The next day was largely uneventful. More food had appeared on Sophie's bed overnight and she vaguely wondered if the Winter Soldier ever actually slept. She hadn't seen him sleep even once—but then again, she spent too much of her own time sleeping to really notice if he slept. She resolved to try and keep an eye out for it. If he did indeed sleep…it would be a good opportunity to stab him in the neck and make her escape.

Sophie figured they were going to Cuba. No one had explicitly told her this but she wasn't an idiot. Cuba was the closest land mass to Florida and it would take a lot longer than two days to sail further down south to South America, if that's where they were headed. She didn't know much about Cuba except that people illegally immigrated from Cuba to Florida very often…which gave her an ominous feeling. What exactly were they escaping from? Sophie had always been useless at world history but she suddenly wished she'd paid more attention to it in class. It would have been nice to know what she was walking into.

She spent the day morosely eating the dried fruits from the bag, trying to organize her thoughts. She didn't know what to focus on first. Attempting another escape from the Winter Soldier? Not a smart move right now. Planning an escape when they hit land? Possibly…except without knowing the lay of the land, where would she escape to? If she was in a foreign country she would need to get to the American embassy. The problem was…if the answer was that obvious to her, she was sure it would be obvious to the Winter Soldier. He would follow her to the embassy. And she was sure he didn't care about international diplomacy—he would kill everyone in the embassy who tried to protect her. And then on top of getting kidnapped, she would have started an international incident, because the U.S. would obviously blame Cuba for the attack and…

No, the embassy was out of the question.

If she could get to a phone…call her parents and leave a message or even talk to them directly…let them know where she was… She knew her father would use as much power as he had to come get her. He would be able to contact the proper authorities. But would that put her parents in jeopardy? Sophie desperately wanted to go home but she was so, so afraid that the Winter Soldier would take his revenge and hurt lots of innocent people because of her actions.

She could also hide out on the island and accompany a group of illegal immigrants on her way to Florida. She might get arrested but for her, that would be an amazing thing. She would gladly go with the U.S. authorities and spend a year in jail if she had to, to get away from the Winter Soldier. But that was all hedging on the fact that she'd be able to find some immigrants on their way to Cuba…who would even allow her to come…didn't the coyotes who ferried them usually demand a cash sum up front? Sophie had no money on her. They certainly wouldn't squeeze her onto a crowded boat out of the goodness of their hearts.

Or you have your last option. You can just go with him to wherever he's taking you and figure it out from there.

That was the most hopeless option—but also the one that kept the most people safe. Sophie didn't delude herself into thinking she was some brave hero. If she could get to safety and a few people got hurt along the way…she would have taken that chance. But the thing was, the Winter Soldier wouldn't just hurt people…he would destroy them. And he would destroy a lot of them. She could all but hear that threat when he spoke to her. And that was something she morally could not bring herself to do. She valued her life but not above a whole crowd of other lives.

Going with him it was, then.

They arrived around midnight. The boat didn't pull all the way up to land, instead stopping a mile out. The Winter Soldier let Sophie above deck and she slowly climbed over the edge of the boat and down a small rope ladder into a waiting lifeboat. He followed, the weight of his jump into the lifeboat making it bob violently, and then he picked up some white oars at the bottom of the lifeboat and began rowing again. The moon was full and it illuminated their way, sending beams of white and silver across the dark blue glassy water. The boat soon vanished into the darkness, fading from view, and Sophie shuddered, not sorry to see it go.

He rowed for a good thirty minutes and Sophie didn't see land. She began to sweat a little, wondering if he'd miscalculated and dumped them in the middle of the ocean—If that's the case, I'm pushing him to the sharks before he pushes me—but then she saw some fuzzy lights in the distance.

They pulled up to a small sandy bank with some streetlights far off in the distance. She stepped out of the lifeboat—and promptly fell over into the shallows when her wobbly legs collapsed under herself. She pulled herself to her feet, took a wobbly, sloshy step and then fell to her knees. "It's just sea legs," she told herself, remembering what her dad had told her about yachting. "Come on, get up, Sophie." She looked up to see the Winter Soldier standing on the sand ten feet away, looking back at her. She couldn't see his face, of course, but his disgust practically radiated off of him. Her face burned and she forced herself to her feet and stomped out of the shallows. She did this more to keep a steady balance on the ground but if she looked tough and pissed off…well, she wouldn't argue.

"Where are we going?" she asked him as she followed him up the beach, passing thickets of trees on their way. He was silent and she nodded and said, "Right. I love that place."

"Be quiet," he said.

She continued, ignoring him even though she knew she was asking to get hit. "In fact, it happens to be my most favorite place to go—"

"Quiet," he hissed, grabbing her and pulling her into the pitch black shade of the trees. His metal arm pressed tightly against Sophie's mouth and his other arm wrapped around her chest, holding her tightly against him, keeping her from bolting or making any noise. She froze, her heart rate spiking in fear. What had alarmed him? Something that made him go on high alert was either her best friend or even more horrible than him.

She heard the sounds of loud, raucous singing and talking coming down the beach. Her chin touched her chest as he leaned forward, bending over her, to peer through the trees. She saw that it was a large group of men—about ten or twelve of them. Carrying flashlights and clinking glass bottles, singing in English, which Sophie thought was weird. Didn't Cubans speak Spanish? As they neared, they somehow coincidentally picked the bit of beach right in front of them and began dragging driftwood into a circle. They both watched as one of the men lit a lighter and then started a fire, burning himself a few times in the process as his friends laughed uproariously. It was clear they were all sloppy drunk. As the fire picked up pace, it illuminated their faces as they sat around the fire and she realized with surprise that they were all…white frat boys. Large, beefy, wearing tank tops or no shirts at all with board shorts and backwards baseball caps. It wasn't spring break season but perhaps summer break had already started for colleges?


The Winter Soldier cursed to himself. He would have really preferred to not attract any attention but now… He wasn't stupid enough to think that if they stepped out from under the trees and continued down the beach that the men—boys, really—would leave them alone. The girl alone would make them want to bother them. Idiotic boys like these, their main pleasures in life seemed to be attacking young women and starting brawls with other men to…what? Prove their masculinity? The Winter Soldier didn't give a damn. Petty pursuits. All he knew was that they were annoying and now he would have to deal with them. They had no skill and he could get rid of them all, of course, but they had the advantage in numbers and they all had the large, beefy look of athletes. They wouldn't make a scratch on him but the girl might get hurt in the process.

Unless…unless he distracted them so that they were caught off guard when he quickly stepped in to pick them all off. His mind began forming a plan, revolving around his previous assumption: that the girl alone would make them want to bother them.

Of course she would. She was young, small, and a female. She was the perfect prey for them. And once they were all suitably distracted and had their guards let down…he would slink in for the kill. Hopefully this would keep the scene quiet and simple. No fighting, no yelling, no screams.

"Don't you dare scream," he whispered once to the girl before giving her an almighty shove.


"Don't you dare scream," he whispered in Sophie's ear before pushing her so hard she went flying, stumbling out from under the trees and nearly tripping over her own feet. She stood upright, bewildered, not understanding what the hell was going on. She turned back and looked at the trees—but she couldn't detect anyone in the shadows. Of course, he could be standing there, still as ice, watching…but…

Why had he done this?

"Look, it's a chick!" At this, every single man in the circle looked up at her, faces showing a wide variety of emotions: surprise, clear confusion, and then lecherous joy lighting up.

"Is she real or am I drunk?" one of the guys said, waving his bottle around wildly.

"Who cares if she's not real, she's hot," another one said, staring at her.

"Come over here, sweetheart, come party with us," yet another said.

Sophie stood frozen, completely unsure as to what to do now. He'd told her not to scream—did he anticipate her getting hurt? Was this a punishment for her? Getting attacked by these guys? Her blood ran cold at the thought. He wouldn't…even he wouldn't…would he?!

She couldn't move her feet but that didn't matter. One of the guys got up, grabbed her arm and yanked her towards the circle of guys. "No—" she started, weakly trying to pull away, "No th—"

"Aw, come on, lighten up, it's a party!" he said, his grip tightening. He wasn't planning on letting her go, she realized with despair.

The boy shoved her down and her legs collapsed under her so that she hit the ground with a thud. She sat there, looking wildly around for any sign of the Winter Soldier. What the hell was he doing? He couldn't really be planning on letting her attacked or whatever by these guys, could he? She was aware that all of the guys were staring at her, some slightly slack-jawed and glassy-eyed because of the alcohol, some intense, and some just looking…creepy. They hadn't done anything yet but she sensed the feeling of anticipation in the air, as if they were all building to something. She wondered with foreboding why they weren't any other girls with them. Why were they traveling alone like some male wolf pack?

She tried to stand up to leave but one of them immediately grabbed her arm and yanked her back down. "Hey, hey, slow down, sweetie!"

"I need to go," she said desperately. "I need to—"

"Just hang out for a while," he said, edging closer. "Where are you from?"

After that, all hell broke loose. The questions were volleyed at her with such speed that she couldn't possibly answer even if she'd wanted to. They kept crowding closer and closer, touching her, their words nice but their tones and expressions not nice at all. She was reminded of wolf herding sheep except in this case there were about twelve wolves and one sheep. She wished she had a gun (and that she knew how to fire a gun) but would a gun even have done anything against twelve people?

"Whatcha doing all alone out here?"

"You got a boyfriend?"

"—so pretty—"

"—have a drink—"

"What's your name?"

"You all alone out here?"

Someone stroked her hair and Sophie shuddered. "Let me go," she said, trying to sound commanding. "I need to go—my boyfriend is down the beach, he's just getting something—" Her lie sounded thin and cheap even to her own ears so she wasn't surprised to that none of them bought her BS.

"Nice try, babe," one of them said.

Sophie decided that was enough. She lashed out, punching the guy closest to her in the face and trying to get to her feet. "Let me go, you creeps!"

"You—you bitch!" he said, touching his bloody lip and looking at the blood in amazement as if he'd never been hit by a girl before. "We're just being nice."

"You're being freaks," she spat but it was too late. Her punch had given them the excuse they needed to be the obviously not nice guys they were.

"Hold her down," she heard one of them say and someone grabbed her hair from behind, yanking her down. The back of her head burst into little pinpricks of pain and angry tears sprang to her eyes. She struggled to sit up but now several of them were holding every limb down. She couldn't even scream because one of them smothered her mouth. Tears leaked out of her eyes and she faintly thought, Why the hell does this keep happening to me?!

Then everything seemed to happen all at once. She was aware of someone moving very quickly on the outskirts of the group—and then the guys were loosening their grips on her, letting out quiet, shocked cries, and one by one they all dropped like bags of sand. The last one covering her mouth eased up on her, looking around fearfully. "What the f—?" he started before he suddenly slumped forward, falling on top of Sophie.

This was too much for her. Stifling a shriek of disgust, she rolled out from under his weight and then pulled herself to a sitting position. The fire crackled on, illuminating the scene around her with an eerie warmth: the bodies of all twelve men littered the ground. And the Winter Soldier stood five feet away, hands clenched at his sides. He'd disposed of all of them in under two minutes.

"Are they—are they dead?" she asked, faltering. He'd brutally killed the last man who'd tried to attack her. Had he murdered all of these as well?

"Knocked out," he said.

She felt relieved. Not that they didn't deserve to die for what they had been planning on doing—but she didn't feel like leaving a trail of bodies behind her everywhere she went. It made her feel sick.

All of a sudden, the enormity of the situation hit her: what they had been about to do, her very real fear that the Winter Soldier was going to let it happen… She let out a gasp she'd been holding in and then stifled a sob with her mouth, her eyes wide, tears flowing silently down her face. "I thought—I th-thought you were going to—to let them—"

"I know what you thought," he said. But that was all he offered. He turned and began walking down the beach in the direction they had been initially headed in. And Sophie had no choice but to wipe away her tears, take a deep breath, collect her emotions, and then follow after him.

They walked for what felt like hours. Sophie didn't know how much time had passed, only that the first rays of the sun were coming up and the long strip of beach had come to an end, when he suddenly halted and said, "Here."

Sophie looked around. The beach ended in front of them, changing to a rocky, slightly craggy fifteen-foot-high cliff. To their left, a tiny road seemed to lead to a small town in the distance. "What?" she asked, confused. "Here? Where, the cliff?"

That seemed to be the end of his patience with her, not that he'd ever seemed to have much to start with. He grabbed her shoulders in a tight, painful grasp and when she cried out, he dug his fingers in even deeper, hissing, "Quiet."

She bit her lip against the pain so hard that she tasted blood. His metal fingers were digging into her shoulder blades painfully. They began an awkward, painful march down the silent, misty road, the morning rays not having touched the land yet. Sophie shivered against the slight chill in her flimsy t-shirt and she felt him take a hand off of her shoulder, now only steering with one hand. Unfortunately it was the metal hand that remained, which felt way more painful and restricting. She almost preferred it when he dragged her behind because at least that way she knew where she stood with him. Right now, with him behind her, her back and neck exposed to him… She felt vulnerable, her skin hot and prickly, as if she expected a dagger in the back at any moment.

They passed small one-story buildings all pressed tightly next to each other, painted in pastel colors that Sophie could just barely make out in the pale morning light. Birds chirped somewhere but she didn't have time to enjoy the pretty scene because he walked her at such a fast, clipping pace. She felt like a bad little kid who was being frog-marched into timeout by her very angry parent. Or a pet being forced to take a walk.

Or just dead meat, really.

He suddenly violently turned her to the right and pushed her into a teeny, tiny alley. It was so narrow that they definitely couldn't walk side-by-side. He pushed her in front of him and they only stopped when he yanked her to a halt (by grabbing the collar of her shirt and temporarily choking her) in front of a rickety wooden door set into the pale blue wall of the building on their left. He pushed the door and it swung open without any resistance. He shoved her inside and stepped in, closing the door and dead-bolting it behind him.

Sophie stumbled forward and coughed as she inhaled a mouthful of dusty air the wrong way. Then she sneezed three times in a row. Rubbing her watering eyes, she glanced around the room. It really was one room: small with whitewashed walls, ceiling, and floor that were chipped and peeling. One small window was set into the wall that overlooked the street but a dark burlap curtain covered it, letting in only tiny slivers of pale early morning light. A huge, colorful, woven rug covered the ground but it looked dirty and stained. The stains were rust colored, which made Sophie feel very uneasy about their origin. A small table with two chairs sat in one corner, a large wooden bucket in another, and a hard, flat cot made out woven straw shoved into a third corner. The whole room smelled stale and dusty and was uncomfortably warm. That was it.

Oh, and there was a small symbol painted in faded red paint on the door: a skull with tentacles coming out of it, surrounded by a circle. Sophie got shivers just looking at it. She didn't know what it signified but it was definitely creepy.

"Where are we?" she asked.

He chose not to respond, instead stumping over to the woven cot and heavily sitting down in it. Sophie slowly sat down in one of the rickety chairs by the table. Then she let out a shriek when the chair suddenly collapsed and she hit the ground. She groaned on the ground. Did I do something horrible to someone in a past life to make the universe hate me so much? she wondered miserably as she stood up, rubbing her aching butt and gingerly sitting down in the other chair. Absolutely nothing seemed to be going right for her. She so wished she'd been hit by a semi-truck on her way home from the grocery store this past Friday. It would have been a lot less painful than this terrible ordeal.

"At least tell me when we're going to leave here," she said, hating the pleading note that entered her voice. He slowly looked up and spoke in a monotone voice: "Tonight." Then he folded his arms and turned to look in the other direction, sitting so still it creeped her out.

For once he wasn't staring at her and she wasn't crying, throwing up, or being hit, so she took the chance to really study him. She'd avoided really looking at him these past few days but she was hot and bored out of her mind, so she shrugged and thought, What the hell. Better to know my enemy than not, right?

He was tall, taller than Sophie (who was around 5'4") and looked to be about 6'2"…but she figured his black combat boots added an inch or two of height. So he was probably around six feet exactly. He wore all black clothes that looked more suited to a war zone than…whatever it was he was doing with her so far. Bulky black pants that tapered near his ankles, covered with pockets and rubbery-looking pads on his knees. A heavy black top that looked like it was made out of horizontal black leather straps covered his entire torso and right arm. Thick, heavy rubbery-looking black straps came down over his shoulders, meeting a wide strap from the same material that wrapped around his broad upper chest. A belt made out of the same material encircled his waist, covered with buckles and small holsters that stored god knew what kind of weapons. His right hand was bare but his left hand—the metal hand—wore a black fingerless glove for some reason. His metal arm was made out of interlocking, gleaming silver pieces that Sophie had seen firsthand move as he moved, as if they were directly connected to his mind. They probably were. She couldn't see it now because he was turned in the other direction but she knew there was a red star painted onto the shoulder of his metal arm. She wondered how he'd gotten the arm. What had happened to his proper, human arm? She hoped it had been eaten off by a shark.

He was definitely powerfully built, with the muscles of a fighter, but he didn't look beefy and thick-necked like those frat boys had. Slightly wavy, dark brown hair hung to his shoulders, framing his face. And then, of course, the infernal face mask and goggles that obscured every inch of his face except for his forehead. His neck wasn't even exposed which was a pity because Sophie would have liked to stab it sometime.

She wasn't normally a violent person at all—she apologized when she swatted flies and she had been known to chase an ant around for fifteen minutes, trying to scoop it onto a slip of paper to throw outside—but she felt she was becoming increasingly violent when she was near him. It was like he was infecting her…a plague upon her soul. Or something like that. A wave of fury and pitch-black hatred rose up in her like bile as she scrutinized him and she wished to god that she had the ability to make him hurt. Make him feel pain. Make him scream and cry, for once. Show him what it felt like to be powerless and at the mercy of someone who didn't show any mercy at all.

She had to eventually look away to calm herself down.

There wasn't a clock in the room so Sophie had no idea how much time was passing but it seemed to tick by in a slow, syrupy fashion. The slivers of light behind the window got brighter as the day marched on, the burlap curtain glowing a lighter brown, and the room began to get hotter and hotter until Sophie felt like she was cooking in an oven. She pinched her t-shirt and held it away from herself, fanning her face. She couldn't even imagine how hot he felt in his heavy fatigues but if he was, he didn't give any indication of it at all.

"Got a fan?" she asked weakly. "Or some new clothes?" She didn't expect an answer, she just needed something to say to break through this heavy heat or she was going to go insane.


The girl didn't look well at all. She was thin—thinner, that was, considering she'd been slim to start with—from not eating well the past few days and her face was sweaty and flushed right now, her dark brown hair sticking to her neck and forehead. Her eyes had a strange glaze to them that made him wonder if she was suffering from some sort of injury-, malnutrition-, or heat-induced neurological deficit. She fanned herself limply, holding her shirt away from her body.

Seeing the blue bruises running up and down her arms and the bruises on her face, he remembered that he needed to find things to cover them up with. Her clothes looked lived-in and dirty by now too. It wouldn't do if he delivered some mangy gutter rat to his handlers.


He stood up suddenly, startling Sophie out of her stupor (she had been daydreaming about summers past spent lounging on her sofa, reading beach reads while eating Italian ices). "I'm going out," he said slowly. "Don't try to leave this room." The I'll know if you do—and I'll make you pay was implied and hung between them like a lethal sword.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

Naturally he ignored her and left the room, closing the door behind him. Sophie got up and dead-bolted it. It wouldn't keep him out—he could probably punch through these walls if he wanted to—but it made her feel safer. Now that he was gone, she could finally be in some peace. She tentatively sniffed her shirt and then recoiled, making a face. She smelled like sweat, blood, and general uncleanliness. Her yoga pants stuck to her legs like a second skin in this heat and they felt unclean and gross too. What she wouldn't give for a hot shower and some clean clothes and underwear…and a nice meal…and a nice book, to pass the time…

Why does kidnapping have to be such a harsh process? I'd probably be much more compliant with him if he allowed me some showers and some books to read.

She knew he would have murdered her if he found out but she couldn't help herself. She sat down on the straw cot near the window and lifted the corner of the curtain, peeking out onto the street.


He stole the clothes first, mostly because he realized he needed to cover his own fatigues before going into a shop. Luckily for him, most people hung their washing out on lines outside their homes so stealing clothes was unbelievably easy. He grabbed an oversized hoodie for himself and pulled it on, zipping it up all the way. He tied his hair back to look less conspicuous and then he grabbed some clothes for the girl. He had no idea what to get her but it had to cover her body. This was slightly problematic, as most of the clothing hanging was very summery: thin dresses and tank tops and shorts. Cursing the seasonal timing of this kidnapping, it took him fifteen minutes to find some pants and a long-sleeved top. There must have been several women living in the house because the clothing varied in sizes. He didn't know what size she wore but she was tiny…so he grabbed the smallest clothes he saw, the ones that would fit a teenage girl. He also grabbed an oversized jacket for her, always planning ahead.

Once he had her clothes balled up and stored properly inside his bulky hoodie, he carefully looked around to make sure that the girl hadn't somehow followed him—he knew she hadn't but he was wary of her now, as she seemed to have suicidal tendencies and a penchant for disobeying him—and when he was sure she was nowhere near, he pulled his mask and goggles off and pocketed them. He stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled off, staring straight ahead and avoiding eye contact with anyone. He needed to look casual but he also need to be efficient. It wasn't easy. He wasn't a good actor. That wasn't his job. He was trained to be the silent muscle, not the spy who could con his or her way into places. He didn't speak, he shot.

He ducked into a local-owned drugstore and wandered over to the makeup section. His neck prickled uncomfortably and he had to resist the urge to rub it. His shoulders hunched over slightly as he stared blankly at the shelves of makeup. What the hell was he looking for again? Oh yeah—something to cover her face bruises.

He didn't feel right here, in this brightly-lit, clean place, surrounded by posters of pretty, glossy women with bright-colored eyelids and pink lips. It made him feel completely disoriented. He spent a confused few minutes scanning the rows of colored things for something that resembled skin. Finally he found that section—but this was even more bewildering. He knelt and read the labels, not understanding. Foundation, concealer, bronzer, matte powder, BB cream, CC cream, toner, tinted moisturizer… What the hell did this garbage mean? What was he supposed to get her?

He decided to get the foundation because the bottle was the biggest. But then he had to choose a shade. He was so impatient by this stage that he almost grabbed any bottle at random—but then he realized that it would look ridiculous if she rubbed dark brown liquid onto her fair face. He scanned the pale shades, not understanding why there were so many. White was white. What the hell was the difference between "ivory" and "porcelain" and "bisque" and "buff"? He was so irritated and disturbed by now that he could barely remember what color her skin was. This was too complicated. He grabbed one of the light shades, slipped it into his pocket, and vanished out of the store without being seen by anyone.

He had no idea how females navigated this world every day. He could sit as still as a statue on a hot rooftop in a desert for hours with his eyes trained through the eyepiece of a sniper and take out a man from an incredible distance…but picking a makeup shade had undone him.


She had been waving at a young toddler on the street and playing peek-a-boo with her when he came back. Her heart and stomach clenched in fear when she heard the door open but she forced herself to breathe and kept playing with the girl, sticking out her tongue and wiggling it, when he yanked her back with so much force that she went flying.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled.

Do not cry, she instructed herself fiercely, sitting up and rubbing her stinging left shoulder blade. Her eyes stung with pained tears but she took a deep breath and swallowed them. "I was looking outside," she said slowly.

She couldn't see his face but she could practically feel the fury radiating off of him. "I told you—"

"YOU TOLD ME NOT TO LEAVE AND I DIDN'T!" she suddenly screamed, feeling like something was bursting inside her brain. She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm down, and slowly said, "And I didn't leave." Her voice was trembling and she was having a hard time looking him in the eye; her eyes kept darting at him and then dropping to his boots, hands shaking slightly. "So give clearer instructions next time."

The next thirty seconds were the most tense and stressful thirty seconds of Sophie's entire life. There was a deep, terrifying silence that stretched between them and Sophie prepared herself for him ripping her throat out or at least knocking her out—but to her intense surprise, nothing happened. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there while Sophie nervously stared at the ground in front of his feet, wondering what was going to happen next. She still remembered: "If you ever speak to me like that again, I will rip your throat out."

Something did eventually hit her in the face—but it wasn't his face or his boot. It was a… Sophie blinked down at her lap. A bundle of clothes?

"Change," he said, his voice robotic again. There was no hint of anger in it.

Sophie looked up at him, completely bewildered. She'd just screamed at him and defied him horribly. Wasn't he going to attack her? He'd only been too willing earlier. But he had already turned away, his back to her.

She stared at his back, uncomprehending, and noticed for the first time that he was wearing a baggy hoodie that hid his vest and metal arm. For some reason, that calmed her down. Something about seeing the metal arm hidden made him look more normal. That and the fact that…her eyebrows rose when she realized he had tied his hair back into a pony.

Then she realized he meant for her to change now. She was about to protest—but then she wondered there really was no reason to protest. She wanted to change into new clothes like yesterday and she was sure he wouldn't turn around. He barely responded to her on a normal basis, why would he turn around to stare at her while she changed? She was becoming convinced he wasn't actually a man. Just an android. He probably didn't have that function that made people attractive to him.

She was half-disappointed that there were no undergarments but half-relieved because the thought of him guessing her size and… No. Just no. She pulled on the loose olive-green khakis with the tapered ankles and pulled on the long-sleeved top. It was incredibly tight and clung to her skin. Not great for this heat. She felt overexposed in the top—she didn't normally wear things this tight—so she was relieved there was a loose hoodie to accompany it. Ignoring the heat, she zipped it all the way up and pulled her Converse back on. Then she neatly folded her own clothes and placed them on the table.

"Done," she announced.

He didn't move.

She sighed internally. Great. Back to the silent show until tonight. She collapsed in a chair and crossed her arms, staring at the opposite wall, waiting for tonight. Two empty shells locked in one small room together.


A/N: It'd be amazing if you guys dropped a review! I love reviews! I love hearing what you guys think, what you liked, what you're curious about, etc.