Tila never had attention below her shorts. She moved in with her grandmother when she was eleven years old after her mother’s car accident. Her father was never in the picture. The male gender was never a large part of her life. At 15, her grandmother died and finally, two years later, she was in the asylum. Why was there no school involved to help her? She was home-schooled by her aunt, who moved to Los Angeles in order to run away from everything. She never called. Tila took care of herself and the cats, if one could call it that.<br/><br/>When Gunther stood up, she rolled onto the floor, gracefully falling onto her hands and knees on the floor. Though he offered his hand, she did not take it.  A tongue flicked out in order to snake over her lower lip. Tila walked on her feet every so often, but often, since she was just lazing about, tended to settle on her hands and knees.<br/><br/>“Rrr…” She mumbled softly…Or did she growl it out?<br/><br/>Although Tila did not take his hand, her dark eyes watched him as if waiting for him to lead her away. She wondered if she had therapy this afternoon and a rumble of thunder made her look away from him, distracted by the noise. There was an overwhelming desire to leap to the window and watch the coming rain splatter the sill. Eyes were slightly wide, listening for more thunder or to maybe catch a flash of lighning.<br/>