Broken Worlds

by Anitha Robinson

  “This is amazing.”

  “Thank you,” he says, looking amused.

  He removes his coat and neatly places it on a rack. He helps me out of mine and drops it onto one of the hooks.

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  I watch him walk away and disappear behind a door. What am I doing? I can’t stay here. A tiny whimper escapes my lips. I squeeze my head between my hands. Think. Think. I have to get out of here. I’m almost out the door when I hear him.

  “Hey? What are you doing?” Ellis asks.

  My legs are jumpy, ready to flee.

  “Is everything okay?” He touches my back, and I whip around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He immediately steps away, his eyes wide.

  His face is damp. The blood has been washed away, but his lip is puffy. Guilt knots up my stomach.

  “It’s okay if you want to leave. I can take you anywhere you want,” Ellis says again.

  I let out a slow breath. There’s something about him that makes me want to trust him. Plus it’s so warm in here. I don’t want to go back to being cold and alone again.

  I shake my head. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Are you tired? You can rest before we eat or go wash up in the bathroom.”

  There is kindness in his eyes. My head swims. I need a moment to figure out what to do. I can’t think straight when I’m so close to him.

  “The bathroom would be great,” I say, as calmly as I can.

  “It’s at the back, through the red door.”

  He holds out his hand, and I take it. We walk past the enormous potted trees, toward the kitchen area. There’s a large island with a multicolored, tiled countertop. I run my fingers against it as we pass by. It feels wonderfully cool and soothes me.

  Beyond the kitchen is an immense bed, covered in a checkered purple and red duvet. Oh no. I have to get out of here. I’m so gullible. He lied. He is going to ….

  But we walk right past the bed. Ellis’s pace never even slows down. And I breathe again.

  “Here you go. There are clean towels and soap on the shelves. If you need anything, just ask.” He opens the door to the bathroom.

  I suddenly remember my backpack. It holds all my possessions, the few that there are. Some clean clothes, my toothbrush, and the remains of all the money I had stashed away since deciding to leave home. It also has a few smaller items that are full of important memories. I must have dropped it in the alley. Ellis studies my face.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “My backpack. I must have left it—”

  “No, it’s just in the car.” He walks out the front door.

  I look around. Is that the only way out? Before my mind can unravel with images of my doom, he returns holding my well-worn backpack.

  “H-how?”

  “I grabbed it when I grabbed you last night. Figured it was important.”

  “But I didn’t see it in the car.”

  “You were a little distracted.” He smiles.

  I take the bag, step into the bathroom, close the door, and sink to the floor, my legs shaky and my face burning. When my breathing finally slows, I stand up and look around. There’s no window. No way for me to escape. But it’s okay. I don’t need to escape. I squeeze my eyes shut with the base of my palms. Please let something good be happening in my life, I pray, hoping that someone out there will finally grant me a wish. I rest my hands on the counter and open my eyes. I thought I knew what I was doing when I left home. I thought anything would be better than the horrors I faced in my own house. But it’s been so hard, and I’m so tired. I’ll just rest for a bit, and then I’ll leave.

  Unlike the main room, the bathroom is startlingly bland but still amazing. Sparkling white sink, big soaker tub, and a shower with so many faucets, that if they were all on, I’d be propelled right out of it.

  I search through my bag for my toothbrush and some clothes. I pull out a pair of jeans, a scraggly sweater, and some underwear, and set them on the bench. I find some toothpaste in a drawer and scrub my teeth along with the entire inside of my mouth.

  Despite the door being firmly shut, I hesitate to undress. I’m not sure if it’s his eyes or my own that I’m hiding from. There is a long mirror hanging on the wall, and I don’t want to see what my body has transformed into.

  I take a nervous glance at myself in the mirror and immediately wish I hadn’t. In just over three months, my body has sunken in on itself. Angular bones protrude under my skin. The long, lean muscles that once shaped my arms and legs have vanished. I look dull and unhealthy. I was never as dark-skinned as my mother, but now I just look sickly pale. The only thing I inherited from her was my thick black wad of hair. The color of my eyes and paler skin I got from my dad.

  It was almost a daily event to hear Sita saying that the only thing that should be green is money. She’d say this, staring directly into my moss-colored eyes. I know the fair color of my skin also annoyed her.

  The other thing that shocks me is the sliver of a mark below my belly button. It’s so strange. How did Margaret heal me up so well? There are no bloodied bandages to change. I don’t have any pain. Maybe it hadn’t been so bad. I once read that wounds to the head bleed a lot. Perhaps that’s true for cuts to the stomach as well.

  As I step into the shower, I cringe, worried that the water will sting the wound. But it doesn’t. It passes over me and my weariness begins to release and wash away.

  I could never relax like this at home. I was always on guard, wondering when Sita would produce the next despicable marriage candidate. Terrified that he’d be the one to commit the vilest act. To violate me completely. They didn’t care that I was so much younger than they were.

  I rest my hands against the wall. Ellis is not like those guys. He has been nothing but kind and attentive. I totally freaked out in the car. He even gave me his phone, offered me his car. I could have called anyone or driven away. I can trust him. I can.

  I lather up the bodywash and scour my skin, head to toe. My flesh stings but I keep going.

  Finally I am red and raw and clean. I close my eyes and wish I had something comfy and soft to change into. I don’t want to wear the crispy old jeans and scratchy sweater.

  Within seconds of my wishing it, he appears, or rather his arm appears, laden with a pile of plushy soft fabrics.

  “I thought you might find these comfortable.” With his head concealed behind the door, he expertly tosses the clothes onto the bench.

  I instinctively cover the parts of me that should be covered, but he is already gone.

  I open the bathroom door and there he is, arms crossed, leaning against the back of the kitchen island. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans. The clothes fit him so well that I am momentarily drawn away from his face to his perfect body.

  “Feel better?” he asks.

  “Yes and, um, thank you for the clothes.”

  I am grateful for them. The softness of the fabric melts against my skin. I only wish I wasn’t wearing such a shapeless outfit. His clothes mold so closely against his body. Lucky clothes.

  “They look great on you.” Again his timing is flawless. Either he is reading my mind, or he’s uncannily sensitive to my every need.

  I stand there awkwardly, as his eyes sweep over me. They are such a deep blue color, almost black. It’s hard to breathe when I look at them.

  “Are you hungry?” He motions to the platters of food laid out on the kitchen counter.

  There is a heaping basket of thickly sliced bread, cheese, fresh fruit, and tall glasses of juice. My stomach grumbles loudly as if it just woke up from a deep sleep. I am so hungry, so completely and overwhelmingly hungry. These past months, food and the pursuit of it have been one of my main driving forces. And now here it is, all laid out for me.

  I eat until my stomach finally fills. Actually overfills. I feel the food trying to come back up. I close my eyes, unwilling to relinquish my hold on this meal. I will not t
hrow up. I will not throw up in front of Ellis. Just breathe.

  “Sorry, I didn’t leave any for you,” I say.

  “Don’t worry about it. Would you like something else?”

  Why didn’t he eat? Did he put something in the food? Stop it. I should be grateful. My paranoia has no limits.

  “No, I’m good.” I steady myself against the counter and wipe the clammy sweat that beads on my forehead. “Maybe a glass of water,” I add.

  Something soft rubs against my leg. It’s a cat—actually two cats. They’re circling the kitchen, looking for remnants of food that have fallen to the floor.

  “You okay with cats?” he asks.

  “I love them.” I reach down to stroke the fur of a gray tabby.

  As my fingers move across the cat’s silky back, I am thrown into a memory of my thirteenth birthday and my parents, bubbling with smiles, handing me a box with holes in it. From inside came the tiniest of squeals. I still remember that shaking, excited feeling I had as I opened the box and set my eyes on a fluffy orange and black kitten. I held her little body against my face and knew I would love her forever. Sadly, forever didn’t last.

  When I was fourteen, I became an older sister. A year later, Sita, moved in from India, to help take care of the baby. Immediately upon setting her big boney feet into our home, she declared that my cat Kasha was a danger to the new baby and must be gotten rid of. Despite my desperate pleas and promises to keep Kasha away from the baby, my mother sent her to the Humane Society.

  I called about her every day. She wasn’t eating or drinking. The woman at the society tried to reassure me that it would take time for Kasha to adjust to her new surroundings, and she would be fine. I knew she wasn’t fine. Her heart was broken just like mine, and after two agonizing months of calling, I was told that she had taken a turn for the worse one night and died.

  I remember that moment as if I was standing holding the phone right now. I hated my mother and Sita. I hated Sita for destroying the one thing I loved more than anything, and I hated my mother for letting her. As I hung up the phone, I thought that I should just run away. I wish I had. If only I had known what was to come.

  I don’t realize I’m crying until I see the drops fall onto the cat.

  “You okay?” Ellis’s voice brings me back.

  I quickly wipe away the wetness. “Must be a bit tired.” I smile weakly.

  “You go and relax. I’ll feed Bo and Lucy and be right over.”

  He fills up two little metal bowls with some dry kibble. Bo and Lucy stand on hind legs, reaching up for the food.

  When he’s done, Ellis comes and sits down beside me. His leg brushes against mine.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asks.

  The sound of his voice is gentle and melodic, like listening to a love song. My breathing speeds up. I am behaving like those brainless girls at school who drool over anything male. I want to be better than that, but it’s hard when he’s sitting so close to me.

  I have no idea why he makes me feel like this. Yes, he’s good looking, but it’s more than that. I’m drawn to him even though I don’t really know him. I’ve obviously been alone for so long that I’ve forgotten how to normally interact with people.

  “Kalli? You okay?” he repeats.

  “Yeah, I am. Your place is amazing. It’s so colorful, like living in a rainbow.”

  It’s such an effort to make conversation when all I want to do is look at him. His lips curve at the corners. The swelling has already gone down.

  “It’s a bit much, but I like it. The home I grew up in was very bleak. I hated it. So I went a bit wild with my own place.”

  I don’t want to keep staring at him, so I look around for something else to talk about.

  “Those trees. How do they grow so tall inside?”

  “Ah, yes. Another thing we didn’t have much of when I was growing up, plants. I found these in a nursery up north. I can’t remember what they’re called, but Lucy and Bo love to climb them.” He sinks back into the sofa. “Do you like to read, Kalli?”

  “Yes, I do,” I answer truthfully.

  One of my escapes from Sita used to be to hide out in the local library and lose myself in one story after another. When I left home, I took only one book with me, my favorite, Dr. Dolittle. My dad used to read it to me when I was little.

  Suddenly, Ellis is up on his feet, with his hand held out to me. Our fingers touch and sparks shoot through me. He leads me to one wall of books. Few look familiar. Some don’t even seem to be written in English.

  “How many languages do you know?”

  He smiles, and my bones turn to mush.

  “I know a few,” he answers casually.

  A dream come true. Smart and handsome.

  “Well, please feel free to choose any book you like.”

  His tone is polite but uncertain, magnifying the fact that despite my weirdly intense attraction for Ellis, we’re still just strangers.

  “Well, maybe later,” he says.

  I look at him puzzled.

  “The books. Maybe you can pick one later.”

  “Oh yeah, later. Thanks.”

  Later. I’ll be here later? That’s a good sign. I’m in no hurry to go back to the streets.

  His face is no longer smiling. He looks wistful, as if he can sense the battle raging within my head.

  “How’s your cut?” He motions to my stomach.

  I stare at him. Can he see right through me?

  “It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” I say. “It’s kind of weird though. I remember when I was in the alley and seeing all that blood coming out of me. There was so much. But in the shower ….” I hesitate. “I, ah, looked at the cut on my stomach and it’s so small. And a tiny scar was already there. When I was younger, I fell off my bike. I had this huge gash in my leg and had to get stitches. It looked awful for a long time. Like some centipede erupting from beneath my skin.” I wince at the memory. “And these wounds were way deeper than when I fell off my bike. I just don’t get how it all healed so fast. I mean it doesn’t even hurt. Kind of like it never happened.”

  “Did you ask Margaret about it?”

  I shrug. He angles his head and raises his eyebrows, encouraging me to go on. When I don’t, he says. “Ah, yes, her explanation probably wasn’t very helpful. Sometimes it can be difficult to push Margaret for more. She comes across as unapproachable, but she is an excellent healer.”

  “Healer? Yeah, that’s what she called herself,” I say, running my fingers over the spines of the books. “So she’s not a doctor?”

  “She knows traditional medicine, so, yeah, she’s a doctor.” He leans his arm against the bookshelf. “But she’s also trained in advanced healing techniques and thinks of herself as better than a doctor. She believes she can heal almost anything.” He pauses and mimics me by moving his fingers across the books, until our fingers are inches apart. “But anyway, next time you see Margaret, you should ask her. She loves talking about her advanced training and her own brilliance.”

  “You know her really well?

  “I know her pretty well,” he says.

  “Did you say next time? Why would I see Margaret again?” My chest tightens, and my fingernails dig into the supple books.

  “Isn’t that what she said back at the clinic? That you’d need to be checked again?”

  She did, but I have no intention of going back.

  We stand in silence for a while. Ellis seems tense and on guard. He continues to move his hands over the books. Why does it matter to him if I go back or not? I don’t like the awkward quiet, and I feel compelled to say something. My cheeks redden. I search the room, hoping for some inspiration to help me say something brilliant, to redirect the conversation.

  He is still looking at me, his radiant eyes unblinking. I wish I could completely trust him and allow myself to let go of all the fears and doubts. I feel like I’m shrinking. Terrified everything I need to believe about Ellis will vanish. I want so
meone to exist who actually cares about me, and I want that person to be Ellis. I’ve been looking after myself for so long. Even when I was at home, no one gave a thought about my well-being. I want a break. Just a tiny break. I know I should be strong and independent, but I can’t remember the last time I felt taken care of, and I want to feel that way for a bit longer.

  I look at him, searching his face for some sign of wickedness. His eyes are still fixed on me, waiting for me to speak.

  “Why did you help me?” I ask. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Um, okay.” He looks taken aback. He moves to the sofa, and I follow him, my fingers tapping nervously on the sides of my legs as I pad along behind him.

  “I found you in an alley being beaten. I wasn’t going to just walk away.” He sounds agitated, but his face remains calm.

  “It’s just that not everyone would risk getting involved in someone else’s problem.”

  His expression softens. “Well, they should. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to help you.”

  My life has hardened me. I have been made to believe that goodness is finite, but maybe for some it is infinite.

  He looks sincere. His eyes are pulling me in, yanking at my heart to believe he is good. He even stood by me when I flipped out in the car. Plus he has cats. He likes them. He takes care of them. I can trust him.

  CHAPTER 5

  It’s starting to get dark outside. I can’t believe I’ve spent the entire day with Ellis.

  I’m sitting in an armchair, pretending to read a book. My eyes skim over the pages. My thoughts scatter, and I’m unable to link the words to form a meaningful sentence. Ellis has stepped outside to retrieve something from his car. I give up my pretense of reading and wander around. It’s just one big room, and there’s only one way out. The walls feel like they are closing in on me. Imprisoning me.