shook hands and Kelso left the office.

***

The light dusting of snow covered the cityscape as Kelso trudged through the bitter wind, his thoughts on Tessa. Despite being tired from the previous day's excursion, he'd found it difficult to sleep. One day with the street girl, otherwise a total stranger, and his head was a jumble of worry over her. Why? Tessa was rude, mistrustful and flighty. He supposed, though, that she had every reason to be.

He ran through the photos in his head as he walked, going over the range of emotions he'd seen, pairing them with the few words he'd been able to pry out of her. Then, there were the scars. There was a story there, he knew, and it wasn't a happy one. Blessed by his talent and work, Kelso had been to many places and met all kinds of people. He'd spent days in impoverished countries and attended lavish, upper-crust galas. He'd taken photos of people in nearly every conceivable state of being, from athletic competition to doing menial, everyday tasks, and even stints into erotic photography.

Kelso had shot for fashion shows, magazines, newspapers and interviews. His transient nature left him little in the way of solid, personal relationships, though he had colleagues and some few of those he considered friends. None of these people, though, did he ever feel worry over. They were little cogs, like him, performing their function and playing their role. The street girl, though, was something else entirely.

Never having been married and with no children of his own, Kelso didn't know from first-hand experience what it was like to fret over a child. That was how he felt now, though. Ever since the incident in the park, the girl hadn't left his thoughts. Where was she? Was she safe? How did she fare in the sudden snowstorm?

The answer came as he arrived at the doorstep to his apartment building, where he found Tessa with Pickles in her lap, sitting on the steps. She sat up at the sight of him and he saw a flicker of... hope, maybe, pass quickly over her face.

"Good morning," Kelso said, raising a gloved hand, "You okay?"

Tessa looked embarrassed as she said, "They... they closed off the place... where I stay. I had to spend some of the money on a motel, but Pickles is really cold and I... I didn't know where else to go."

"Do you want to come in?" he asked, indicating the building.

"Maybe just to warm up? You can have the rest of the money back."

He shook his head, "That's yours. You earned it."

Kelso nodded and punched a code into the door. It clicked and he held it open for her. In the lobby, he waved to a man at the desk, who nodded his way. Kelso pushed the button on the elevator, and they waited in silence. More silence followed as they rode up to his floor. Finally, he let them into his apartment.

Tessa stood in the entryway, unwilling to come any further. She did set the dog down, though, and Pickles began to sniff about the place curiously.

"Come on in," Kelso said, "Can I take your coat?"

Tessa shook her head and took a tentative step inside, looking around at the numerous photos on the walls.

"Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee? Cocoa?"

"What's a cocoa?" she asked.

Kelso blinked. What teenage girl didn't know what cocoa was?

"Hot chocolate," he said, "You're telling me you've never had hot chocolate?"

She shook her head and began to walk about the main room, looking at the photos.

"Well, then I consider it my duty to introduce you," he said, and set about heating some cocoa in the kitchenette, watching Tessa take in the photos.

"Where is this?" Tessa asked, pointing to a photo.

Kelso walked over to look at the photo. He didn't need to, as he knew every one of them, but he felt like he should be part of the moment.

"That's in West Africa," he said, "I did a safari shoot for some rich guy. Paid well and it was fun. That's the guy," he said, pointing out a man in a safari hat, on the back of an elephant.

"You go to a lot of places," she remarked, continuing her perusal.

"I get around," Kelso agreed, "One of the perks of doing a good job, I guess."

He returned to the kitchenette and poured two mugs of hot chocolate, returned, and handed one to Tessa.

"What about this one?" she asked, pointing to another photo.

"Las Vegas," he said, "Some big casino opening. I covered it for a website and then did a little gambling. Not really my thing. I didn't win much."

She sipped at the cocoa, her eyes widening, sipped again.

"Good?" he asked.

She nodded and continued making the circuit of the small room. Kelso watched her curiously as she approached one of his latest additions.

"That one is me," she said, "and Pickles."

It was the first photo he'd taken, printed off and framed on the coffee table, where he'd looked at it many times already. He nodded.

"How come it's by itself?" she asked, "all the others have lots of pictures together."

Observant, he thought, and said, "Those ones are collages. They're just certain moments that I found interesting. They're better than some, not as good as others. This one, though," he picked up the photo, "Doing what I do, you get a lot of good moments. You even get some great ones. Rarely, if ever, do you get a perfect one. This one was one of those."

Tessa studied the photo intently, her eyes darting to every corner.

"I like it," she said, "It looks like me."

"It is you," he said.

"I know," she said, "It's me in the picture, but I didn't mean that. I mean the whole thing, the bridge, the fog, Pickles, the... the way it feels. It looks like me."

The observation, though he couldn't say why, made his throat tighten and his eyes water. It was exactly how he wanted it to feel. When that photo, finally, made its way into the world, he wanted other people to see it and for them to know what that moment was. It was not the bridge or the fog, and it wasn't even the girl.

It was the way that the image captured, in that one fraction of a shutter click, exactly how the girl in the photo felt. That was what made the photo perfect. It was an image that conveyed a precise emotion, and the entirety of the emotion and the image was Tessa. Everyone who looked at it would feel her, they'd feel what she felt, and they'd know her.

"Thank you," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you understood."

She sipped at the cocoa and set the photo down. Pickles took up a spot near the heater and curled up.

"How come you're nice?" Tessa asked, her amber eyes watching him over the rim of her mug.

"I don't know," he said, caught a bit off guard, "Is there some reason for me to be otherwise?"

She shrugged.

"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked.

Kelso chuckled and shook his head.

"No," he said, "and you can stop asking. The answer is going to be the same."

"You don't think I'm pretty?"

He furrowed his brows and replied, "I do think you're pretty. That doesn't have anything to do with it."

She sat on his couch and pulled one of the photo albums off of the coffee table, flipping open the cover and carefully studying each picture.

"Are you going away again?" she asked, without looking up.

Kelso sat next to her.

"As a matter of fact, I am. The day after tomorrow. I've got a job to do in California. I'll be out there for a few days."

"Oh," she said, "I should probably go. I liked the cocoa."

She handed him the mug and made to stand.

"Just hold on a second," he said, "I didn't mean you had to leave. Just... take it easy. You can hang out here as long as you like. It's too goddamn cold out there. Where would you go anyway?"

"I need to find another place to stay. Could I leave Pickles for a little while, while I look?"

"Why don't you take the day off from that and just stay here. I don't mind. Honestly, I was just going to take it easy myself, maybe touch up a few photos and get some stuff ready for the trip. There's more cocoa."

That brought out, for a second, the heart-melting smile he'd seen on the carousel.

"You're sure?" she said, uncertainly.

"Of course."

He took the mug and filled it for her again, brought it back.

"Where's California?" she asked.

"Um, it's on the other side of the country. I'll be flying. Do you want to come?"

"To California?" she asked.

"Sure. I mean, I know you've got a pretty busy schedule, but if you want to see somewhere new, I think you'd have fun."

"I've never flown on a plane. What about Pickles?" she asked.

He grinned and said, "First, flying is pretty easy. It's nothing to worry about. Second, we're traveling in style. We'll be hitching a ride out with one of the execs for a company I do some work for, and they have their own plane. I don't think Pickles will be a problem. What do you say?"

Tessa shrugged. Kelso supposed it was the best he could hope for.

***

"What about this one?" Tessa asked.

Kelso lost count, throughout the day, of how many times he'd heard this question. He told her the story of the photo, and he started at the beginning. Nearly the entirety of the day had been this. Sitting on the couch, Tessa combed through the many photo albums Kelso had accumulated. After she had devoured the one on the coffee table, he'd been forced to retrieve more of them from his archive.

The first time the question had come, he'd tried to tell her about the shot, but she'd stopped him.

"No," she said, "the story. You have to start a story from the beginning."

And so, he'd started at the beginning. Every time. The experience was a long trip through a lot of memories, and he found himself greatly enjoying the retelling. He showed Tessa articles and books he'd done, each of them accompanied by a story about the experience.

They took Pickles out at lunchtime, walking a couple of blocks to have lunch, and then returning to the apartment, where Tessa resumed going through the photo albums. As he told her the stories of the images, he watched her eyes move across each one, listening to his words, seeing the story in the photo.

They took Pickles out again and went for dinner, stopping on the way back to get the girl a pair of gloves and a hat. As they strolled back to the apartment, he was surprised when she held his hand and gave him a quick, shy, sort-of smile and said, "Kelso? Thanks," to which he nodded, touched.

***

Though he insisted she take his bed that night, Tessa was adamant that she sleep on the couch. Kelso acquiesced, providing her a blanket and pillow. When he snuck out later in the night, though, and peeked around the corner, he found her asleep with the blanket wrapped around herself and Pickles, on the floor, near the heater.

Chapter Eight: The Story Between Two Oceans

The next day, Kelso prepared for the trip, packing his bag and taking Tessa out for a bit of shopping.

"California weather is not like it is here. You're going to want some warm weather stuff," he explained.

Though still uncomfortable being in a store, Tessa seemed more at ease than the last time. Still, she dithered when it came time to actually pick something, seemingly embarrassed about the three tops she now held in her hand.

"I don't know which one," she said.

"Just get all three," Kelso insisted.

She looked uncertain, then said, "All three? Isn't that too many?"

Kelso winced, then considered that from what he'd seen of her previous belongings, two shirts were all she'd owned.

"That's not even a start," he said firmly, "We're taking all three."

A couple of pairs of shorts followed the tops, as well as sandals and some more comfortable walking shoes. Lastly, Kelso insisted that she get some sunglasses. Tessa settled on a pair of rose gold aviators. She looked genuinely pleased by these as she examined them in the mirror.

The rest of the day was much like that which preceded it, with Tessa engrossed in photographs and requesting stories. Wearing one of the new tops, and jeans that did not have holes, clean and with the sunglasses perched on her forehead, Kelso could admit that she was stunningly gorgeous. He suppressed the urge to ask her for a photo.

***

Tessa pressed herself rigidly into the seat of the plane, with Pickles in a little crate, belted into the seat next to her.

"After we take off," Kelso said, "you can let him out."

Next to Kelso sat Aaron, who Kelso had introduced to Tessa as an executive for a company he did work for. Aaron was taken with the girl from the first, but at Kelso's prompting he bit back a flow of questions and settled for answering the many that Tessa fielded him, instead. The plane soared into the sky, with Tessa gripping the arms of the seat, but staring wide-eyed out the window as the ground fell away.

For nearly the entirety of the flight, she pressed her face to the window and watched the ground below blur past. Kelso and Aaron discussed work, while Tessa occasionally interrupted with a question or an observation. Pickles, meanwhile, made a few circuits of the cabin, before joining Tessa in watching out the window.

***

Kelso felt a bit surprised that Tessa did not gawk at the strangeness of Redondo Beach, with its vibrant and colorful atmosphere. The place was a sharp contrast to New York, but she seemed to take it in stride. She did ask a great many questions, though.

Kelso checked them in at Sonesta Redondo Beach & Marina, where they had an ocean-view room with double queen beds. Tessa went, immediately, to the balcony and looked out across the ocean and the sand.

"It looks different," she said, as Kelso joined her, "the sand and the water."

"Different ocean," Kelso said.

She was silent, observing, and then asked, "How many are there?"

"Beaches?"

"Oceans."

"Oh. Two. The Atlantic, that's ours in New York, and the Pacific. This one," he answered.

For another long moment, she watched the waves roll in and out, the people dotting the sand and playing in the surf.

"Now I've seen them both," she said, then, in that oddly hushed tone he'd come to know, "Kelso? Thanks."

"Sure."

Pickles put his muzzle through the bars of the balcony and sniffed the ocean air, gave a yip, and wagged his tail.

"Someday," Tessa said, "I think I'd like to see what's on the other side. Do the planes go over there?"

"They do, and you can. If you like, we can go there together."

"Does it cost a lot of money?" she asked.

"Not so much. Money comes and goes," he said, "as long as people need photos of those places and they have stories to tell, we'll have places to go."

"Kelso?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think you could show me how to do it, too? To tell stories, like you do?" she asked.

"I'd like that," he said, "If you stick with me, you can even be part of the stories."

"Pickles, too?" she asked.

"Pickles, too," he agreed and ruffled the dog's head.

***

They had dinner at the marina restaurant, watching the boats bobbing at their moorings, the waterfront painted golden in the fading day. When they returned to the room, Tessa returned to the balcony to watch the last light of the sun sliding away. Kelso couldn't help himself.

"Could I get a picture of you, there, on the balcony?" he asked.

She nodded, wordlessly, and he prepped the camera. The shutter whirred and clicked, three times, from three different angles. The sea breeze touched her dark curls and the fading light reflected in her eyes. For the hundredth time, Kelso wondered about the darkness there, but if he'd learned one thing about Tessa in these past days it was that she was a closed book. When she wanted to share something, she would, otherwise it was an exercise in frustration to question her.

"Kelso?" she asked, still looking out over the ocean, "Will you take one more picture? One for me."

"Sure," he said and raised the camera.

"Not that one," she said, and brushed past him.

She climbed on her bed, settling on her knees and looked over her shoulder at him. He walked inside, curious.

"I... I don't show anyone. Just... don't say anything, alright?" she said.

He nodded.

Tessa grasped the hem of her shirt and pulled it up to her shoulders, then over her head, baring her back. Kelso stifled a gasp, his breath catching in his throat as it constricted in pained horror. Across the girl's back were the crisscross of scars that he'd glimpsed on the day he'd bought the jacket for her. They were, now, deep, white lines that spoke of something terrible. The story that he'd guessed was there, he was no longer certain he wanted to hear. No story that resulted in... that... could be a good one.

"Just one picture," she said, "For me. So, I can see it."

Kelso raised the camera with tears in his eyes and took the photo. She put the shirt back on and held out her hand. Kelso handed her the camera and for a moment she looked at the photo, her face an impassive mask. She clicked the control, deleted it, as he'd shown her, and then handed the camera back.

"Thank you," she said.

To his utter astonishment, she climbed off the bed, put her arms around his waist, and hugged him. Kelso felt that it was the greatest kindness another human being had ever shown him. He carefully put his hand on her back, resting it lightly on the scars that would never leave his memory, wishing for all the world that he could delete them so easily.

"Could we go out and look at it? The ocean?" she asked, letting him go.

Kelso wiped at his eyes and said, "Absolutely."

"Pickles, too?"

"Pickles, too."

They took the elevator back down to the ground floor and walked out onto the sand with Pickles trotting beside them. The moon was rising, looming large and pale, casting a silver trail across the crashing waves. Quietly, they walked down the stretch of sand, now nearly empty.

"Kelso?" Tessa asked.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think... would you... like to be my friend?"

"I already am," he replied.

Tessa's hand slipped into his and they continued walking until she stopped at whatever spot she felt appropriate. She settled down on the sand and Pickles rushed to sit in her lap. Kelso sat next to her and together they took in the moonlight on the ocean, the silence companionable.

"It was Beauty and the Beast," Tessa said, suddenly.

"What was?" Kelso asked.

"The book, that gap-tooth threw into the fountain," she explained.

"Were you Beauty?" he asked.

Tessa shook her head and said, "No. I think you are."

Kelso chuckled and said, "I don't think anyone's ever called me that."

"Everyone who looked at the beast thought he was a monster," Tessa said, and slipped her hand back into his, "Beauty didn't see the monster, though. She saw something else that no one did."

"That's true," Kelso agreed, "The best fairy tales, the best stories, have a lesson in them. People aren't what the rest of us look at. There's a depth in everyone, a story, all the experiences that make them who they are."

"Kelso," she said softly, her hand in his, head resting on his shoulder as they gazed across the dark ocean.

"Hmm?"

The wash of the surf under the moonlight filled the silence.

"I want to tell you a story."

"Alright," he said.

"It isn't a happy story, but I think it has a happy ending," she said.

Tessa was quiet for a long moment, seemingly searching for the words, and when she spoke, she said, "This is a story about the beauty of broken things."