”Rehan,” Papa murmured, “this is Milo.”

He looked like he had to choke the words out.

Milo gave me a small smile, revealing a row of crooked gray teeth. I did not return it.

The sweltering heat caused the sweat to build up underneath the rim of my hat. I had never seen anyone who was so tall and skinny before—even taller than Papa, who barely reached his shoulder. The scary man’s face was streaked with dirt, and his large brown eyes seemed to look directly into my soul. His expression was one that I could not seem to exactly figure out. I noticed his fingernails were black with dirt, curling up around the handle of my small suitcase. Once more, I tried to draw behind Papa again, but he gradually nudged me toward Milo. I shuddered. How could anyone be so pale?

“Go on,” he urged. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

I could barely hear my father’s words as I huddled behind his legs. Once again, he guided me forward with his hands on my shoulders. The look in his dark blue eyes made me perhaps reconsider my promise.

“Now, Rehan,” Papa firmly said.

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I was surprised both men couldn’t hear it. Before I could even make sense of what to do next, Milo suddenly picked me off the ground. I was surprised by the strength in his arms as he easily adjusted me on his left hip. The sour smell from his worn clothes made want to pinch my nose with my fingers. Yet the dried ground appeared to be hundred upon hundreds of miles below, like if I tumbled downwards I would break into a million pieces like a china doll. When I finally had enough courage to look into Milo’s face, he gently adjusted the cap on my head.

Papa struggled to speak as he glared at the strange man. “If there is as so much of a scratch on him when you bring my child back, I’ll have my men shoot you down where you stand. Your corpse will be fed to my dogs. I’ll tie it to the back of my truck and paint the roads red with your wretched blood.”

Milo said nothing. He turned away from Papa and began to limp away, his bare feet silent against the dirt. The others gathered behind him, yelling, but they had stopped throwing items. They began to look smaller in the distance, and I could see Papa standing in front of all of them, his teeth clenched, tears spilling down his face. It wasn’t until we reached the coral reeds that he collapsed to his knees and began to sob. I wanted to shout out for him, but my throat was lodged.

* * * * * *

A sparrow landed on a nearby branch.

Dead vines hung from the mass of trees around us. The forest was completely still, with the exception of a few squirrels rushing by, the croak of a bullfrog, and the wind rustling the leaves above. The smell of moss and soil filled the air. I couldn’t tell how long Milo had been carrying me, but it must’ve been more than a couple of hours. I tried to memorize each tree so that I could know how to make my way back. My mind was frozen. I remembered the promise I had made to my sister, but I wasn’t sure that I could keep it.

Sweat drenched Milo’s shirt, face, and neck as he began to make his way up a long, winding hill. His collarbones protruded from his flesh, and his face was sunken in. His eyes were hidden underneath his tangled red hair, but I could make out a hint of whiskers that had begun to gather on his face. The sun was beginning to set in between the trees, leaving an orange, yellow hue in the sky.

”Soon as we get home,” he said real soft, that strange accent of his muffling his words, “I’ll make you a good supper. A nice hearty bean soup and some cornbread will do wonders. They haven’t been feeding you properly—seeing as tiny as you are.”

There was an odd note of excitement in his voice. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Mary would need me to help with the dishes, set the table while she bustled around in the kitchen. Stephanie would cut out the crossword puzzle from the magazine she had brought off the street and read me the funny pages on the back. Miss Kim wouldn’t be able to see my picture. And worst of all, Aiden didn’t have any lunch today, not even a cookie. He wouldn’t be able to come over to our apartment to play later.

And it was all Milo’s fault.

When I was really little, I used to do something that Mary would hate whenever she carried me. She would wear her hair in long, golden braids, which were like the jump ropes that the other village children played with, and I often tugged or swung at them. This was enough for her to set me down for a while, but she’d always pick me right back up.

My eyes burned underneath the sweat forming on my glasses. With all of my might, I reached upwards and yanked at a chunk of red hair on Milo’s head. I could tell that this caught him off guard due to him being weary from all the walking he had been doing, and his grip on me loosened. The suitcase slipped out of his grasp and slid down into a bush below. I managed to duck below his sweaty hands and, the moment my bare feet touched the grass, I took off running as fast as I could, startling a flock of birds.

There was a slight grunt, but the moment I felt the man’s arms wrap around me again, I swung at his face. A high pitched shriek erupted from me as he scooped me up. With my fists, I struck as hard as I could, blindly delivering one blow after the other. His breaths were shaky, heavy, even though he slightly winced when my hand struck his nose.

Milo’s dirty fingers wrapped around my wrists after I tried to drag my nails into his flesh. With my bare feet, I made sure to land a few kicks to his stomach, but this hardly seemed to affect him, which only infuriated me even more. I then spat directly into his face, the white foamy stuff dripping off the edge of his nose. His solemn expression only faltered for a moment, but his large brown eyes gazed into mine. Despite the tears running down my mouth and chin, I continued to strike him as hard as I could. I screamed as loud as I could. Papa had lied. So had Mary and Stephanie. They weren’t coming back for me. Nobody was.

When I prepared to spit at Milo again, he suddenly tightened his grip on me, crossing his legs in the dirt as he sat down with me on his lap. I hollered again, squirming and twisting. My screams filled the air, and I kicked at his right thigh again, although it did absolutely nothing. With all of my might, I began to try to tug my wrists away from his hands. His sleeves rolled down, revealing deep scars crossing and running up his arms.

He was struggling to breathe. “You don’t have to fight me. I know you’re confused. But you don’t have to fight me.” He swallowed heavily. “You don’t have to fight me. It’s all right.”

I gazed at the bright red marks for a moment. A soft wind blew between us, causing me to shiver. When I tried to pry my arms free, he continued to hold on. There was a pause as we silently stared at each other for a moment, fresh tears escaping down my face. He had the strangest brown eyes I had ever seen on someone—I didn’t know what to make of them. They had a certain warmth to them. They didn’t look like they belonged to him.

“It’s alright,” he softly repeated.

Once more, I gathered enough saliva in my mouth to spit a second time, but he released my wrists and roughly made me face him, both of his giant hands on my shoulders. The action startled me so much it left me stunned for a second. I screamed as loud as I could in his face, hoping he’d go deaf from it.

”Oh no, you don’t,” he firmly said. “No.”

I kept swinging, hitting with my fists, and yet he restrained my arms again. I tried to turn away, squirming, still hitting, kicking, and screaming.

Milo’s brown eyes narrowed. “No.”

A large hiccup escaped from my mouth. I shifted my arm to deliver a blow, but he firmly grabbed it. His hand gently wrapped around mine. I stared at our intertwined fingers, the bruised and peeling knuckles visible on his. I glared at his face, the dried blood on his nose, wanting to smash my fist directly through it. I tried to spit, but he made me face away from him before the next spray came. It dribbled down my chin, stained the collar of my shirt. I screamed again—my cheeks hot, my chest too tight to breathe. My head hurt.

“I said, no.”

Milo’s words were as clear as the cool night air descending upon us. My sobs shook my chest, and I tried to push him away.

I began to whimper. He removed my glasses, leaving a messy blur of colors to meet my vision. At this point, I was too exhausted to throw another punch. I stared at him. Using the edge of his shirt, I could feel him wiping my face dry. Once he had me put my glasses back on, I loudly sniffed and rubbed both of my puffy eyes with the back of my hands. He took off his coat and bundled it around my shivering form. Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Don’t you ever spit on me again,” he fiercely said. The accent was coming through thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. “Or anyone. You hear me? How would you’d like it if I spat on you?”

I hiccuped, shaken up by his tone.

”Well, would you like it?”

Weakly, I shook my head.

”Don’t do it again. Understand?”

I nodded.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

It must’ve been a good enough answer for Milo, because he scooped me up in his arms again, slightly bouncing me up and down. I rested my head against his broad shoulder, listening to his bare feet crunching against the dead leaves on the ground. There was a rustling of branches as he found my suitcase.

* * * * * * *

It was hard for me to remember if I had dozed off or not. My eyelids were glued to each other, and I pried them open as Milo began to descend down a grassy slope. His steps were more clumsy, and it was obvious that he was fighting off fatigue. I stared at the sight in front of us.

There were a few fields, covered in withered, dried crops, shriveled up by the heat of the setting sun. Cast in the shadows in front of us was a small wooden shack, with a lopsided roof that looked like it was getting ready to slide off at any moment. The walls were patched with sod and logs, the entrance was covered in cobwebs. Chickens clucked and scattered about on the ground, pecking at what little sustenance was present in the dirt. A brown cow bellowed in the distance, being closed off by a small pen. Saliva dripped from the cud it was chewing on, and its tail swung back and forth to beat off the flies and mosquitos.

Barking filled my ears.

I turned my head to see a scrawny greyhound appear from behind the shack, long pink tongue hanging from its jaw. Its coat was mangy and worn through, and I shrank back when it barked again, rushing and swarming around Milo’s bare feet. He hardly reacted as the dog jumped up on his legs.

”Here Boy, get back.”

Here Boy? What a strange dog for a strange man.

“Down,” Milo ordered. “Down!”

The animal whined. Milo gently scratched his head, and he obediently trotted behind us, sniffing at the man’s hand for a treat. As he carried me through the fields, the plants brushed against my arms, tickling my skin. I froze at the sight of a ladybug crawling on a leaf near us. All of the windows of the shack were dark, and the porch was sagging. Milo placed my suitcase down on the first step and took off my hat. He stretched his back.

“We’re home,” he gently said.

As soon as he lowered me to the ground, I took off sprinting as fast as I could, heading for the woods, back to the village. My legs were half asleep, feeling like wet noodles.

His shadow appeared over the crops. I ducked over a log, which he ended up falling over one. Scrambling on all fours, I climbed over a few bushes. Due to it growing dark I knew it would be harder to see close to the ground. I made a left turn around the edge of the field, trying to not make my footsteps loud. I continued to crawl on my knees.

Crickets chirped in the air. I had only made it halfway through the cornfield when his strong right arm suddenly picked me up, my bare feet dangling in the air several feet off the ground. He had me suspended in the air by the back of my jean overalls with one of his giant hands. I screamed and tried to get a good hit at him, but he then scooped me up into the crook of his left arm, which was outlined by a thick layer of bright red hair. As he began to carry me through the thick plants, the sky above was growing purple and blue.

“Alright, buddy. Our game of tag is over.”

I kept squirming, but it was no use. Milo’s skin was glistening with sweat, and his breathing was heavy. With all of my remaining strength, I began to struggle and kick my legs helplessly. I stuck my tongue out at him and made a loud sputtering sound, hoping that alone would be enough for him to want to send me back. To my dismay, it seemed unlikely. Rather, he appeared amused, holding back a laugh. Dimples appeared across his face. My face burned. I wish Stephanie would give him a good ass whooping. That would shut him up real fast.

With my left fist, I attempted to strike his face.

Milo effortlessly held my wrist with one of his bear sized hands. “You still gonna keep fighting me? You don’t look the type to be doing all that carrying on. You really don’t. You were so well behaved at the village. ” His voice trailed off into a whisper. “I’d appreciate it if you use your words. Talk to me. And I know you can—with all that screaming you’ve been doing. Don’t pretend to act all quiet now.”

My glasses rested crooked on my nose. I glared at him, before trying to swing again.

”So we’re not ready to talk yet?”

I tried to smack his jaw but failed.

He sighed. “That’s fine. I’ve got all night.”

In a deep rage, I began to attempt to pry his large fingers away from my arms, although it took both of my hands to even make his index finger or thumb slightly budge. I wanted to snap them off by the knuckles, give him something to holler about. When Milo cleared a few sweaty strands of hair from my forehead, he gave me a slow smile again, an odd realization forming across his face.

His expression made me lower my fists.

“You’ve got her nose and mouth,” Milo faintly whispered to himself, just barely enough for me to hear. “And all of her freckles.”

I stared at him, confused and wondering if he had lost his marbles. If there was one thing worse than being sick in the head, it was being crazy. Smelling as bad as he did would’ve been enough to drive anyone out of their wits. He glanced away for a moment, before heading back to the shack. It looked even more terrifying up close. Chills ran down my spine.

“C’mon,” Milo said. “Don’t you want supper? It’ll be good, I promise. And I can make a wicked pan of cornbread. Grits too.” He paused. “You like grits, don’t you?”

I scowled and folded my arms. He picked up his coat that I had dropped and wrapped it around my shivering frame. To my surprise, he carried me to the steps and chuckled to himself. I stared at him as he pulled a leaf out of my hair. A faint smile gathered on his lips, but it quickly faded.

“You are pretty fast,” he whispered.

Furious that he was mocking me, I shifted my leg and prepared to give him a kick, but he began to bounce me up and down.

I yawned. The rhythm left me in a daze in which I did not expect to be in. I yanked at the holes on his worn shirt, noticing how his ribcage was showing through his pale skin. Milo then adjusted me so that I was lying sideways, in his arms. He raised an eyebrow at me. I scrunched up my nose. He needed a bath. He smelled worse than the cow dung that Papa made Mary shovel at our village.

”Are we still fighting?”

I stared at him.

“I know you’re getting too tired for this.” With his index finger, he tapped my nose. “Hmm? You ever think of being a boxer when you grow up? You got a mean hit, little guy.”

The urge to giggle came over me, but I withheld myself, trying to lock my jaw from smiling. A twinkle appeared in his brown eyes. I really didn’t want to go inside of the shack. It looked like it was filled to the brim with spiders and rats. And there were probably ghosts inside, ready to snatch my soul. I wondered why he didn’t clean it. Stephanie could barely handle ants. Her blood pressure would rise if she saw what was in front of us.

”You sure you’re not tired? I think you are, after all that fighting you’ve been doing. Come on. Let’s get you into bed. It’s been a mighty long day for you.”

I fought back another yawn and lost. He then picked up my suitcase and trudged up the stairs, opening the shack door. The floor was completely made out of dirt, and it was pitch dark in there, but he turned on a gas lantern, casting shadows. To my surprise, despite it being very bare, it was neat inside, with the furniture looking like it was made by hand.

Using my hands, I began to wrap my fingers around the threshold of the door, but he gently pried my hands away. In dismay, I watched the doorway to freedom grow smaller as he carried me in the dark kitchen area. Pots and pans hung above, making a clattering noise in the wind. There was so much dust it made me sneeze several times. To my left was another room with a large mattress and a folded blanket, but he went the opposite way, past the cramped hallway. I whimpered at the shadows.

“It’s alright,” Milo whispered. “I’m here.”

I didn’t want him to be. Sleep was the very last thing I needed, and I didn’t care what time it was. He didn’t even have a clock, and Miss Kim hadn’t taught me how to read one yet.

Milo brought the lantern into a smaller room. There was a clean mattress stuffed with sweet smelling hay and grass on top of a handmade wooden bed frame, a white pillow, and a quilt with patterns on it. The tiny room was bare except for a small wooden chair and a few crates in the corner. The walls were very thin, and I could hear the wind whistling through the gaps between the wooden board. I was struggling to keep my eyes open as he set down my suitcase on a nearby chair and drew the strange smelling quilt around me, despite me still being wrapped in his coat.

His face was mostly hidden in the dark—strands of his hair fell over his glowing eyes. A quiet sigh fell from him, and I noticed a strange metal band around his left index finger, covered in grime and dirt. Once more, I began to burst into tears, soaking the pillow. This place was empty and cold. I did not understand why Papa was not coming for me. I longed for my hut. My own bed. Mary’s apartment. Milo slowly reached for me, but I immediately beat away at his hands and arms. I did not understand why he wanted me here, in this dusty place. He smelled worse than the cow outside. I wish I was strong as Papa to give him a bloody nose like he did.

One day, I would do it.

With one swift motion, I wrapped the quilt around myself and crawled off the mattress, causing pieces of hay to fall off on the ground. I huddled into a corner, creating as much distance as I could between him and I, still glaring at him. Fresh tears escaped down my chin. I wanted to call out for Stephanie.

”Goodnight,” Milo whispered, although his voice was choked up. He was blinking a lot.

I wanted to yell at him to go away, but my voice was gone. He remained still for a moment, as if in deep thought, before picking up the lantern and closing the door behind him. The quilt warmed me from head to toe, and I had no intention of leaving it ever again. The wind caused the walls to make an awful groaning sound. There was no window. I would have to figure out a way to leave once he fell asleep. Hopefully he wouldn’t leave the front door locked. Or any of the windows.

* * * * * * *

The musical notes of a song startled me.

I peeled off the quilt and coat off me, groggy with sleep. How I had managed to doze off at all I did not know. Crawling on all fours, I opened the door and crept through the dark shack, sitting underneath a table. My stomach was growling, but I didn’t want anything from him. Mary had taught me not to ever accept things from strangers. The man would most likely try to poison my food, and I’d never be able to make it home. I could find berries and mushrooms in the woods. Papa had taught me which ones were dangerous and safe to eat. And I knew how to set up rabbit traps.

A warm wind passed through the front door, causing it to bang sideways against the wall. I jumped at the sound, peering out between the chair legs of the table. My knees sunk into the dirt. It reminded me of my hut back home—although the scent of dirt wasn’t what met my nose. It was the same sour smell as the man, like something was slowly rotting, like curdled milk being left into the sun for far too long.

Moonlight spilled on the porch, revealing a sky full of stars. The crops swayed in the wind, bent over and twisted like vines.

Milo sat sideways on the first step, his pale bare feet a shocking contrast against the darkness. His withered, twisted fingers strummed the strings of a worn looking guitar, the notes slowly falling into tune. I watched how they glided over them almost effortlessly, not exactly sure what the song he was playing was. Once he was finished, he slowly set the instrument aside. His breathing was stifled, and although it was as quiet as the wind, I could hear his deep sobs. He then buried his face into his lap, hugging his knees. His back shook, rising up and down.

The sight startled me so much that I could only sit still and watch him as he fell apart. Very quietly, I felt around in the dark and made my way back to the tiny dirt room. I sat on the mattress, my vision getting blurry as I remembered Papa and Mary’s words.

I did not know what to do.