It was cold, then wet, warm, then cold again.

There were a slew of voices echoing around me, but it was hard to tell whether they were far away or really close. And then a foreign, pleasant sound filled my ears. It took me a while to realize it was singing.

And it was the most beautiful I had ever heard—calming, but strangely quiet.

A shadow blocked the light of a window nearby, spilling over me. I could see glowing dots in the darkness that surrounded me. For a moment, I thought I was back at home. I couldn’t understand the strange song because it was in a different language, but the voice was angelic, strong, yet so quiet and deep. Someone’s hand gently wrapped around my own, their voice lulling me as my eyelids once again dropped. The sound was comforting as I continued to doze off, following me into empty, mindless dreams.

As I began to slip in and out, I could make out an unfamiliar face close to me, large brown eyes deeply looking into mine, thick red hair filling the room and swallowing us whole. It never left me. A hopeful expression appeared on the face as I managed to pry my swollen eyelids open a couple of inches. When I stared back at it, unable to move, a small smile formed on its mouth. It faintly whispered something to me, but I couldn’t hear what it said. It was too hot—very hot, and my clothing was glued to my skin from all of the perspiration that had gathered on my body.

I coughed to the point of complete exhaustion, until I tasted blood and my throat was stinging sore. I turned my head to the side, shifting uncontrollably on whatever soft substance I laid on. The sensation of someone’s hand dabbing a wet rag on my burning forehead made me shiver. They carefully attempted to spoon warm broth in my mouth. The savory taste of it shocked me, but when another spoonful was again brought to me, I slowly slurped the rest, unable to resist its flavor. When their shadow completely fell over, a wave of panic washed over me. I squirmed, wanting to call out for my brother and father. A gentle hand lightly held onto my arm; the unexpected touch made my body relax.

And then, that strange song—although far away— began again.

Their lips were moving, and the words that they softly sang reached my ears as I drowned in heat and sweat. My lungs were weak, and my chest gradually rose and fell.

When their cold, dirty fingers slowly cleared a few sticky strands of hair out of my face, I stared back at this strange being with moist eyes. I found myself wanting more of the soup, but I could make out the bottom of the now small plastic cup they held it in. The moment the cool rag made contact with my burning skin again, beads of water trailed down the side of my sweaty neck. My heavy breaths filled the air. A bright blue glow escaped from the two palms that lightly pressed against my own, and blessed, delicious coolness suddenly shot through my skin. I could not comprehend the sensation myself, but it traveled through me, like I was exposed to ice and snow and frost.

The notes of that song reached me.

I almost sighed with relief. My muscles relaxed as the peaceful sensation made a wave of fatigue wash over me. The person’s hair, which fell over their face, had slowly faded from a bright red to a snow white, although a faint trickle of blood escaped the left nostril, down the corner of their upper lip. Their eyebrows were furrowed a bit, stuck in deep concentration. I stared at our connected hands, their odd fingers against my own, their wild strands of hair hanging over their face like snakes. Yet their gaze never left mine.

The coldness on my skin made it much easier to breathe—I exhaled with relief.

I managed to keep my eyes open a little bit longer, to make out the strange person in front of me, before slipping back into darkness, into that unusual coldness.

Where were Benny and Papa? Were they here with me too? I needed to find both of them before they got sold. Or maybe I was in heaven, since I had selfishly left the earth already.

* * * * * * *

Something made my eyes burn, itch terribly. There was a strong scent of lemon and cigarettes, and I felt hot tears running down my face. I tried to wipe at them before seeing a mass of colors forming around me.

I sniffed again.

Heaven did not smell like lemon and cigarettes.

My eyelids were so heavy at first it was impossible to move them. After blinking several times, the colors slowly began to form into distinguished objects. I quickly sat up with a small gasp and rubbed my eyes with both arms at the sight in front of me, flinching at the rattling sound of the chain bound around my wrists.

The room was huge, much bigger than my humble mud hut back at home. The floor was not made out of dirt nor grass. Cream colored walls surrounded me, peeling at the edges. Some small wooden items sat on the floor, and there was another area with all sorts of strange things I had never seen before. To my right, there was a tiny room with more unique, white shaped objects. A great deal of empty cigarette packs and broken matches were gathered in a small, neat pile next to a cracked ashtray. Everything was very clean and shiny.

Where was I?

As I gently pulled the sheets off me, I realized I was lying on top of a cushioned mat. Benny and I had sleeping pallets like this, but never this soft. My arms and legs were covered in some sort of white fabric tightly wrapped around my skin. I had no idea where my dress was, because I had on civilian clothing instead, in a bright yellow crewneck sweater with a printed image on it and shorts that hung near my knees. They were very big, smelling strongly like cigarettes. I had to roll the waistline around four times to make sure they wouldn’t slip off my hips.

The whole world seemed to tilt as I struggled to sit up. It was dark in here, and the only source of light was from the noonday sun that leaked in from a cracked window pane above me. I leaned against the wall for support and looked to the side, before feeling my heart skip a beat once I spotted a shadowy figure next to me. Immediately I scooted away, clutching the blanket, breathing heavily.

The Sandwich King laid on the floor, right near the soft mat I was on. He had a large quilt wrapped around himself with one pale bare foot rested on the edge of the mat. His fiery red hair stuck out in all directions, but I could barely make out his face that was hidden in the shadows. Deep dark circles sat underneath his eyes, which were closed, but from time to time, his eyelids fluttered. His soft breaths were the only sound in the quiet room; and his dirty fingers curled around the hemline of the quilt.

Goodness, he really was a king. Not only did he own all the sandwiches in the world, but this was where he kept them. That was the reason he could enjoy them every night when he went to chop trees for living, so he could pay for more. I didn’t know how I had gotten here, yet this place was fascinating.

If only I could tell Benny what the homes of the civilans looked like inside. He would love it.

Nonsense. I shook my head, pushing my foolish ambitions to the side. I needed to focus on finding my way out this strange, but unique place. The smell that lingered in the air made my stomach grow queasy.

I got to my feet, which still were quite shaky, before stepping off the blanket and walking across the floor as quietly as I could to not wake him. From time to time I glanced at his sleeping form, but he appeared to be knocked out. As I slowly began to make my way towards what I believed was the front door, something caught my eye. The ground was covered in some strange, coarse cloth, and I got down on my knees to feel its rugged texture.

Was there dirt underneath it? Why would one do this to their dwelling?

A closed off area in this room had a large, rusted white rectangle with a door and knobs on each side, a small table and a chair, and a tiny black box with a long handle.

I knelt down and pulled at the white rectangle. A cool gust of wind blew in my face, and a bright yellow light flashed on. A startled yelp escaped from my mouth as I let go, causing it to close loudly. A little voice inside me told me to not to, but I could not fight back my curiosity. After studying it for a while, I reached out and opened it again as quietly as I could, routinely peeking out to see if the Sandwich King had stirred. If only he snored—it would be easier to tell if he was awake or not. The strange black box made a tiny humming sound as I studied the contents inside, with more items I had never seen before. The frigid air was amazing against my skin, and I closed the door shut before opening it again to peer back inside, causing a few containers to rattle loudly.

Frantically, I placed my hands across them to stifle the noise.

As I slowly lowered my arms, I examined their labels on the glass surfaces. A strange one with the image of a strawberry on top fascinated me, and I pried open the lid, dipped my index finger inside, surprised by the lumpy, yet gelatinous texture. When I placed it in my mouth and let the flavor linger on my tongue, I found it was pleasantly sweet. Enjoying its taste, I scooped a small handful before clamping down on my jaw—the slippery but gooey coldness gliding across my teeth.

How had civilians figured this out? For one to keep a whole box of the wind at home to stay cool, so that they never had to go out and swim in the spring to escape the heat. It was incredible. I wanted one of these, but I didn’t think that Papa would allow it. Maybe I could get one for Benny.

There was another small rectangular compartment on top, and I couldn’t help but open it. A tray full of ice cubes was located on the side, but the whole space was empty. With both hands, I picked it up, the sudden cold burning my fingertips. It was quite fascinating how when I held it upside down, everything remained in place.

I leaned my face forward, inhaling the deliciously cold air, before I heard the creaking sound of the floor not too far away. The moment a shadow washed over me I let the door slam shut, causing it to make a banging noise. Quickly, I turned my head to the side, the ice cubes sticking to my palms.

My heart stopped as I looked up.

The Sandwich King stood right in the middle of the entrance of the little closed area.

I realized how much he towered over me; he had to be at least over seven feet tall. It seemed like the apartment was far too small for him. But I still couldn’t see his face well. Only his eyes.They were round and warm full of longing, as I realized that he had been watching me the whole time. I immediately scrambled to stand up. I could not eat a single thing he had in this place—he could drug me and I would wake up somewhere else I was not prepared to be. He had already done the same with the soup he had given me, and I had only just overcome its power of slumber.

Horrified, I recalled the strawberry substance I had tasted and covered my mouth with a hand at the sickening realization. The magical box was where he stored his edible poisons. He had placed a sleeping herb in it, for sure, and I would go down in a few minutes, maybe less. He had placed drugs in the sandwiches I had so stupidly taken from him. That was my just reward for stealing food from a stranger in the woods. That was why I had slept for so long.

I could feel the disapproval and disgust from the elders of my village. My ancestors scorned me for falling into the civilian’s trap. I could feel Papa’s rage through the walls. You stupid girl, he seemed to seethe. You stupid, stupid, stupid girl. You don’t even have a head to use.

I needed to get out of here.

”Hey,” he whispered. “You’re awake.”

The plastic tray slipped out of my hands and crashed to the floor, the transparent cubes sliding around my feet. He barely even reacted to the sound of shattered ice, let alone looked at it. Instead, he took another step closer. A noise escaped from my mouth as I studied the floor, then him. Now I had broken his property, and was about to experience his rage, ready for the string of cuss words to come out. My breaths became more raggedy as I tried to apologize and bend down to clean up the mess, but my body was frozen. I realized at that moment he could do whatever he wanted to in this dark place and that I was powerless. He could beat me, sell me, do worse. Now that he had me here, he had full control.

I tried to sign and tell him how I was dreadfully sorry for stealing, and that I could try to make up for the food loss and get him water so that he wouldn’t turn me in, but I could barely move my restrained hands. He continued to deeply gaze at me; something that giant of a man would do in order to examine his worst enemy. He and his people despised me, did not want me to exist in this world. It was suddenly hard for me to breathe as he slowly began picking his way through the scattered ice cubes, his bare feet barely making a sound on the floor.

”Please, don’t be scared,” he quietly said. Then he placed a palm on his chest, attempting to give me a friendly smile, but a hint of anxiety was in his eyes. “You don’t have to worry; everything is alright.”

I was still looking around the room. He was coming for me. The door. Where was the door? Why did civilian homes have to be so complicated? By now I was struggling to breathe. Before I could comprehend what I was doing, I had picked up and threw a mug sitting on the table at him. He easily dodged the item, and it smashed against the wall, a dark liquid oozing down its surface. I rushed behind a chair, crouching, shaking, my fingers digging into its wooden surface.

The Sandwich King’s large brown eyes were strangely wet, and it only terrified me more that he didn’t react the way that I expected him to. I didn’t like the way he kept looking at me, how everything in this room smelled like him—like something had crawled up in the walls and died and that he had something to do with it.

Even the air smelled like him.

Was he drunk? Maybe he was high. He looked like he smoked a lot. That was the only explanation for why he wasn’t knocking the teeth out of my mouth for what I had just done in the midst of my panic. But perhaps his intoxicated state would benefit me after all; he could be unstable on his feet. Whenever Papa beat me, especially after he was through with drinking, he often struggled to stand up properly after and I would be able to blindly crawl away, being barely able to see due to so much blood pouring down my face.

But Papa was small and skinny. The very tall man that stood in front of me was the direct opposite: big, chunky, and his hands and muscles alone looked powerful enough to crush wood and stone into bits.

I waited for the Sandwich King’s first swing, his curse words, the sensation of his meaty fist breaking my jaw. Him pinning me to the ground with his gigantic hands firmly locked my neck. His black fingernails resembled bear claws that would rip off my skin. His right arm alone could restrain me. What was taking him so long to beat me up and do what he planned? For him to take what he wanted from me. Waiting for it was unbearable, because I at least needed to know when to expect his first move, and I could no longer handle the anticipation. I pried my fingers from the chair and remained frozen. He was still standing there.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, as if he was holding his breath. “It’s okay.”

The words seared through my thoughts. My hands started to work again. The front door had disappeared, I could’ve thought so. I couldn’t find it because the lights turned off again. I had grabbed a nearby straw broom propped against the wall, and pointed the handle out towards him, breathing heavily as my chest rose up and down. My fingers tightened around its wooden surface as I frantically scrambled away from his growing shadow, the floor all slippery under my feet from the melting ice cubes. Very slowly, he began to hold a hand out towards me.

”It’s…it’s alright. You’re safe here.”

The way he softly pronounced his words were very odd due to his accent, and I knew that the language he spoke towards was me was not his first. And that was when I realized he was the one who had been singing to me; that I wasn’t hallucinating. How could such a beautiful voice belong to someone so terrifying? In the civilian world, drugs gave them superpowers, I was sure. He looked like he’d had his fair share.

I quickly looked to the side, searching for a window. He didn’t try to take the broom away from me. The power turned on, and then went off again. A faint crackling noise echoed in my ears, although I didn’t know where it was coming from.

At that moment, the Sandwich King took another step forward. Panicked, I immediately whacked him in the stomach with the wooden broom handle with all my might, hearing him slightly grunt in pain. I delivered a few blows as he tried to avoid them. In the midst of my scramble, it tumbled out of my hands and landed to the ground with a loud clatter. Not wishing to see his reaction; I sprinted as fast as I could into the tiny room nearby and slammed the door with a heavy bang, pressing both of my hands against the cracked surface.

”No! No, no, please—”

There were light footsteps outside, and I stared at the entrance in horror. Sweat poured down my forehead as I gasped for air, my eyes searching the room for anything I could get my hands on. Frantically, I grabbed a nearby stool and stuck it underneath the rusted doorknob to barricade it before the glare of sunlight caught my attention. A window. I tried to pry it open with what little strength I had left within me, gritting my teeth. It didn’t budge.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Please! Wait! I’m not going to hurt you!”

His raspy voice was growing dangerously loud, devastated, and it only terrified me more. My chained wrists hurt when I banged against the cold glass in frustration, and I knew I was going to be beaten into a pulp the moment I was returned back to the camp. My breaths were out of control as I tried to break it with my fist. I began to violently kick with my feet, causing it to rattle loudly. When that didn’t work, I continued striking it, whimpering, realizing that I would have to accept my fate. My brains would be smeared across his walls, his floor.

”I won’t hurt you, I—“

They would resemble the mushy, liquid strawberry gel he kept in that box.

The poison.

”Please…I can help you leave in a much safer way. I’m very familiar with this area and know the best times to avoid being seen. And I know you have every right to hate me for bringing you here. It was wrong of me. But please…don’t go, at least, not yet.” His voice trailed off into a very quiet whisper, but I just about could make out his words. “Please. I won’t harm you.”

I lowered my fists and turned towards the doorway, my knuckles sore and bruised.

There was a faint pause. The floor creaked around the threshold.

”I just…want to talk to you.”

Immediately I backed away from the door as far as I could and remained in the corner behind the empty toilet, waiting for him to bust his way through and drag me out into the streets. I desperately tried to think. Maybe getting through the city wouldn’t be so bad. The woods weren’t too far away from here, so hopefully, due to the fact that I wore civilian clothing, I could slip through the crowds before anyone could see the scar on my face and make it to the trees, where freedom awaited me.

”Please?” It was a faint whisper.

There was a shadow lingering at the bottom of the door, and I held my breath in anticipation. He was going to tear down that flimsy door in any minute, and there was nothing I could use to defend myself. My hands were worthless—such a strong man he was. Internally, I began to prepare myself to give it everything I got as I waited for his presence, although a wave of exhaustion crashed over me. A quick aim to his knee or shin would hopefully make him stumble give me enough time to make it to the front door, although I found this possibility to be unlikely when I saw how my meager attack with the broom barely affected him. He could easily crush me with his hands alone. Once more, I tugged at the stubborn glass, continuing to glance backwards, panic washing over me.

Through a small crack, I could make out the Sandwich King slowly sitting down, his long legs sprawled out on the floor. I leaned against the wall and gradually slid down on my back, spent from trying to open the window.

“I won’t hurt you,” he softly said. “I swear.”

A long silence passed between us.

I could see him resting his forehead against the door through a jagged crack in the surface; his fingers lightly brushing the wood, placing a palm on top of it. I slowly peeked out from beside the dirty toilet seat. It suddenly began to grow quite cold in the room, and I couldn’t help but shiver. For a moment I thought I could make out a thin layer of frost on the peeling walls, but I wasn’t exactly sure.

He sighed as he shook his head. “My kitchen floor needs to be wiped down anyways, don’t you think? I’ve been procrastinating with that for months. You’ve already given me a head start.”

I shrank back until the cool tiles rubbed against my bare legs and tightly hugged my knees, shaking, waiting for the doorknob to turn.

His eyes slightly glistened with water as the smile on his face from the intended joke faded away, revealing his very crooked teeth. “I‘m really sorry. I had no right bringing you at my place like this without your consent. I know you’re very confused, but I can tell you everything. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. I can help you…leave.”

Even as he spoke the last word, a pained expression crossed his face, but he immediately tried to blink back the water coming in his eyes. A loud sniff erupted from my stuffed up nose.

His deep voice was as soft as a summer’s breeze as he tried to change the subject. "Would you like to be friends? I’ve…I’ve never had one before.”

Friends. The word made me raise my head as the lights flickered off again, and I glanced up at the water damaged ceiling.

”I’ve also never met someone with as many freckles as you. Were you born with them all, or did they just gradually appear over time? Oh, do you like mice? I hope you do. They come around here sometimes. There’s some that just had babies. Would you like me to show you? I make sure to leave extra food for them.”

The mice. The mice were dead in the walls. He even poisoned their food. That explained the smell that I so desperately wanted to get away from. I blinked twice, staring at a thin, pattered layer of frost started to crawl and grow around the edges of the door like a vine. I thought my mind perhaps was playing tricks on me, because it seemed to fade away.

The Sandwich King looked down at the floor for a moment. His hand was resting on the surface of the door, but he didn’t move it. “I would love having you around, if you would like to stay. Just for a little while.” His voice trailed into a whisper. "If…if you don’t, I completely understand.”

With a heavy breath, I hugged my knees tighter.

“If you want... I can wait out here. I’ll be here if you need anything. I’m right here, okay?”

There was nothing but silence.

I then waited for the effect of the strawberry’s poison to come over me—any sign of dizziness, fatigue, nausea. But no such thing occurred.

After around forty minutes, I finally got the courage to creep forward, remove the stool as quietly as I could, and slowly open the door, pulling it back by just an inch. The creaking sound from the hinges made the Sandwich King look up with surprise, who was sitting right next to it and hugging his knees. The lights had flickered back on again; he immediately straightened up his posture. The moment we made eye contact, I drew back from behind the door again, heat rushing to my face. My sweaty fingers were glued to the doorknob, and I hesitated for a moment.

I slowly peeked out again with one eye.

He remained where he was, although I could see a soft, relieved smile appear on his darkened face as soon as he saw I was looking at him.

I didn’t move.

“You…like my fridge, don’t you? Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.” He paused and gradually got to his feet, as if he was afraid to move too quickly for fear of me closing the door again. “You haven’t been so well, which is why I…I brought you here. I can escort you back to the woods.” When he bit his bottom lip, he avoided eye contact. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. But… how do you feel so far? Any nausea? You’re not throwing up blood anymore, which is a very good sign.”

It was the first time I had gotten a look at him this close. He loomed above me. He was indeed a large man, managing to resemble a bear, the wild nest of thick red hair on his head and arms reminding me of fur. Being extremely pale as he was told me that he often did not go outside much, usually only at night, when few could see him. His sunken face was heavily riddled with acne and small pox scars, most likely from a childhood illness.

And yet his large, round eyes were an unusual shade of brown, but rich enough for one to get lost into. Permanent lines settled between his eyebrows, dark bags were under his eyes. A strong, sour smell rose from him. He wore baggy jeans and a dirty, long sleeved flannel shirt that had most of the buttons missing, revealing the sweat that was glistening on his exposed chest and collarbones— both articles of clothing were much too large for his frame.

When he glanced at me, his long, disheveled fiery hair fell over his face. Awkwardly, he fidgeted with his bruised hands that were marked with cigarette burns, being almost hidden by his too big sleeves. His black, dirt rimmed fingernails were badly broken down on account of him biting them, almost bleeding, which I had seen him do from time to time. Several veins bulged from the outside of his huge, calloused hands, which both of mine could fit into a single palm of his. Dimples settled on the corners of his cracked, blistered lips, which were covered in scabs.

Never in my life had I been completely alone with a man before. He had a very thick accent, one that I rarely heard even amongst the villagers at home. I liked the way he spoke and wondered if he was from the east coast. But I was too nervous to ask.

He softly smiled at me again, as if I had said something amusing. “If you want to leave soon, I completely understand. Just let me know when you are ready. I can help you leave tonight if you would like. Or...or even right now, if you’re not comfortable here with me.”

Carefully, I opened the door some more and stepped out. His bare feet slightly dug into the shaggy floor. Yet I didn’t really know that he didn’t want to sell me, and I was curious to know why. I suddenly was deeply ashamed for hitting him with a broom and throwing a coffee mug at him. I had never been more relieved in that moment, that he showed no signs of indignation, at least, not in the present. My hands were so clammy that when I released the doorknob, it was covered in sweat. His kind were known to appear calm at first sight and then suddenly experience bouts of rage and hostility.

The way he gazed at me made blood rush to my face, and yet I could hardly understand why. What I found unnerving about his eyes was that they were very warm, pleading, devoid of any kind of the anger I was so used to seeing on other people. They looked like pools of honey in the dull light; a deep loneliness hidden within them. I suddenly wondered if he owned this big place; if he did not have five to six brothers and sisters, along with his parents, as his home was large enough for two families to comfortably dwell here.

He looked too pale, too alone.

I was curious to know where his folks were and why they had left him here; in my village, such separation of kin was unheard of. These rooms were empty of laughter and voices, silent, having but a few cardboard boxes and an empty trash can in a corner, near the rumpled sheets on the slightly yellowed mattress.

But I instantly knew I had to be careful when I saw how there were fist sized holes against the plaster of the wall. He saw me looking at them, as if he could read my paranoid thoughts, before glancing down. Awkwardly he leaned his back against the wall to cover them up and gave me a sheepish smile. A great deal of his bottom teeth were covered with tobacco stains.

“I’m…sorry for stealing,” I clumsily signed. My fingers fought to find the right words, as I found myself staring for far too long. “It wasn’t right for me to go through your things. I’m truly, truly sorry. And I would like to be able to repay you for the sandwiches. I know how to hunt a little. But your belongings are so wonderful; where did you get them? How do your people manage to capture the wind in a box at will?”

The confusion in his large eyes made me stop. I had forgotten that he couldn’t understand me. He then perked up and went over his backpack, pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and a pen.

”Can you write?”

I shook my head.

“That’s no problem at all. I..I can show you!” He said the words quickly, then looked down in embarrassment. “If you would like.”

* * * * * *

We both sat on opposite ends at the small, cracked table. One of its legs had been propped up with a plastic crate, so it was slanted at an odd angle. He suddenly set down some steaming hot broth in a very small bowl in front of me, along with two soda crackers, and then a worn water bottle. I looked at these items for a while, then back at him.

“Not…not hungry? That’s okay,” he quietly stammered. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow. If there is one. What I mean is…if you would…uh, like to spend the night…here.” When he swallowed heavily, he began to anxiously pick at the dead skin surrounding his stubby nails, as if bracing himself for a refusal. “I…I…mean, in this room. You could use my bed. I’ll be in another room. I won’t be near you.”

I gave him a deep nod and signed my gratitude, although there was no need for me to take up his sleeping space. The floor would be enough for me. I wanted to tell this to him, but didn’t know how. I didn’t think he would’ve listened, anyways, since he had unknowingly gripped the edge of the table with his hands and was talking in a faster, excited tone.

“You would… like to spend tonight here?” he timidly whispered, repeating the question. When I nodded once again, a joyful expression fell on his face. He kept his head low, trying to conceal a deep smile that had crept up on his scabbed lips. A few pieces of dead skin hung from the corner of his mouth.

“Would you like s-something to drink? Maybe tea? Coffee? I have juice as well.”

I simply stared at him. Why was he so intent on offering me food? I hadn’t seen him eat a single thing so far.

He awkwardly rested an arm on the table. “If you get thirsty, you don’t need to ask me for anything.” With a dirty index finger, he pointed to his box with the wind trapped inside of it. “You take as much as you would like, okay? Whenever you’re ready to.”

As I continued to gaze at him, he rubbed the back of his neck, a deep red shade appearing on his face. I picked up the pencil and began another word he had written out for me on the paper. I struggled to find the difference between the letters ‘d’ and ‘b.’ Once he intervened and gently pointed out my mistake, I nodded, drew a line over my failed attempt and began to neatly copy the word again. I showed it to him again, and I was surprised to find he looked a bit proud of me. When I handed him the page and waited for him to put down a new word; he hesitated for a while.

A long silence passed.

“I have clean blankets,” the Sandwich King finally managed to get out. He anxiously tapped his fingers against the surface of the table, as if still trying to process my response. “Just washed em’ not a while ago. I’m going to change the sheets; I have a newer pillow in the closet. It’s a lot softer, too. You’ll be comfortable. I…I hope the air conditioner doesn’t bother you, keep you up. It always wakes me up. It gets a bit loud at night.”

I had no idea what an air conditioner was. I tried to figure out where I could find some wild game or yucca in the woods to repay him well for the sacrifice he was making, once I was strong enough. While the mention of sleep in a safe place sounded too good to pass up compared to my hideout in the woods; I was terrified of what he would do to me if I refused. He was quite big and muscular, and could easily snap my bones into two if I made him angry. But I could sense the very great relief falling upon the Sandwich King’s face.

To my great surprise, he broke off a large piece of cracker from the plate on the table and mindlessly chewed on it, staring at the ceiling.

”This is all of my fault,” he quietly said. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get plenty of healthy, nutritious food. You’ll be fueled and strengthened up in no time.”

Finally convinced, I glanced at the broth in front of me. The scent of that soup reached my nose, the gnawing hunger returned to me once more, still overpowered by nausea. Quietly, with shaking hands, I picked up the spoon and scooped up the broth from the bowl. After great hesitation, I took a few small sips, the unfamiliar flavor covering my tongue. I immediately put it down.

The Sandwich King gave me another of his strange smiles, before sliding out a wrinkled piece of paper and awkwardly scooted his chair close to mine, making a dragging sound on the carpet. For a moment, he paused, before slowly pulling out the book I had spied in his bag, the cover streaked with mud and a few leaves. I immediately reached for it and opened it, running my dirty fingers against the water damaged pages.

”You can have it.” There was a faint glimmer of hope in his brown eyes once he saw my reaction. When I looked up, beaming, he suddenly looked away, a dark red shade settling across the bridge of his nose.

His large bare feet accidentally bumped against mine underneath the table as he began to scrawl some strange symbols on the surface of the paper. When the pen didn’t work at first, he scribbled it again until a thin line of ink spread across the page. He whispered the next sentence, nervously glancing up at me from behind his hair. “I’ll show you some more basics, alright?”

I vigorously nodded, forgetting my fears momentarily and still hugging the book close to my chest. The chain attached to my wrists loudly rattled. I signed my gratitude to him again.

My first few letters were very bad compared to his graceful ones, but I didn’t want to give up. For every letter he wrote and sounded out, I took his hand and aligned his fingers in a way so that he could sign it. He told me his real name, which was Adlai, but I still wanted to call him Sandwich King. It wasn’t until the end of the day, when it was night time, that I finally managed to write my name on the paper and held it out to him. My fingers were smudged with ink.

The untouched soup became lukewarm, and finally cold. I had managed to get through half of a cracker, but finished the entire water bottle.

“Honda,” he softly said.

I nodded and pointed to my chest, then left the table and wandered over the kitchen area, beginning to pick up the shattered mug pieces with my hands off the carpet. He stood up, opened his mouth as to say something, but then remained silent as I neatly dumped them in the trash can.

The Sandwich King managed to find his voice. His Adam’s apple rose and fell; he took a slight step forward. “Oh…there’s no need to do all of that. I have a broom. I could’ve swept it up, you know.”

A buzzing noise in the apartment caught my attention, causing the sensation of cool air to fill the room. The air conditioner, for sure. I glanced up at the ceiling with awe, then back at him. A soft smile had gathered again on his face. Once he realized I noticed he had been staring at me again, he avoided eye contact and kept his gaze on the floor.

“That’s a real nice name.”

* * * * * * *

I changed in the closet and neatly folded the clothes he had given me next to the laundry basket. After yanking one of the Sandwich King’s giant T shirts that hung to my shins over my head, I scrambled to the mattress as quick as I could and tightly drew the blanket around me, my heart still pounding, just as I could hear his slow footsteps. As he emerged from the kitchen, I shrank back from his presence, my breaths still very shaky. We studied each other. That longing was still present in his eyes, a bit of hurt.

”If you want anything,” he whispered, “I’m…I’m only in the next room. All you gotta do is let me know.”

I nodded, hugging my knees to my chest.

”Hey….uh…” he cleared his throat. Suddenly he walked to the front door and opened it, the hinges making a squeaking noise. “This is unlocked. This is will always be unlocked. Whenever you’re ready to leave, you can go through here if you wish. I won’t keep you here against your will. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. It’s not safe to leave that way, but the window to your far left leads to behind the building.” His eyes sparkled. “Do…do you understand? You take the back road. Should lead you straight to the woods in about two miles. But go at…night. When there’s less people.”

I continued to stare at him.

“See, I-I’ll show you.” His steps were quiet as he drew back the curtains and raised up the window. Warm air rushed in, and crickets chirped. His shadow spread across the wall as he slightly grunted, pushing it up all the way. In the humid air, amongst the nest of dark red hair upon his head, he leaned sideways against the wall. “Yeah. There we go.”

Silence.

Dropping his arms to his sides, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I really shouldn’t have brought you here. I’m sorry.” His deep voice was so soft, so comforting in the darkness, and it didn’t sound it like belonged to someone as tall and big as him. “I’d be really upset too. I don’t blame you a bit.”

With my arms, I tightly wrapped the blankets around me. Awkwardly, he took out a cigarette and began to smoke, resting his arm on the windowsill and tapping the edge.

”I know you must miss your folks,” he whispered. “You’re probably thousands of miles away from home. Alone.” He rested his chin on his hand. “I wish I could do something so you could see them again. I’d do anything just to spend a day with my mother. I’d kill for that.”

As he put out his cigarette, I pondered on his words. Smoke rose from his nostrils.

He quietly wished me good night and looked as if he wanted to stay and talk a little longer to me, but slipped away, as if he could read my terrified expression. Too nervous to sleep; I studied the door, gripping the blanket, still preparing myself for the worst. I peeked out from a small hole in the quilt, focusing on the yellow line on the carpet; the rusted doorknob. The only light was on in the place in the dark apartment in which he had called the bathroom. While the door was closed, I could see his shadow sitting on the floor. The peaceful silence of the place made sleep more irresistible than ever, although anxiety had seized control over me. As I began to doze off, my head sank into the pillow; the strong smell of him and the cigarettes in his T-shirt pulled me into a deep, warm, delicious slumber.