Hanna

Heavy ticking wakes me from my slumber, slow at first, but then as the recent memories flood back in I jump up into a sit. A grandfather clock stands in a room corner, showing 8 am. Then a crackle of a fireplace draws my attention and I inhale an unsteady breath, recalling how I passed out on this sofa in Lyn’s living room while she was bandaging me. Right, she had also guided me here once my panic calmed a little.

I swaddle into my blanket tighter, my shot arm supported with a scarf, and get up on my aching feet. My toes sink into a fluffy carpet and my attention travels to the rest of this spacious house. Everything is wooden and warm-toned, with little accents of gold here and there. It’s as if from dust and concrete I teleported into this deep, quiet, and earthy safe haven. I forgot such places existed.

An unfamiliar sensation floods my body, a tug of war between a strong desire to just run or melt into a puddle of tears on this cloud of a carpet.

I stuff that sensation away as I smell frying eggs.

Oh, she’s here.

“So dirty of you,” Lyn grumbles when I find the kitchen and stop by the doorway. She doesn’t turn to face me.

“Sorry,” is all I can think of.

She continues frying eggs, flips them angrily, then turns. “What is that story? Of you and your brother?”

I open my mouth, staring at her, but nothing comes out.

She turns away. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“I do need help,” I whisper.

She places a plate with some eggs and bacon on a dining table. “Well, I assume if I don’t help you, you’re gonna take away the only method of relief I have,” her voice cuts off, “and if they see my arms, shit,” she hits herself on the head lightly. “You’re so stupid, Lyn, why did you take off your sweater?” She turns away, cursing at herself. “Sit, those are for you.” She cracks a second pair of eggs into the pan.

Unsurely, I sit. The food steams under my nose, so warm, and fresh, and nice… and that sensation reawakens again.

I ate nothing but TV-dinners and protein bars for an entire month.

I feel my lip wobble.

No, don’t cry. You gotta find Michael. You can’t relax, Hanna.

I poke my eggs with a fork. “My brother cuts too, we’re on a run from some bad people. He left to deal with them, but I hope he’ll come and find me.”

Lyn laughs over the noise of sizzling eggs. “In this forgotten town? I doubt it.”

“I hopped a freight train, I think those are the only tracks that lead here.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “How long ago?”

“A day almost. I think he will show up if we just hang around the main road into this town.” What other option do I have? I have no clue where Michael has gone.

“And then what?”

“He will likely need some medical help and then we’ll be on our way. I will leave you alone and no word to the police.”

Lyn turns to me and leans against the counter, spatula in her hand. I scrunch under her harsh gaze, but then tell myself to stand my ground and meet her glare again.

“Fine,” she says. “But as soon as you two are capable you go.”

I nod. “Promise. Look, I’m sorry. I really felt forced into this.”

She just sighs as she places her food into her plate.

Clutching my fork with both of my hands I look at my food again.

Breathe, breathe…

It’s just normal, fresh food. That she made. For me.

My body erupts in tears. It’s as if it got fed up with what I kept telling myself and just decided to act independently.

Lyn sits next to me as I bawl. She moves the plate from under my face to protect the food from all the tears.

I can’t stop so I just curl into myself, placing my forehead on the table, shaking lightly in my chair. This cry is different. It scares me. These tears don’t feel like the tears of being in distress or terror for my own life, but more like tears of not having to be.