Several more weeks passed before I began to plan to leave my apartment.

Stepping outside sounded foolish enough, and while there were soldiers in every corner usually, the city was being heavily supervised. If the soldiers came into this building, Honda and I would have to make a run for it. While the city wasn’t completely familiar to me as it was in Jova, I knew how to find my way around. Where we would go, I had no idea, since the Red Mamba was present in the woods.

So I tried to develop another plan. Maybe we could try to settle near an unoccupied river or stream, where we could try to find roots and survive on berries for a while. In my backpack, I only had a few books, some soap, two sweatshirts, a few shirts, jeans, and the paychecks that I had received from the army. Showing off the money would be like suicide around here. The symbol would be a dead giveaway, especially if I tried to start an account at a nearby bank. That would alone give up my location. Yet I needed it really badly because my rent was coming up, and I couldn’t go to work.

To have money but not be able to spend it was the worst thing in the world.

It was at that moment that I decided to put a little bit more effort in my hygiene compared to how little I had cared before.

I washed what few clothes I had, took a long, thorough bath for the first time in months, as the water I was finally done using was black after months of dirt and sweat. I even felt lighter, wearing a clean shirt and jeans. I then realized how far I had let myself go due to the depression that had seized me, but hopefully, those lonely days wouldn’t be back for a while. The soap I used left a strong milk and honey scent on my skin, and I gave the other whole bar I had to Honda after gently explaining to her what it was. I usually brought in buckets of water to fill in the empty tub; once in the morning and in the evening to avoid suspicion. The way the droplets of moisture clung to her damp curls once she bathed and stepped out of the bathroom wearing my freshly washed clothes, which were far too big on her, glimmered like gemstones. I found myself staring for far too long and forced myself to look away.

* * * * * * *

The shackles that bound her wrists together to bothered me like there was no tomorrow, hanging like a hideous jewel. It loudly rattled whenever she took a step. I knew that the skin that was squeezed beneath it was bruised, or worse, infected, and the metal bands had already began to rust. One morning, I picked up the pliers I had stolen from Janice and timidly took a few steps towards her, gesturing towards the chain dangling between her palms. Immediately noticing the tool in my left hand, she jumped up and fled to the kitchen, slipping between the narrow space of the cracked counter and my noisy refrigerator.

Her wide, terrified eyes focused on the grooves of the pliers that gleamed in the light. As I took one more step, she sprinted from my shadow and stumbled awkwardly on the floor, her back pressed against the wall in an attempt to create as much distance as she could between us, her chest rising up and down.

”Okay,” I whispered, swallowing hard. I knew that chain was hurting her every single day. “Okay.”

Her eyes never left the pliers when I slowly placed them back down on the kitchen counter and backed away. It was only until they were out of her sight did she begin to breathe a little better.

* * * * * * *

Slowly, the shy young woman was able to keep down small pieces of fruit, mainly apples and pears, along with a few soda crackers; although I made sure she was receiving plenty of water and tea. At first, I was worried that she wouldn’t like the food at all. My cooking was horrible in general; enough to make the dogs howl. But to my luck, I soon found out that she greatly enjoyed the thick oatmeal that I made for the both of us to the point that she was hungrily licking her entire bowl clean with her fingers, so I started preparing it more often. Unsure how to ask for more, she inched towards the pot of gruel on the stove, lingering nearby but never touching it. I would gladly refill her bowl halfway, taking note that the fact she wanted seconds, thirds even, was a major improvement from her only taking a few sips of soup in the previous weeks. At least she was eating. I hoped that she would be able to put on a few more pounds—she resembled a twig that was about to snap into two.

Every single day I found my clothes carefully and neatly folded next to my laundry basket. I always found her doing the oddest things. Her small fingers scooped up lint off my carpet, one by one, and gathered it into a pile, before throwing it away. When I tried to explain to her that I had a broom, she simply stared at me. My utensil drawer was organized; she had laid out each and every fork and spoon and put them back in a unique way. I spotted her holding one of my boots and squinting at it with one eye with such concentration.

She was barefoot, her large nose stuffy and red as a tomato from a bad cold she was recovering from, and, being easily startled by the sounds of other occupants upstairs, would remain crouched in a corner. I always made sure to approach her slowly, but never too close as she was terribly afraid of me. Immediately she drew back to the other side of the room after timidly taking the steaming bowl from my hands, eagerly digging in and blowing the steam off the lumpy oats at the same time with the spoon tightly clenched in her palm. She was far too frightened to sit at the table with me when we both ate. I softly smiled at her time to time, but she only gazed at me with a petrified expression on her face.

But I knew that none of this was her fault.

* * * * * * * * * *

Around midnight, while I sat with my back against the wall in the empty bathtub, I let the effect of my cigarettes wash over my senses, my eyes closed. Several empty packs of Lucky Strikes littered the chipped, dirty tile floor. My bare feet hung over the edge of the useless faucet and spigots. I knocked the ashes off the edge of my cigarette with my index finger and thumb.

The familiar sound of rattling caught my attention. Clouds of smoke fell from my nose and my mouth, and I only noticed then that Honda was squatted next to me on her heels, watching me with great intrigue as dense smoke rose from my mouth like a dragon’s and filled the bathroom. Both of her arms were folded on the side of the tub, mere inches near my hand. Her wild curls were suspended in the air like tree branches as she gazed at my form in awe. I realized that she had been simply curious at the sight of me smoking, and that I hadn’t even heard her come in due to the fact that she would’ve normally been asleep at the time.

I quickly sat up and put out my cigarette.

When she saw that I had fully opened my eyes and was looking back at her, she became so startled that she moved away, toppling backwards and almost losing her balance. I reached out and roughly held onto her to prevent her from falling, my fingers firmly wrapping around her sleeve. Her eyes widened. She began to desperately yank her thin wrist away from my hand, squirming, and I immediately let go. The momentum caused her to heavily land on the floor on her side with a sickening thud. Before I could help her she had rushed away, heading into the kitchen and dove underneath my table, knocking over a chair. The bathroom door swung open and banged against the wall; smoke rose in the air.

”No, no, no, wait! Please!”

As I scrambled out of the tub, I stumbled several times before making it to the kitchen. I could hear her small panicked breaths, loud rattling of the chain, her shadow visible behind the tablecloth as she hugged her knees. I reached the table. When she saw my bare feet from beneath it she immediately scrambled further away, which crushed my soul. It took me a while to find my voice before I could get the words out.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I’m…I’m really sorry. I won’t ever do that again.”

There wasn’t a response.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered in the dark.

I knelt down on the carpet, burying my face in my hands as my throat tightened up, silently cursing myself over and over. She stared at me, shaking.

* * * * * * *

During many nights, I remained awake, unable to cope with the fact that I had placed her in a such a predicament where she was unable to make a choice because she was so terrified. How was she supposed to make sense of an environment that she barely understood or knew? From her perspective, I knew that she was stuck in this place, that she was manipulated in either way. I tried to start a conversation with her, in hopes that she would attempt to sign a few words to me, but she was frozen, like a deer in headlights. Most of the day she spent hidden behind the torn curtains at the window, hugging the book that I had given her. I told her many things I had learned about the city, laying on my back on the floor. My quiet voice was the only sound in the apartment. Although she continued to keep a great distance away from me due to the previous incident, I knew she was listening by the intrigue on her face, how she deeply observed me from behind the curtain when she thought I wasn’t looking. Not of fear, but complete interest.

Yet such moments were rare.

Honda accidentally knocked over a pot of chili soup all over the kitchen floor one afternoon. She signed frantically; bent down and tried to clean it up, but when she saw me coming to help she ran and hid in the small hallway closet for several hours, curled up in a ball. I desperately tried to assure her that I was not angry about the mess. But she quickly scooted away, drawing back further in the closet, as if she anticipated me getting ready to strike her. I slowly reached out to her with my hand, and she jerked away from my touch, breathing heavily, her back pressed against the wall. It was the way the tears silently fell from her large eyes, the panic in her weak sobs that crushed me. And I knew at that moment that she had suffered a great form of abuse from someone else, most likely outside the camp. I could only sit outside the threshold of the closet and listen to her quiet whimpers.

When I finally opened the door a crack to peek in after a terrible silence, her body was nestled in the corner behind a pile of dusty cardboard boxes that had been there for ages; her closed eyelids swollen and puffy. Old mothballs had gotten tangled in her matted hair, and the giant yellow sweatshirt she had on that belonged to me was stained with the dark orange soup. My shadow fell over her still form, the decaying carpet creaking under my bare feet. I slowly scooped her up in my arms, carried her back to the mattress and sat there all night next to her on the floor in the dark apartment. I noticed the cuts from the shards of broken pottery she had tried to pick up on her palms.

Over the next several days, if I got too close the frightened young woman immediately scrambled away from me. It broke me. Wrecked my insides. And what little progress I had made towards gaining her trust was completely gone.

I reeked of cigarettes; I tried not to smoke around her. The last thing I wanted was for her to inhale that stuff while she was struggling to breathe at night. I continued to stay in the bathroom while she slept and I sank further into my insomnia. Around the crack of dawn, she would cough so badly in her slumber that I couldn’t help but check on her multiple times to make sure she wouldn’t choke. Usually I would make sure she had willow tea to drink, and in her drowsiness, would simply gaze at me in the shadows as she slowly sipped it down with the chipped mug clutched in both freckled hands. I gave her a gentle smile. She seemed a little less afraid of me then, but it was mostly because she was barely awake. That usually did the trick to make the fits stop before she would quickly fall asleep, and I would stay with her until she did so, before returning back to my hole.

On the nights it was silent I often laid awake in the pitch black on the worn tile floor, drenched in a layer of sweat, wondering if she had left and chosen her own way out. Her own presence, while quiet, was a comfort to me, one that I was wrongly unwilling to let go of. I sat with my back against the wall, Janice’s words echoing in my head. I cursed my selfishness, my stupidity, my inability to make decent use of myself. I expected to hear the squeaking hinges of the door, the gust of air blowing through the open window that the young woman would climb out of and disappear. I braced myself for the loneliness that would suddenly overwhelm me once I realized that my apartment would be empty and cold again.

But that morning the blessed sound of her gentle footsteps somewhere outside brought me to my senses after a fever dream of a night that included a few Lucky Strikes packs, the taste embedded in my tongue. I swung one leg over the empty bathtub, then the other. After shoving one out of multiple smashed cigarette butts into my overflowing ashtray—I struggled to my feet—and was hit by a wave of dizziness. I muttered a curse word and tossed one of the empty paper packs to the side, where it slid under the toilet. I needed to find a way to quit soon. After coughing for a while, I exited the bathroom and turned off the light switch; slightly stunned that the sun was out.

I could’ve sworn it had been midnight only five minutes ago.

Rubbing the back of my neck with my hand, I quietly dragged myself towards the kitchen while trying to figure out breakfast, just in case she felt a bit hungry. I figured that sugary cereal would do the trick for us, although it was not really the wisest choice. But I had run out of oatmeal a few days ago, and until I found a way to get more supplies, that was all I pretty much had at the moment. I was in the middle of wondering how I could introduce someone who had never had cereal before to the concept of eating Coco Crisps with milk for the first time when I suddenly stopped in my tracks.

The large gray T-shirt I had given to her looked like a dress; she looked more frail than ever in it. Her bare feet were quiet against the floor. She was examining the rusted appliances I had with great curiosity by opening and shutting their doors, crouched down her knees, her back faced to me. The broken cabinets. The holes in my walls. The string from my torn carpets. She studied them all with care as if she was examining a fine piece of work at an art gallery. When she finally sensed my presence, she stared at me. But I slowly sat on the carpet to avoid making her nervous. After a pause, she did the same on the tile kitchen floor, crossing her bare legs. She was holding my plastic coffee pot in both of her hands, the long unplugged cord of the machine hanging off the table. She placed the item upside down on the surface after rapping her knuckles three times against it.

I faintly smiled at her.

The first rays of the rising sun pierced through the window, and the chirping sound of birds filled the air. I leaned my head against the leg of my table, hugging my knees, began to whistle to their tune. To my surprise, Honda released a unique sounding one of her own, looking at me with great fascination. I whistled again. Then she. We kept at it, back and forth across the room. Her eyes became deeply crossed when she suddenly made a loud, sputtering sound with her lips.

I began to chuckle, caught off guard. I couldn’t help it. To my great surprise, something else happened that made me believe I was in heaven.

For the first time ever she shyly smiled at me. Water gathered in my eyes when she laughed. It sounded like a small silver bell.

* * * * * * * *

Swallowing my nerves, I picked up Janice’s pliers one afternoon after dinner and sat down on the floor with my legs criss crossed in front of her. She did not run away or move; her large gray eyes studied me. I kept my head low, my hair falling over my face.

Very slowly, I reached out for her chained wrists, softly saying, “I won’t hurt you.”

Knowing how close I was to her, I made sure my movements were slow, as to not frighten her. She remained so still I wasn’t sure if she was breathing. After a few long moments of working as fast as I could; poking and prodding with my sweaty fingers, the shackles and chains broke in half with loud snaps.

She flinched as I had anticipated, being quite startled from the sensation of the cool plier blades making contact against her skin as I managed to pry off the last shackle. When I slowly pulled the chains off of her, she gazed at her now naked wrists in astonishment, as if she had not seen them this way in a very long time. Dark purple marks settled around the chafed areas, but there only seemed to be deep bruising and some swelling, to my great relief. Sensing her anxiety, I kicked the pliers out of my sight with my left bare foot, causing it to loudly slide across the ground and under a chair, not wanting her to see the tool any longer than she needed to. She turned her head from the direction it had gone, then continued to study my own hands.

Gently, I began to heavily massage and rub at her wrists to get some blood flow back in, still trying to get over the shock that she had allowed me to be near her. I didn’t dare look her in the face, just focused on her freckled fingers. She remained completely still, gazing at the broken chains lying on the carpet floor for a moment.

“That feels a world of a lot better, doesn’t it?” I whispered. “You don’t have to carry those around anymore.”

Honda stared at me, then down at my much larger hands, which caressed hers. I softly smiled as her warm palms gave mine a deep squeeze.

* * * * * * *

Even as I carefully wrapped all the blankets I had with me around her thin shoulders, she still was shivering uncontrollably while she slept one rainy evening. I very quietly laid down on the very edge on the mattress in the dark next to her, watching her curl up tighter into the cocoon for a bit of warmth. My weight caused the springs to shift a bit. I rested my head on my arm and listened to her short, weak breaths, her wild hair sprawled out all over the pillow like a tapestry. The water pattering against the cracked glass made my eyelids heavy. I reminded myself to be prepared to have some tea for her in case she started coughing.

Instead, I suddenly felt warm yellow light streaming through the window and her curious fingertips on my face a great deal of hours later.

I slowly opened my eyes.

Her own were studying me, the same sweet way they had done that night in the bathroom and all those times I had spoken to her in the living room. And for the first time in ages, I had actually slept. My mind was clear, not clouded with cigarette smoke. Our heads had somehow ended up on the same sunken pillow, and I could smell the milk and honey scent due to the soap I had given her. She lowered her hand once she noticed that I was awake. Her bare feet brushed against my own, the glow in the room making her freckles appear golden. This was the closest I had ever been to her, and I didn’t want to move for fear of frightening her. I held my breath.

The sunlight spilled on the mattress, in our unruly hair. Her eyes were as searching and focused as ever. A faint line of dried saliva trailed from her bottom lip to her chin. The worn blankets I had placed around her had somehow gotten tangled and bunched around our legs, evident from our unconscious tossing in the night. Her untamed curls brushed against my chin. Lint from her sweater was on my face. My heart thudded in my chest at the sight of her beauty.

Very, very slowly, I held a hand out to her. I immediately hesitated for a moment as I saw how she observed my palm, my stained fingers. I kept my head low to not intimidate her, and inched a bit closer. She did not move. Gently I let my fingers rest and make contact on the left side of her face, caressing the scar that was present on her cheek.

I braced myself for her to scramble away from me.

Instead, the sensation of her cupping my face into both of her warm palms made me look up with surprise. The callouses on her hands rubbed against my chin; her soft fingers tracing the permanent marks smallpox had left on my skin. The endearment of the small deed made my throat burn, and my eyes got a bit wet around the edges as she slowly pulled me into a firm embrace. The wild bush of hair on her head tickled my face. I delicately wrapped my arms around her, the tip of my nose brushing against her shoulder.

The warmth of her body captured me.

We spent the rest of that morning quietly sipping barely flavored tea that burned our tongues and me trying to trying to introduce some new words to her. As I softly whispered them in her right ear, her fingers wrapped around the pencil she held. My lips slightly brushed against the side of her neck, strands from the curtain of my hair falling over my nose and eyes. I lightly rested my arms around her small frame, just wanting to hold her a little closer to me. Instead, I scribbled out a new list of words for her.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Honda carefully wrote crooked characters, trying to copy mine while being snuggled up against me, with her head resting on my shoulder as we sat against the wall. Yet my heart was racing; her body still slightly shivering. After some brief hesitation; very gently, to avoid frightening her, with my arms, I drew her closer to me to generate more heat and pulled the material of the quilt that was wrapped around us more tightly about our shoulders. She slowly looked up at me for a moment. Avoiding eye contact, I held my breath, slightly panicking that I had ruined things again, just as she turned her head. We accidentally bumped our foreheads against each other, causing my face to turn a bright shade of red.

She shyly smiled at me, covering her mouth, and leaned the rest of her entire body against my own, curling up her thin, bare brown legs between my own bent ones. Her eyelids were halfway closed. When her back began to relax against my chest, I knew I was in a dream. And yet I was so afraid to move while she snuggled up in my arms, like a bird settling in a nest, to avoid making her nervous. The sensation of her warm skin against mine made all the weight I had seemed to carry on my shoulders roll off.

I didn’t want to wake up. Not ever.

Honda then placed her palm, which was slightly sticky from the tea she had drunk, in my much bigger hand, our fingers parallel to each other. The thick fibers of her sweater and her tangled hair rubbed against my chest as I slowly drew her closer to me in my arms. I could sense her quick heartbeat as I faintly whispered another word in her ear and proceeded to showed her how to spell it out. My pencil was slick with perspiration as I wrote it; I held my breath as she began to copy my letters. The top of her head brushed my chin; our sweater sleeves made contact with the wrinkled lined paper.

I didn’t think she noticed how my hands were shaking, but when she proudly gestured to me at the word she wrote out, a soft smile fell on my lips. I couldn’t make eye contact with her as she continued to gaze at me, afraid of what she would find.

When she started drawing doodles of wild creatures on the page, I soon added my own abhorrent creations, with huge teeth and horns. Bits of eraser piled on our wrists. She tried to suppress her snorting when I attempted to draw a horse. And that was the moment her giggles erupted to full laughter, her frail body shaken by its impact in my arms.

I was in heaven. I was in paradise.

* * * * * *

There was no way I wanted to take Honda back yet to the woods yet in this state, even though she was fully conscious and moving around slowly. She had started to put on a bit of weight. We began to eat meals together at the table, which were really just canned soups, bagged rice, instant oatmeal, and hard bread, since that was all I had and could afford, but she savored each and every bite like a delicacy. I did the same for every moment I was able to have with her.

When I brought a pint of coconut vanilla ice cream back for the both of us, she looked perplexed at the solid, smooth consistency when I pried off the lid. Wanting to show her, I scooped out a generous chunk with an old metal spoon, handing it to her. The moment she took a small bite, her eyes widened with delight at its sweetness, and she eagerly reached for another large spoonful. As we continued to polish the container, she kept eagerly nodding her head, loudly smacking in a state of bliss with her lips and chin covered in the stuff. The sight made me chuckle when she gave me a messy smile.

As her appetite grew and color started to return to her face, I taught her how to play tic tac toe, checkers, spades, and the hours of the days easily would fly by. The shyness that had plagued her for so many weeks melted away, and she no longer drew away from me. Rather, we ended up cooking shabby meals together, with me explaining to her what an oven and stove was and her watching with great interest as the food simmered right in front of her eyes without the aid of a fire. One time she had tried to make a microwave cake for me; it had exploded all over the rotating plate. I found that she laughed quite easily, and we would be snickering for a long time until we were quite pink in the face. We devoured her messy creation together while she showed me some new signs, moving my palms.

Slowly, we fell into some sort of routine. At nights in the darkness of the cold room, we were huddled together, lying next to each other on our stomachs, our legs sprawled out on my mattress underneath the cave of warm blankets. My flashlight caught the glow of our shadows that stretched out on the wall as I quietly read out one of my books to her. Her fingers touched the fine print on the pages, her gray eyes focused and engrossed with each word I sounded out. She planted them in my palms.

We continued to keep scribbling letters and eagerly stuck scraps of torn newspaper on every single object I had in the room.

”F-O-R-K,” I spelled out the thousandth word of the week, staring at the plastic utensil she excitedly held into my face. A deep squeal escaped from her mouth as she ran over and gestured to my bedding, holding up each individual item, the attached paper waving in the air. “P-I-L-L-O-W. B-L-A-N-K-E-T. M-A-T-T-R-E-S-S. Slow down,” I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe as she climbed up onto the table and pointed to the rusted ceiling fan, before swaying her long legs and hips back and forth in some sort of victory dance. “F-A-N. C-E-I-L-I-N-G. Slow…slow down! You’re going too fast.”

With grace, Honda did a wide front flip off the furniture and landed on the carpet with a delicate thump on her pointed feet, her face flushed. I stared at her in shock. She then signed something at me I couldn’t quite figure out and pumped a fist in the air as a wide grin gathered on her beaming face. The yellow sweatshirt she wore slightly lifted up and revealed her sunken in stomach. Before I could even react, she pointed to one of the bruised apples I had collected at the market, her matted hair now sticking up in every direction, resembling something of a porcupine. I suddenly tossed it at her from across the room, which she managed to smoothly catch with one hand. “A-P-P-L-E.”

“Apple,” she quickly signed, staring at the piece of paper. Then her face brightened up as she pointed at it from me, then back to her hand.

I grinned. “You’ve got the hang of it. And you’re a natural at gymnastics. Has anyone ever told you that?” Suddenly it hit me how stupid I sounded. Of course not.

Judging by the slightly confused look on her face, she didn’t seem to know the meaning behind the word, but she dragged me towards the dirty windowpane by my arm before I could elaborate. Her eyes were full of excitement as she looked up at me, pointing at it. I loudly tapped on the dirty surface with my fingers. “W-I-N-D-O-W. G-L-A-S-S.” She reached for my palms, laughing, and helped me sign the words, gently arranging my fingers. The sensation of her soft hands against mine made an odd fluttering sensation come in my stomach when I realized how close our faces were together, how pretty she was, and how I could count each freckle on her flushed cheeks. Her breathing was light and shallow, and I suddenly had the urge to hold her in my arms.

Instead, I spelled, “G-Y-M-N-A-S-T-I-C-S.”

Honda narrowed her eyes, as in deep thought. “Gnats?” she gestured. “Insects?”

”No, no, no…” For a while, I racked my brain, before pulling off the piece of paper from the apple she held and scrawled out the word, hoping my handwriting wasn’t too messed up at this point. She stared at it for a while before looking up at me. With my finger I pointed to each crooked letter and sounded it out more clearly.

”Gymnastics,” I softly whispered.

After a bit of hesitation, she formed the word carefully with her hand. “Gym…gymnastics.”

I nodded, looking down. She proudly smiled at me. Using her palms, she broke the apple in half with a loud snap, placing the bigger chunk in my hand, before taking a huge bite of her own. We sat down on the floor, and began to enjoy it together, her chomping noisily and smacking loudly.

It took a while, but I eventually learned enough to understand that she told me her home was a village. A big one. Her people would hunt and harvest the land, and had huge festivals every year, when they would dress up in their best clothes, share food, and dance in their musical ceremonies. A look of pain settled on her face as she shakily wrote the words on the scrap of paper, and I didn’t want to imagine what had happened to it. She also mentioned she had a brother and a father, and that she planned to look for them.

”Siblings?” she questioned. “Have you?”

“Not me,” I gently replied. “I’m an only child.”

“Ah.” A faint smile fell on her face. “Parents?” She stretched out her arms to the walls. “They very kind to give you all this. I give them my thanks.”

I stared at my apple slice. It was hard to make eye contact with her. Quickly, I changed the subject. I told her about the beach, what the countryside in Nivea looked like; and how there were barnacles, snails and starfish on coral reefs. That there were seashells of every color; how the sunsets were the most unique looking. How blue the ocean was, and that the foam looked soft and fluffy like soap suds.

“I go with you?” she signed, a look of awe on her face. “I go? You and I.”

“Of course,” I whispered. “I’ll take you there one day.”

I didn’t dare mention my curse. I was a completely different person, not a soldier, just an average civilian who was affected by the drought. And that was all she knew about me, to my relief. As long as I kept my powers hidden, I was a normal person, someone she could trust and rely on.

And I didn’t want her to know that I was a monster, someone who was the very reason she and her family had suffered so.

What I never understood was her fascination with my mini fridge. The young woman dragged me along to feel the cool blast of air in our faces whenever she opened and closed the door a million times. She couldn’t stop squealing with laughter, and I had no idea what was cracking her up so bad. There was something about her smile that made butterflies rise in my stomach, and I couldn't help but gaze at her when she wasn't looking as she stuck her hands into the cold air.

It was one morning when I woke up to slight pressure on my right hand and arm. Honda was lying down her stomach with her legs crossed, her fingers smudged with ink. The previous night she had gestured for me to hold my arm out and made a scribbling motion with her hand. Not exactly sure what she was asking, I nodded anyways and fell asleep. Now she appeared to be completely relaxed and hadn’t moved from the same position. The tip of the pen she was holding hovered right over my wrist. She quickly looked at me, startled, and then sheepishly grinned.

I sat up and looked at the elaborate design she had sketched out all around my arm. The patterns were in great detail and took her an ungodly amount of time for her to do. I knew that I had to let her go, even though she didn’t look so well, though I wanted her to stay, more than anything. She was probably getting really tired of being stuck in here even though she was learning so many words, though she never appeared bored in the slightest.

“Did you even get any rest last night?” I asked.

“Yes,” she signed, trying to hide a yawn.

“I can tell,” I softly replied.

Honda nodded and pointed at my decorated arm. Her almond shaped gray eyes sparkled with excitement. “You like?”

It was what I thought what she was telling me, to the best of my knowledge. That was when I realized I wanted her to teach me how to sign more words; and I was going to miss her real bad when she left. Her crooked, mishapen letters, the broken sentences she wrote to me, and the multiple hugs she gave me made me feel warm inside. I knew the aching feeling in my chest wasn’t there now, but it would soon return once I would be here all alone.

Honda signaled something else, before suddenly scrambling to her feet and rushing to the window. To my surprise, she had constructed a small wreath made out of orange, yellow, and green leaves that had fallen through the small opening and sat on the floor again, gently placing it on my head.

”Gift,” she signed, giving me a large smile.

I stared at her designs. It was wrong of me to just hold her here all for myself. The idea alone made my stomach turn, even though the temptation was growing stronger. A few more days, I thought. Just a few more.

Honda signed more words I had recently shown her how to spell. My apartment was in complete disarray, being covered in her sketches, pebbles, and acorns that she had brought to me from the windowsill, along with empty soup cans that she had decorated with a pen, but the sight of it was glorious. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and very soon my place would be cold and ugly again without her presence. Very gently I took her warm hand within the both of mine and caressed her ink stained fingers. When she gave me a confused look I closed my wet eyes, holding it to my face, preparing myself for the worst.

* * * * * * *

The next night, I quietly slipped out of my apartment. She was fast asleep, worn out because she had unexpectedly thrown up all over the floor. Even though she clamped her hands over her mouth it still got everywhere. Despite me trying to tell her to go rest for a bit, she had stubbornly refused and attempted to clean up the mess.

“Sorry. I sorry,” Honda had signed. “Sorry.”

She looked completely devastated as she scrubbed frantically at the carpet as the spot spread outwards. Gently, I took the roll of paper towels from her and patted her shoulder reassuringly. When she looked up at me I gave her a small smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up. You just need a little bit more time to recover, okay? You’ll feel better soon.” I slowly exhaled. “We’ll just stick with soups for now.”

“Help? You need?” Honda gestured. She held both hands towards the mess. “I help.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, helping her stumble up to her feet. The sweatshirt she wore had a few vomit stains on it. “Just lie down. I have soda in the fridge. That will calm your stomach, so help yourself once you feel better.”

The young woman had nodded, even though her eyes were full of concern. It was a rough day for both of us; I doubt that she hadn’t been feeling claustrophobic. To my surprise, she picked up one of the blankets and laid down on the floor next to my bed, instead of on it. She kept shivering as she wrapped herself up in a tight cocoon before closing her swollen eyelids shut.

Now as I turned off the lights, and stood in the dark, my legs felt like jelly. It was wrong on so many levels to go to Janice now that I needed help and was on the verge of losing this place.

What kind of gratitude did I show her, when I was the one who had put her through this mess? I didn’t know if the soldiers were still in the woods or not, but I knew that I had my best chances at night, when I was less likely to be seen. Honda’s breathing was raspy, and she stopped to cough every moment. I felt a lump rise my throat as I stared at her figure for a moment.

What if she dies?

I slowly closed the door.

* * * * * *

It took me an hour to make it to Janice’s home.

Dodging soldiers and lurking in dark alleys made it all the more difficult, and I made sure to blend in as much as I could in between the crowds of people who were lurking around in the dirt roads. Smelling the fresh air for the first time made my head feel lighter, and thunder started to rumble in the distance as I stumbled out into the woods, crawling in the mud and avoiding the yellow spheres of the flashlights from the other figures around me. I didn’t dare want to trap them in ice, since I knew I was outnumbered. It started to pour heavily as I stumbled across her shed, the familiar peach scent rising to my nose.

The shouts of distant soldiers in the woods and the grass field right in front of Janice’s house made my stomach queasy. Two Red Mambas were standing right near the porch, wearing dark ponchos. Even though the lights were on, there was no way I could get in without being seen.

I sighed.

As I crawled behind the house, crouching low behind the tall, overgrown grass, there was only one soldier who was barely paying attention. He was small and stocky looking, and couldn’t stop shivering, muttering to himself about something. The rifle he had was on the ground next to him, where he sat.

I clamped my jaw shut and focused for a moment, holding my arm out to him. The heavy rain drops began morph and stretch out into a long stream, connecting to my hand and fingers. As the watery rope curled around the man, snaking around his body and face, panic rose in his eyes as I braced myself for another wave of pain rising in my head. His feet dangled helplessly beneath him as I lifted him the air.

A muffled scream escaped from his mouth.

Ignoring the throbbing in my temples, I slammed the man against the wall of the house, twice, before lassoing him hard into the mud. There was a dent against the back wall where his body made the impact. His head was bleeding, and he didn’t move. The watery rope surrounding him fell apart and settled into a puddle as I heard heavy footsteps coming around the house.

Janice flung the back door open, a panicked expression on her face. Pepper and Honey were close at her heels. “What happened?”

One of the soldiers who had been guarding the front of the house glared at her. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! I heard these loud bangs—“

The man cut her off. “He’s knocked out cold. Did you shoot this man?” He slowly stood up and pointed at her. “You attacked a soldier! You will be arrested for this!”

Oh no. No. Please no.

The second soldier shook his head, grabbing his arm. “She didn’t. There isn’t a bullet wound in his head. It looks like blunt force trauma. Look.” He pulled out a small bottle of whiskey from the dead soldier’s jacket. As he popped off the lid and smelled it, he made a disgusted face. “Ugh. That’s pretty strong.”

“I don’t know how to shoot no gun,” Janice said, leaning against the doorway. “The fool probably stumbled off the porch and broke his own neck.”

“Drinking on the job,” the first soldier muttered. “My apologies, madam.”

She sighed and folded her arms. Honey licked her hand, and she knelt down and began massaging the dogs’ ears. Pepper wouldn’t stop barking as the two soldiers scooped up the man’s lifeless body and carried him out. A few blades of grass was still stained with his blood. It wasn’t until they were out of view did I suddenly stand up. Janice almost screamed at the sight of me before clapping down on her mouth just in time.

“It’s me,” I whispered loudly. “It’s me!”

Before I knew it, she had sprinted out into the yard, grabbed me by the sleeve, and pulled me into the house, quickly closing the door and locking it. The dogs were eagerly greeting me, but I was so flustered I could barely think. Her face was pink with anger.

“Who do you think you are?”

There was nothing I could do but stare at her.

“Did you do something to that soldier? What’s going on?”

I tried to speak again, but nothing came out.

“Answer the question right now, mister. These bastards have been scouring my land for days, and it’s affecting business because the civilians who work here don’t want to be around them. I don’t want to be around them. You haven’t been to work for a while. ” Janice sat down on a chair and began to weep. “You told me you used to be one of them.”

“I was,” I said. “I’m the one they’re looking for. I had to create a distraction to get in here.”

The look on her face tore me.

“Please, I—“

“I know that when a soldier leaves the Red Mamba they get caught and arrested for treason. But for one person? Ransacking every crack and cranny? That’s really strange. They won’t leave me alone. I’m so tired...” Her voice trailed off. “What did you say?”

“Janice....I...” It was hard to speak. “I’m... I’m their target. It’s the nickname they gave me.”

Slowly, she took a step back, raising her hands over her head. Suddenly everything felt hot, and I could feel blood rushing to my face.

“They’ve been hunting you down because of me. Because you’ve been helping me. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, for giving me a job. I should’ve told you when we first met. I’m sorry.”

“So you...” Janice lowered her arms. “They say you have some gift. That you are dangerous, especially when you are angry. That you plan to hurt other...other people and that you are a traitor to Plod.”

That stung. I shook my head. “No... It’s true that I’m capable of doing those things, but...but I’m not angry. I...I mean, I used to do things when I got angry, but... I’m not like that anymore. Honest, I swear. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m not going to, either.”

“Except for the soldier outside.”

“I—“

“Why do they want you so bad?”

I hesitated.

A distressed look appeared on her face. “You can...can control water and ice?”

“I can,” I whispered.

“How? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I was born with it. It came from my mother’s side, and that’s all I know about how I got it. If anyone notices it, it won't be good. Please don’t tell. Please. Look, the reason I didn’t bring it up is because......” I looked away. “I thought that...you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

A heavy silence sat between us. There was a heavy clap of thunder outside, causing the dogs to run underneath the tablecloth. Janice sighed and went to one of the windows, peering outside the glass. When she turned around to face me, she took a deep breath.

“Alright. Just relax for me.”

Slowly, I raised my head. She cleared her throat and smoothed out the wrinkles from her jeans and blouse.

”I honestly believe what you’re saying to me is true. You don’t seem like you’re planning anything bad, and I’m going to take your word that whatever work you did was simply sending the Khonie to the labor camps. This is going to be our own secret, and I won’t tell the Red Mamba a word about it. They’re getting pretty discouraged because they’re not finding what they’re looking for in the woods. I heard one of their men saying that they’re going to do a thorough search of the city next week, so you may be able to work again soon.”

“You...you trust me?”

“I’m trusting that the reason why they’re hunting you down is because you were good at catching the Khonie. They were saying how you managed to capture hundreds of the creatures, which is why you are one of their best soldiers? Correct? Because you are good at your job? You’re being honest with me here?”

As I stared into her round, dark eyes, I had never felt more the traitor. The truth was at the tip of my tongue.

I couldn’t tell her.

My heart felt like it was going to shatter into a million pieces. Pepper’s rough snout brushed against my leg.

“Yes,” I stammered. “That’s right.”

She gave me a relieved look.

* * * * * * *

By the time the rain stopped, the trucks had left Janice’s property. A purple pinkish hue appeared in the morning sky, and the small backpack full of supplies she had given me and stuffed with weighed me down. She had given me more money for next week’s rent, cans of soup and raw rice, and three precious water bottles.

And I felt sick.

As I stepped into my apartment, the room was colder. With one hand, I turned on the light switch, closing the door behind me. It was oddly quiet, and I slipped my backpack off my shoulder, dropping it on the ground.

“Honda?” I whispered.

The sound of the blowing wind caught my attention. In a daze, I stepped over the empty pile of blankets and pillows nearby my bed. A neat stack of wrinkled papers with her crooked, misspelled handwriting and drawings sat on top. The window was opened halfway, providing a big enough space for a person to crawl through. Not too far was the street, where a few soldiers were walking past a group of civilians dragging two Khonie down to the tents to be sold. Puddles from the rain in the road last night reflected the morning sky.

I lightly pressed my fingers against the glass.

In the muddy grass outside, a trail of several small footsteps made their way out into the road. Her ink covered fingers had left dark smudges on the window pane. My legs gave way as I slid slowly down to the floor, noticing one of her unique sketches before picking it up. It was a detailed image of a bird sitting on a branch. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, hugging it tightly against my chest.

Goodbye, my friend.