But do I want to leave this comfy room, this nice little home, for the unpredictable, savage outside world? Anyone could take advantage of me there and make me do things I don’t want to in exchange for simple things such as food, water, or even clothes.
Deion doesn’t do that. Not once has he asked for anything since he brought me to his home. As though I was a damsel in distress he needed to rescue. And honestly, it felt nice to be helped even though it’s far from the life I’m used to.
I don’t mind … this tiny home has its own charm with lots of memories etched into the wood. Even right here, where I’m lying, someone has scratched a name into the boards. “Ashanti,” I murmur, touching the letters.
Cute name. I wonder who it is. Does she live here too? Or was she the owner of this house before Deion?
Not that it matters. I don’t need to know everything there is to know about him today. I’m already happy he gave me food and a place to stay. That’s all I could ever ask from someone, and right now, that’s enough. I don’t need anything else for now. I’m content where I am, so I’m going to enjoy this house and Deion’s kindness for a little longer.
Chapter 6
Charlotte
A few hours later, I wake up to the sound of a door slamming. I sit up straight in the bed and only then do I remember I’m in Deion’s house and not Easton’s. My heart did a somersault, and now it’s back to normal … but for some reason, I’m still on edge.
I push the blanket off me and get up to peer down the staircase opening. Should I pull it up and close the hatch, pretend I’m not here? I don’t know who just came in. It could be anyone. For all I know, it could be Easton searching for me. If he finds me here, he’ll probably hurt Deion.
That thought causes shivers to run along my spine.
No, I won’t let it happen. Besides, Easton doesn’t know where I am. Barely anyone does. I’ve only spoken to two people since I disappeared—one of whom was a drugged-out boy who I didn’t give my name to and bolted away from. So how would Easton ever find me here? Impossible.
I take a deep breath and then go down the staircase. No point in hanging out in the attic room if someone’s here.
“Charlotte?” It’s Deion, and a smile appears on my face the moment he peeks up the staircase from the hallway downstairs. “I’m back.”
“Hi,” I reply, grabbing the tiny stairs and pushing them up because it’s blocking the rest of the doors, including the bathroom. I close the hatch and pull down the pullover that somehow made its way up my neck.
“I brought lunch!” Deion calls out from the kitchen.
I go downstairs, but on the way, I pause and stare at the pink boots by the doorway.
What the …?
I don’t recall Deion wearing those. Or him having such small feet.
Do we have another visitor?
I go farther down the stairs, toward the fishy scent coming from the kitchen. My breath falters a bit when I spot the little girl sitting at the table. She smiles when she sees me, and her frizzy hair bounces a little as she waves. “Hey, Charlotte!”
She pronounces my name in such a strange way with the emphasis on the o and the t … but I like it.
Deion makes a face and gives me an awkward smile. “I’ve got fish, want some?”
“Um … sure,” I say, still clutching the doorjamb.
“Ashanti, pak eens een bord,” Deion says.
Ashanti … why does that sound familiar?
The little girl immediately runs to the cupboards and grabs another plate and a glass of water, which she places on the table right beside her plate. “Kom bij mij zitten,” she says, patting the chair.
“What is she saying?” I ask, confused.
“She wants you to sit with her,” Deion explains, smiling. He glances at her as one would look at his most prized possession. The same way Easton would look at me. Is she his … daughter?
I do what she asks, albeit with a little hesitation. Deion throws some fried fish on my plate, and says, “Kibbeling.”
“What?”
“That’s what it’s called. It’s fried codfish. You eat it with garlic sauce.” He grabs a clear plastic cup that contains a white sauce and places it down in front of me. “Here, try it. It’s delicious.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I pour some on the fish and take a bite. “Mmm …”
“Good, right?” Deion says.
“Mijn favoriet!” the girl says, and she stands up straight while stirring the fish through the cup.
“Ashanti …” Deion sighs, tugging at her arm. “Zitten als je eet.”
I can barely understand what they’re saying, but I won’t ask them to speak English either. This is their home, after all, and I’m only a guest. And a happy one too because this fish is delicious.