Little Miracle

It has been 1,825 days since I have been locked into this cage. I have been locked in here because I am crazy. Crazy because I can do certain things that no one else can do. I told someone about my abilities and they locked me in here. I've been told that the mafia leader who owns this world is going to be coming here for a new play thing.

Someone to keep him entertained.  The doors open, and the room immediately falls silent. I keep my eyes lowered, watching a pair of polished black shoes step onto the concrete floor. I hear the quiet murmur of the guards greeting him, but I can't bring myself to look up.

"Which ones?" His voice is deep, calm, and carries an authority that makes everyone around him nervous.

"Whichever you prefer, sir. They're all available."

I hear footsteps moving around the room. Then they stop. Right in front of me.

"What's wrong with this one?” I swallow, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress.

"She's been here for five years. Completely withdrawn. Doesn't speak much. We were told she thinks that she has... abilities."

"Abilities?"

"That's what she claims."

I feel his attention settle on me.

"Look at me."

Slowly, I lift my eyes. I'm not sure what I expect. Perhaps someone monstrous. Someone whose face matches the horrible stories I've heard. Instead, I'm looking at a remarkably handsome man with dark eyes and an expression I can't quite decipher. He studies me for several seconds.

"She's frightened."

"Most of them are, sir." His eyes drop briefly before returning to mine.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

I hesitate. I can't remember the last time someone asks me that without demanding something in return. And no one has ever called me sweetheart before.

I barely have time to process his question before he moves.

One moment I'm standing against the wall, and the next, his arms are slipping beneath me, lifting me completely off the concrete. My breath catches. I'm shocked, but I know better than to struggle.

I've learned that moving when someone doesn't want you to move only makes things worse. So I keep my hands close to my chest and my body stiff, staring somewhere over his shoulder.

He's surprisingly strong. His black shirt stretches slightly across his shoulders as he carries me, and I notice that beneath the leather jacket, he has a rather impressive build. Not the kind that looks particularly obvious beneath his clothes, but the kind you only notice when you're close enough to feel the strength in someone's arms.

"Relax," he murmurs, adjusting his hold on me. "I'm not going to drop you."

I don't answer.

He carries me down a hallway I've walked a thousand times, except this time, the doors aren't closing behind me. The guards step aside as he approaches the exit.

And then the doors open.

Sunlight.

I squeeze my eyes shut immediately, turning my face into his chest. It's almost painful after spending so many years beneath fluorescent lights.

"Easy," he says quietly. "Your eyes will adjust."

I slowly open them. The world. There's a sky above me. A real sky. Blue, endless, and scattered with clouds. Trees move gently in the breeze, cars pass along a nearby road, and I can hear birds singing somewhere in the distance. It's beautiful. And somehow, it makes me feel even more alone.

I don't belong out here. I haven't belonged anywhere in 1,825 days.

"Well, would you look at that."

His voice pulls my attention back toward him. I glance up.

"Your hair."

I blink, confused. He looks down at me, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth.

"Brown hair, brown eyes. They actually shine beautifully in the sunlight."

I immediately look away. I don't remember the last time someone complimented me.I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do with one.

He carries me toward a black vehicle parked near the entrance. It's enormous compared to anything I've seen through the little window in my room. He opens the passenger door and carefully lowers me into the seat.

The leather beneath me is soft. Almost ridiculously soft.

I sit perfectly still, my hands folded in my lap. He reaches across me to pull the seat belt over my body, and I instinctively hold my breath. His eyes flick toward mine.

"You're going to have to get used to me being around, sweetheart." I stare at him.

He closes the door and walks around to the driver's side.

A moment later, the engine starts. I watch the building disappear behind us through the window. Five years. Five entire years, and I'm leaving it without knowing whether I'll ever see it again.

"Do you like burgers?" I turn my head. He's looking at the road. I don't respond immediately.

"Food," he clarifies, glancing at me. "Do you like burgers?"

My stomach twists at the question.I can't remember the last time someone asked me what I liked.

"I... don't know."

His eyebrows pull together slightly.

"You don't know?"

I shake my head. He doesn't push. A few minutes later, he turns into a drive-through. I watch the strange little building as he pulls up to a speaker.

"Welcome! What can I get for you today?"

He orders something for himself before turning his attention toward me.

"What would you like?" I stare at him.

He's actually asking me. I look down at my hands.

"Whatever you think." There's a brief silence. Then he sighs softly.

"Alright. I'll figure something out."

He finishes ordering and pulls forward. I watch him collect the food before returning to the road.He places a paper bag in my lap.

"Careful. It's hot."

I stare at it. The smell is almost overwhelming. My stomach makes an unfamiliar noise, and I quickly press my lips together, embarrassed. He hears it. Of course he hears it. A quiet chuckle escapes him.

"Go ahead, sweetheart. It's yours."

I slowly reach inside the bag. For the first time in five years, someone has bought me food without making me earn it. And somehow, that's the part that makes me want to cry.

The drive seems to last forever. I sit quietly in the passenger seat, occasionally looking down at the food resting in my lap. I've managed a few small bites, but my stomach feels strange. Almost uncomfortable. I'm not sure whether it's hunger or something else.

The man beside me doesn't seem to notice.

Or perhaps he does and simply doesn't say anything.

When we finally arrive, I'm greeted by a house so large that I almost mistake it for a hotel. Tall windows, dark exterior walls, and a driveway that seems longer than the entire hallway I've spent the last five years walking.

He parks and gets out, coming around to my side.

"Come on, sweetheart."

I look at him before slowly reaching for the door handle.

He watches me struggle for a moment before opening it himself.

"Let me help you."

Once again, I'm lifted into his arms. I don't protest. Inside, the house is warm. There's furniture, decorations, photographs, and things that make it look like people actually live here. It's strange.I don't know where to look.

"You're going to stay with me tonight," he tells me, setting me down on a large couch. "I'll show you around tomorrow."

I nod. He disappears upstairs briefly, returning with a soft blanket.

"Here."

I take it carefully. A few hours pass before the doorbell rings. I immediately tense. He notices.

"Friends of mine. Nothing to worry about."

The front door opens, and three enormous men walk inside. All of them are dressed casually, but I notice the weapons on their belts almost immediately.

My fingers tighten around the blanket.

"There's the bastard!" one of them laughs, clapping my new owner's shoulder.

"Watch your mouth," he responds, laughing.

They greet one another, exchange a few insults, and eventually settle into the living room.

I don't move from my spot.One of them glances at me.

"And who's this?"

"She's staying with me."

That's all he says. Nobody questions it. They order pizza, turn on a movie, and begin talking over one another. Their voices are loud, their laughter even louder.

I try to make myself smaller against the couch.

Eventually, my stomach begins twisting. I swallow hard. Something isn't right. I carefully slide off the couch, hoping nobody notices, and make my way down the hallway. I find a bathroom and barely manage to close the door before dropping to my knees.

My stomach turns violently. I haven't eaten anything like this in years. I haven't tasted anything sweet, salty, or even remotely enjoyable in what feels like forever.

My body doesn't know what to do with it. I become sick. Tears gather in my eyes as I grip the edge of the toilet.I don't hear the footsteps approaching.

I don't hear the bathroom door open.

"What the hell?" I flinch so violently that I nearly fall sideways. He's standing in the doorway, his expression furious.

"Where the hell did you go?"

I can't answer. I just look at him through watery eyes, trembling on the bathroom floor. Then he sees the mess. He sees my tears. And something in his expression changes immediately.

"Oh." His voice softens.He steps inside and crouches beside me.

"Hey. Hey, sweetheart." I look away, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. His eyebrows draw together.

"Sorry for what?”I don't answer.

He looks at me for another moment before carefully slipping one arm behind my back and another beneath my knees.

"Come on. Let's get you comfortable."

He lifts me effortlessly.I don't have the strength to resist even if I wanted to. When we return to the living room, his friends go quiet.

"What happened?" one asks.

"Nothing. Keep watching the movie."

He lowers me onto the couch and pulls the blanket over my body, making sure my feet are covered.

Then he disappears briefly and returns with a glass of water.

"Small sips, alright?"

I look at the glass. Water. Plain, ordinary water. He holds it while I take a few careful sips.

"That's it."

He places it on the table and sits beside me.One of his friends starts talking again, but he immediately shoots him a look.

"Keep it down." The room becomes noticeably quieter.

I turn onto my side, pulling the blanket closer to my chin.

He's still sitting beside me. I can feel his hand resting gently against my shoulder.

"Get some sleep," he murmurs.

I close my eyes. For the first time in 1,825 days, nobody is coming to check whether I've behaved.

Nobody is shouting at me. Nobody is telling me what I've done wrong. There's just the quiet sound of a movie, the occasional low conversation, and a warm blanket tucked around my body.

I don't know when I fall asleep but the last thing I remember is hearing his voice.

"Jesus Christ," he whispers to someone.

Then, even quieter: "Look how little she is.”