Hello!  My name is Trent, and I am 24 years of age.  My life has been pretty normal, as far as anyone’s life may go by.  I grew up in a small town, went to a community college to get a degree in Computer Science, and all-in-all, expect to have a relatively normal life.  I currently have a work-at-home job and have just moved into a new house, out in the country.  It’s a pretty nice house, given how much money I have for payments.  It has two stories, two bedrooms, a kitchen-dining room combination, three bathrooms, a full basement, an attic, an office, and a host of unused rooms.  For all intents and purposes, I could live here and have a family.  I live by myself, though.

As far as looks are concerned, I’m not exactly the most attractive person off the market.  I’m about 5’11, have decently-long dark-brown hair, along with eyes of the same color.  I’m not terribly thing, but also not obese or anything.  I weigh in at about 215 pounds, and am currently working out to lose some of that excess weight on my body.  Having a work-at-home job means I don’t have much physical activity.  I have to work fairly hard, in my mind, to be able to get up and exercise every morning.  It’s hard to do things you don’t have to do when there isn’t anyone around to remind you.

Still, I like to think that my life has its perks.  With the job I have, I don’t really have any strict hours to go by.  I have a set of paperwork to fill out via Computer and send out by 5:00 p.m. every night, Monday through Friday.  I enjoy writing, so it’s normally fairly easy to get all of this done and have a good chunk of the day for personal activities.  Those activities normally include exercising, cleaning, studying programming code, and the occasional video game or movie.

Despite all of this, I feel like I lead a lonely life.  I always have fun with my day, but I don’t really interact with anyone, outside of going into town each night to get food ingredients, gas in the car, clothes, and anything else I may need.  While I do get out and see people a good amount each day, I’ve never really had anyone to be around all the time.  Sometimes, I wish I had someone living with me, to share my life with.   I’m not sure I want dedication, like a lover, but I just wish there was someone that I could spend time with and take care of.

I’m lying on my bed, staring at the white-painted ceiling of my bedroom, thinking about all of this.  The night is clear and I can see the low hue of the moonlight, lurking its way towards my window, shining down on me.  I look to the side and let out a small grin as I look at that celestial being, along with all the stars within view of the window.   My hands are behind my head as I lay in my pajamas, wearing a white, short-sleeved T-shirt and blue, checkered boxers.  My feet lay bare, ankles crossed as I stare out, beginning to think about the past.

Often have I wondered if there are any beings out there beyond human comprehension?  I wonder if there are any Gods or Deities, watching over us.  There are so many stories of such beings.  There’s Odin, Zeus, and even one called ‘God’.  As a child, my mother told me that none of these stories were false, and that the level beyond what we see is what I wish it to be.  She always told me that there were people who looked over us, the souls of the deceased. 

Even my great aunt, supposedly, watched over us as we grew up.  I never knew her very well.  My only memory was visiting a hospital when I was very young, seeing her shortly before I died.  I was 4, maybe 5 at the time.  She was down a wing of the hospital where kids weren’t allowed, so I hid between my mother and father’s legs as we hurried down the hall.  They snuck me in, so I could see her before she passed away.  I never knew what was wrong with her, but I always wanted to know her.  Since I wanted to, I always believed my mother’s stories of the spirits of the deceased watching over us.

As I stared up towards the sky, I am deep in thought about my life situation and my desires to have someone else to share it with.  I’m never sure of what, exactly, I want, but this night, I softly speak, calling up to the stars and, hopefully, all those spirits that were watching over me.  “Spirits, are you there?” I ask, naively thinking that the spirits of those people would appear before me and provide me with some sort of answer to the question. 

I continue as I smile towards the window.  “Spirits, Mom always told me you watched over me and could shape things for me.  I’ve never tried speaking to you before, but I would like to ask something of you.”  I start thinking carefully as I keep looking up at the stars.  “I’ve been living here, alone, in this house, for quite awhile now.  I enjoy my life, but sometimes, I wish I could spend it with someone else.  I know this is selfish of me, but can you send someone to live with me?  I’d like to spend time with some little lady that I can take care of.  I’d like a short lady that I can keep in my house, share my spare bedroom with, and be able to talk to at night.”

I slowly come to a stop with my wish, realizing how silly I must sound.  I’m lying on a bed, asking the stars to send me some lady to spend time with me?  Most people would probably laugh at something like that, saying that I need to go out and spend more time in town, rather than asking the stars and the Cosmos for assistance.  Trying to get all of those thoughts out of my head, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, preparing for tomorrow, Saturday, a normal day.

However, what I don’t know is that tomorrow is going to be anything but normal…

The sun rises, to create a beautiful Saturday morning.  My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand next to my bed.  My eyes slowly open and I lean forward, stretching my arms out.  A yawn takes over my system as my eyes close again and that vibrating phone rings in my ears, over and over again.  Slowly pushing myself to the side, I set my feet down on the carpet, feeling it’s soft material as I reach over and grab the phone.  I re-open my eyes and see “8:15 a.m.” on the screen and slide my thumb over to the “Dismiss” button, relinquishing the alarm that was going off.  It’s another Saturday, which means I have a long day of personal activities planned for myself.

As I stand up, I start arching my back, letting out another yawn.  I can feel and hear my spine cracking in several places as I get myself up and shake my head.  I stand around for a few minutes, letting the sunlight shine in from my window and help me wake up.  After feeling the warmth of the light on my face, I turn and pick up a pile of clothes, which I’d set out for myself last night.  Still half-asleep, I walk out of my bedroom and turn to the left, into the upstairs bathroom.  Shutting the door, I spend the next several minutes taking a nice, hot shower.

I emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, fully dressed and ready for the day.  My hair is brushed down, my teeth are sparkly, and my face has been thoroughly shaved.  I’m wearing a red “Hurley” T-shirt, with a white checker-like design across the chest portion of it, Jean shorts that almost come down to my shins, ankle-high socks, and a pair of dark-blue converse sneakers over my feet.  I wear a smile on my face as I run down the two sets of carpeted stairs, heading towards the kitchen.

As I pass into the kitchen, I open up a 2-door cabinet on the side wall, revealing a huge pantry of food.  I reach into a small box on the middle shelf and pull out a Strawberry-flavored Nutrigrain Cereal Bar.  It’s not too much of a breakfast, but it’s enough to get me by in the morning, until I return home from my morning run.  I tear the wrapper off the bar and toss it in a garbage can under the sink, as I open up the refrigerator and pull out a small bottle of water.  Putting both of them together in one hand, I walk along the counter until I reach the front door.  Opening both the thick door and the screen door, I push the door open and emerge outside. 

I stop in front of my house, standing on a green yard, adorned with flowers and a small garden of vegetables, looking up towards the sun.  The heat beats down on me, and I can almost feel myself sweating already.  This is good.  The temperature must be at least 75 degrees or so today.  I’ll be able to work a lot off as I go.  Pocketing my water bottle, I bite into my cereal bar and run past the garden, alongside the road that I live on, surrounded by fields and wilderness, paying no mind to a small ruffling noise coming from my tomato plants.

I run at a slow, but steady pace, making my way down the road.  As I pass by my own property, I see nothing but fields of grass, hay, and corn for as far as my eyes let me.  This isn’t exactly the most wonderful scenery in the world, for most people, but it works for me.  The lack of people and activity make me feel more alone and in touch with nature.  Having this inner-feeling always makes me calm myself and focus less on the pain I feel from exercising and more of the joy of being outside to see everything there is to see.

I take my run in segments, as I always do.  I run for about 15 minutes, then walk for 15, and then repeat the process.  Once I have both of my regular cycles done, I stop and turn around.  I can see my property far off in the distance as I pull out my bottle.  The cold feel of the bottle makes my fingers chill as they slowly unscrew the cap and pull the opening to my lips.  Taking a small cloth from another pocket, I wipe the sweat from my forehead as I quench my thirst.  My breathing is slow and deep, but steady, as I start running again, making my way back.

As I finally arrive back at my property, I’ve been pacing myself well, and am not overly tired.  My legs burn a little from the run, which is normal, but at least I don’t feel like I’m about to collapse.  As I empty out my bottle of water, I pocket it again as I start walking past the fence in front of my property.  I smile at thinking about the workout I just put myself through, thinking it’s going to be a good day.  I didn’t have a watch on me, but I imagined it was, at least, 9:00 by now, and I would have lots of time to do everything else on my weekend routine.

As I came onto my property, however, something caught my attention.  As I stood on the stone walkway that led from the fence to my front door, I heard something moving around in my garden.  I raised an eyebrow as I slowly walking along the path, looking at each set of plants.  The corn seemed fine, but the tomato plants looked like they were moving a little.  As I crept closer and closer, I tried to look closer before I heard what sounded like a human scream.  What’s more is that the scream sounded like it had come from my garden.  I hurried over to the garden to see what was going on.

As I came over, I wondered why a person would be in my garden, in the first place.  Were Mom and Dad surprising me with a visit?  I didn’t have them scheduled to come down until next weekend, but it’s possible that they wanted to surprise me, or even my sisters.  As I came closer, I realized that it wasn’t my family at all.  It was someone I didn’t know.  I gasped as I saw a young girl jumping out from the garden and falling down to the ground, right in front of my feet.  I looked forward and saw a stray dog, one I’d seen come by this area, from time to time.  It had been seen, running down the road often, normally chasing some sort of small animal.  It’s prey, this time, it wouldn’t be getting. 

Not thinking about what the woman looked like, I start yelling and screaming at the dog, quickly shooing it off my property.  After dealing with it, I turn to the girl who had fallen unconscious near me.  Her clothes are shredded and there are blood marks all over her arms.  I kneel down by her, trying to see who she is.  Before I turn her over, she looks like she was a little more than 2 feet in height, probably pretty young.  As I turn her, however, I quickly realize that she wasn’t young at all.

I look over her body as I gasp when I saw it.  The curvature of the legs, the stomach, the full breasts, and even her face.  This was no girl, at all.  From her entire figure, she looks like a woman, nearly the same age I was, in fact.  Along that shoulder-length black hair is a woman, but something is very strange about her.  She looks like she’s not even three feet in height.  I’m no expert, but she doesn’t even look much taller than 2 feet.  How can that possibly be? 

I shake my head and try to get the questions off my mind.  The woman is bleeding and scratched up from that dog.  My questions can come later.  I have to get her inside and get these wounds patched up.  I quickly put my arms under her legs and back.  Lifting her into the air and putting her head and arms over my shoulder, I quickly run into the house, hoping that whoever this is isn’t badly hurt…   

I rush through the door, getting inside as quickly as I can.  This young woman, whether she’s my height or this ridiculously diminutive size, is hurt.  That dog definitely did a number on her.  There’s blood across her arms, rips all over her blouse, and she’s completely unconscious.  I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have a dog of that size attacking her.  She had to have been scared out of her mind to do that and to fall unconscious once she came out, towards me.  I shake my head, still trying to grasp the fact that she’s so small.

I can’t worry about that, though.  The fact of that matter is that she’s here, and she’s hurt.  I can’t distract myself with all of these thoughts flying through my head about how short she is.  I close the hard door of the kitchen behind me and turn, walking through the kitchen, and into the living room.  In this room, there are a couple couches, one leather with a coffee table in front of it.  Bringing the two of us to said couch, I get on my knees and get ready to set her down. 

Slowly lifting her body from my shoulder, I put one arm under your back and the other under her knees as I set her down against the material of the couch.  I take a look at her for a moment, still baffled at her size.  I quickly shake my head in frustration as I do so, though.  I cannot afford to be caught, looking at her so much.  She needs my help.  I immediately pick myself up and start walking off towards the main hallway.  I need to find something to clean up the wounds on her arms first. 

Making my way across the hallway, I walk towards the stairs to the second floor and turn into a small bathroom, right across from it.  I flip the light switch, lighting the tiny room.  It’s really not much.  The room is rectangular, with a toilet and sink on one side, and a cabinet and bath/shower combination on the other side.   Ignoring the right side of the room, for now, I make my way over to the sink.  On the right side of the bowl, I pick up a small, blue wash cloth.  Unwrapping it and holding it in my hands, start lowering it under the faucet.

Letting the cloth dangle and lay in my left palm, I pull my right hand up and slowly pull up on the handle of the sink, pointing the handle to the left, showing the machinery that I want cold water to come out.  My eyes twitch a little as I feel a stream of cold water flow down into the cloth, and then into my hand.  I’ve been so hot from running outside; it gave me chills to feel cold water.  Bumps start lining my arms and legs as I slowly drench the cloth in water before pulling down on the faucet handle, shutting it off.

I bring my hands together and start to squeeze and tighten up the cloth.  I roll it up, as tight as I can, letting all of the excess water drain out of it and down into the sink bowl.  I need this cloth to be wet for her, but not be dripping-wet and get all over her.  I ring it out several times, over a few minutes, before I’m content with the condition it’s in.  Slowly folding it in half twice, I hold it in my left hand and turn to leave the bathroom.

Making my way back to the living room, I see that the woman is still on the couch, void of consciousness.  Lowering myself down to a kneeling position, I look along her arms and legs for all of the blood-marks from her encounter with that dog outside.  Her legs seem scraped up a little bit, mostly due to the fall, but they seem alright, otherwise.  Her arms, however, aren’t so luck.  As I keep scanning her form, I see clear trails of blood going down each arms.  The plants and dirt wouldn’t have been able to do that.  The dog must have actually managed to scrape her up with its claws. 

I slowly shake my head as I reach the cloth up to her face, which has a lone trail of blood coming down her forehead.  I set the cloth against her forehead and apply a little pressure, holding it there for a minute to let the blood soak up into the cloth and off her forehead.  I let up on the pressure and put it back down in several places before bringing it up to see if I’d gotten all of it up.  As I looked, I made a soft swipe across her head and her head was as white as the rest of her skin.  Thankfully, there were no signs of any sort of gash or tear.

Reaching down towards her arm, I start doing the same thing.  I put pressure on it for awhile, then I do it in another spot.  After a few more minutes, the blood is wiped away, but as I swipe the last of it off, her arm twitches, as if trying to pull away from me.  My eyes switch over to her face, trying to see if she was waking up.  If she was, I’d need to calm her and make sure she doesn’t move while I clean the rest of her up.  I wait a few moments and, thankfully, she doesn’t wake up. 

Unfortunately, however, I look back at the arm and see why it had twitched in the first place.  Along her arm, from the shoulder halfway down to her elbow is a long scratch mark.  Actually, it doesn’t look like a scratch.  It’s more like a cut.  It makes sense, though.  She’s smaller than the average person, I would hope, so a scratch could be more lethal to her, since the dog is so big.  It doesn’t make it any better though.  My eyes twitch as I see that huge cut on her, making it hard for me to watch.

Trying not to look at it, I switch over to her other arm, slowly sponging the blood off, hoping that it wasn’t the same way.  After a few minutes, I am proven wrong.  As I clear the blood off the other arm, it twitches as well.  I made a soft grunting sound as my eyes twitch again and I look away for a moment.  This arm was cut up, too, but it had to cut marks on it, too.  Both parallel and almost in the same location as the other.

I cross my arms and sigh.  This woman wasn’t just knocked over.  She was attacked by that dog.  I set the cloth down and get up.  I need to go get some bandages and cover up these wounds before she gets an infection…

I get up and walk towards the hallway, once again, sighing and frowning. Although she's in the other room, the wounds on that woman's arms are stiff vivid in my head. How could that dog have done something like that to the poor woman? It was a miracle that there even existed a grown woman so short, but those wounds were just so...ugh. I can hardly bear to think about how that fight might have looked. On the other hand, it probably wasn't even a fight. It was probably more like her wandering around and it attacking her.

This whole situation is a mess, but I've got to do something about those wounds. If left untreated, she could get an infection and fast. Wandering back into the bathroom, I pull my Medicine Cabinet apart until I find a couple things I need for her. Bottles and bottles of pills are scattered across the floor as I, literally, toss out anything I don't need trying to quickly get through all of my own pills and get to the medicine and bandaging that I need. Lucky me for having an Aunt in the Medical field. Thanks to her, I've practically got an entire pharmacy in my bathroom.

It's a good thing, too. If this person gets an infection or a disease from those wounds, I'll need all the medical supplies I can get. It would take me nearly an hour to get to the nearest hospital. I doubt someone so small could wait that long for treatment. As I toss more and more out of the closet, I finally find a bottle of ointment and a couple rolls of bandages. Looking down at the ground, I realize that the floor of the bathroom is an absolute mess. It's almost entirely lined with bottles and boxes of medical supplies. I can't worry about that now, though. The important thing is getting back to my 'guest' and making sure I patch her up.

I quickly make my way back to the living room, where the unconscious maiden is still lying and not saying a word. Her fingers are twitching, her arms are shaking, and her face was red. As my hand came down and set on her face, I could feel the heat and the sweat on it. There's no doubt that those wounds hurt her, even in her sleep. I have to get them taken care of as quick as I can without hurting her too much and waking her up. If it's hurting her this much in her sleep, I can't imagine how much pain she'd be in were she wake.

“Don't worry, Miss. I'll have you patched up in no time at all.” I'm not entirely sure why I say that to her. Perhaps I am hoping that, at some level of consciousness, the woman can hear me. Who knows what's going on in her head. She was just attacked by a huge dog, and she was scared when she passed out. I just have to make sure that she's okay by the time she does wake up. Since I'm the only person around for miles, she's my responsibility right now.

I get on my knees in front of the couch and set my supplies on the floor, next to me. My eyes scan the wounds again before reaching down for the ointment. Attached to the side of the bottle is a small sponge-like cloth. Picking it up in my hand, I slowly pour a small amount of ointment onto it, until I have enough to lather up in the cloth and begin applying it to her wounds. I squeeze the cloth several times, making sure I break it down before reached other and setting it down on top of her left arm.

I close my right eye as I gently push down on her shoulder, applying the ointment to the top of her wound. I'm a little afraid to see how she'll react to this. I'm not really a medical person, and don't like to see people in pain. I'm a little scared to see whether or not the ointment will aggravate her pain. As I push down, her arm does move. Her fingers clench into a fist and the arm shakes. Her eyes close tighter, but she doesn't make any noise. Her pain is clear to me, but the muteness of her reaction makes me feel a little better. Maybe the pain is bad, but not intolerable, or maybe it's because she's unconscious?

Not wanting to worry about such things, I focus on the task at hand, rubbing the cloth down the length of her wound, making sure to get a lot of ointment on every last inch of that wound. The cut looked bad, so I need to make sure that it gets completely covered in the ointment. As soon as that is finished, I set the cloth down, on top of the ointment bottle, and reach down for the bandage roll. The ointment won't stay fresh for very long, so I need to get her arm wrapped up as soon as possible.

I undo the end of the bandage and take the stick end off, unrolling it. Preparing to roll her up, I place the sticky end right next to the top of her wound, putting pressure down, ensuring that it sticks to her skin. Once I have it secured on her, I begin to slowly unravel the bandage, wrapping it in tight circles around her arm, slowly making it down the length of her wound. Her arm still twitches from the impact of the material, but I slowly force myself through the rest of it until her entire wound is covered up.

As I cut and put the rest of the bandage on her arm, I hear something coming from her mouth. Setting the roll of bandage down, I take a look at her. Her lips are shaking a little and moving. Her legs begin to stretch and her eyes begin to open up. She's waking up! It's a little sooner than I had hoped, but she's finally waking up! I gently put my hand over her forehead as I smile down to her, happy to see that she's okay enough to be conscious. “Hi there. How do you feel?”

Following that moment, was a terror-stricken scream...

The scream takes me completely by surprise. One minute, I have one hand on my little guest's forehead, trying to see how she is feeling and the other reaching for the ointment again. The next minute, my ears are thrown into shock by an ear-piercing scream from right in front of me. What in the world is going on? Before I can do anything about it, I see that woman's face getting red and her pupils are shaking. Is she surprised or afraid of me? I don't even know why I ask myself these questions, because the answers always end up following.

My hand is shoved back and the little woman immediately jumping up from the couch. I quickly turn my head, watching her shoes hitting the wood floor of the living room and run off, towards the other rooms of the house. The entire time, she is screaming at the top of her lungs, saying “Get away from me!”. Did I do something wrong? Could she be in shock, still, from that attack from before? I have no idea, really. I just sit down, in front of the couch for a moment, trying to understand what just happened.

It doesn't take me long to realize what I have to do. A loud crashing sound comes from the direction of the bathroom. “Oh, dear...” I tell myself as I stand up, quickly pocketing the ointment and bandages. The poor woman must be running all across the house and have run straight into the mess I left in the bathroom. Her legs may not have been injured, but she is in no shape to be running around the house, like a chicken with its head cut off. She seemed pretty spooked when she saw me earlier. I should probably try to keep her from hurting herself any further.

I slowly make my way over towards the hallway, where I can hear all those bottles, pushing against one another. I can even see a few of them rolling out, into the hall itself. She's definitely in the bathroom, alright. I just hope I can get in there and convince her to come out, so I can patch her up and keep her from hurting herself on everything in the house. Who know what a person only 2 feet tall could get into in my house and end up more hurt than she already is.

I walk in front of the bathroom's door, intending to ask her to come out so I can patch her up, but am greeted with something else entirely. “Excuse me, miss, can you co-..WHOA!” Within seconds of coming into the doorway, I am assaulted by a flying bottle of Ibuprofen. It comes up and hits me in the neck, the blow making me cough for a moment. My hand comes up to my neck as I cope with it, and try to look back into the room. With only a moment to spare, I see her, standing in the middle of the room, bottles in her arms, as she launches another one my way.

Small amounts of pain start surging all over my body as I am, literally, under fire by a barrage of flying medicine bottles. I hold my arms in front of my body as more and more bottles come flying my way, beating down on my body. “Stay away from me!” The woman's high-pitched voice is easy to pick up through the clanging of bottles as they hit me, bounce off, and hit others that are already lying on the ground. I take a few steps back and try to reason with this woman, to show her that I'm not a threat to her.

“He...HEY! Easy! I'm not going to hurt you!” My words leave my lips, but fall on deaf ears as another few bottles come my way, hitting me in the gut. “Liar! You're just like all the other giant freaks around here. You don't want to help me, now STAY BACK!” This conversation is going absolutely nowhere. Either this woman is deathly afraid of everything, or she's in the completely wrong world. Maybe a little of both, now that I think of it.

I am not going to give up on her, though. She still needs more treatment. She can't just barricade herself with medicine bottles and attack me all day. I take a few more steps back and raise my voice as I speak back to her. “Okay, Okay! I'll stay back! Just stop with the bottle-launching, already! There's a lot of expensive medicine in there! Why can't we jus-” My words are cut off as a large bottle of Tylenol came forth and strikes me, right in the groin. I fall to my knees as my hands go down there, trying to protect it, pain surging through my body.

I begin coughing as I try to cope with all of this pain. The barrage of bottles has, thankfully, stopped now. She knows what she's doing. She hit me right in the place where it hurts the most. My eyes are shut as I let out more coughs, trying to recover from the blow she'd just hit me with. Who'd have thought that someone so small could so easily disable me and make me fall to the ground in pain? I am taking deep breaths until I hear the bottles moving again. My eyes open up as I see that woman coming out of the bathroom and turning to run down the hallway.

She runs straight from the bathroom, towards the kitchen, where the front door is. Is she planning on leaving?! I can't let her leave! Not yet! I struggle to push myself up, but I just can't move yet. She did quite a number on me. I know she doesn't trust me, but I call out to her, as best I can, trying to keep her from leaving. “N-No! You can't go out there! Please...wait! Its...not safe!”

My voice either didn't reach her or she ignored my warning. I soon hear the creak of a door opening, followed by yet another scream, accompanied by barking. My eyes bolt open and I gasp, hearing the noise of that dog from before. I rush to my feet, forcing myself past the pain. I can't worry about my pain right now. I cannot let that dog attack her again!

That sound is definitely not good, at all. That woman, who seems to be deathly afraid of me, just screamed and the dog is nearby as well. I just spent all of that time getting her cleaned up and safe from that dog. I'm not about to let her get attacked, all over again. I jump to my feet and sprint across the hallway, as fast as I can. I nearly trip and lose my right shoe on my way. I think about grabbing it, but I don't have the time. Every second counts, if she made it outside and that dog is there for more. A little inconvenience will be worth it if I can help her and get her back inside.

Making my way into the kitchen, I look around at the door, only to see that it is open and my guest is nowhere to be found inside. Oh, great. She must have already gone all the way outside and then saw the dog. I've got to hurry, in case that animal is attacking her again. Mere scratches were cuts to her. Who knows what that thing could do to that poor woman. I nearly limp as I make my way over to the door and look outside. Scanning the porch, I don't see anything at all, but I definitely hear more barking and more screaming. It's coming from the...left! I open the door and quickly look towards the left side of my porch.

The door clicks from behind me and it attracts the attention of both the woman and dog. I look and am almost shocked when I see what's in that direction. In the corner of the porch, against the house, is that woman, curled up into a ball and shaking. Just a few feet away from her, is that dog, staring at her and barking. It doesn't take long for the dog to lost it's interest in me and start barking at her again. With every bark, I hear a small whimper from the woman. She has to be incredibly scared right now. As soon as the dog starts to jump towards her, I run towards it.

That poor woman has to be scared out of her mind. She gets attacked by a ferocious dog, waked up to find me, whom she seems equally afraid of, leaves my house to get away, only to find that dog attacking her again? I cannot even begin to imagine what's going on in her head right now. I can't worry about that, though. All that matters right now is that I push myself forward and make sure that she doesn't get hurt even worse by this dog. I've always had a sense of protection towards the people around me, and this stranger is no exception to that rule. I can't just sit by as she gets hurt by this animal.

I jump into the dog's path, landing my body in the small space between it and the woman. The woman screams further as my body thuds on the porch, not bothering to open her eyes to see what's going on. The dog's face nails itself right into my back and it falls on it's side, making it's own little whimpering-like sound. Well, whimpering might not be the right terminology. It's more like both a whimper and a bark. I wince from the initial impact, but soon realize that it's been momentarily stopped, and have to take this moment to get her back inside. She might be afraid of me, but she's going to have to accept the fact that she's safer inside than outside.

I quickly wrap my arms around her stomach and pick her up, as if I were picking up a small child and pull myself up. I start moving back towards the house as she wakes up and starts pounding on my back, obviously from the fear she was experiencing. I stop for a second, as she screams down at me, in distress and trying to order me around. “Put me down, you big brute! Where are you taking me?!” She is always the rebel, it seems. Nonetheless, I can't let go of her. Putting her back down would be like me hurting her. I shake my head as I start to respond to her.

“It's not safe out here! We need you to get back inside. You're still injured, and I need to patch you up!” She, of course, didn't take this as an answer, at least until something else came along that helped to persuade her of the dangers that were lurking outside. From behind me, the dog jumps up and scratches it's paws on my back. Not seeing this coming, I fall onto my stomach, grunting as I hit the ground. The dog's nails start tearing up the back of my shirt as I hit the ground and it barks at me. My eyes shut for a moment, trying to deal with the blow and holding her high enough to keep my body from pushing down on her too much.

As the dog started barking and clawing at me again, she'd opened her eyes, seeing that I wasn't moving very much. Looking at both me, holding her too tight for her to get away from, and the dog, whom was barking and sending it's crimson-red eyes her way, made her start to take an action and go away from trying to constantly run away from this situation, taking the only option she could. “H-Hey! Get up! That thing's right there! GET UP!”

Taking a deep breath, as I heard what she said, I forced myself up, and kicked at the dog. As it was being shoved back, it bit into my ankle, letting out a mild scream from me. Taking my shoe'd foot, I kicked at it again, until it let go. As soon as it fell across the porch, I rushed over to the front door and ran inside, quickly yanking the door shut behind me, keeping the dog jumping at the door and not getting inside...

My breaths are long and deep as we finally get inside. I drop to my knees and hit the wood floor of the kitchen, still hanging onto that short woman. I stare down at the ground as I try to catch my breath. That wasn't exactly easy to do. I didn't expect the dog to attack me so much, nor did I expect it to recover so quickly from me blocking it's path towards this woman. It seems that the two of us got lucky when we got back inside. I can feel pain surging up and down my back and around my ankle. It's isn't unbearable, but clear that the dog was willing to take me down, just to get to her.

I close my eyes as I keep my head aimed at the floor and slowly put my guest down. I can hear her shoes tapping against the wood as I do so, and I prepare to talk to her, and finally get her other arm patched up. She should trust me now, since I practically rescued her from that dog, right? That is the ideal scenario, but my life is hardly an ideal scenario. Indeed, as I set her down, she immediately takes advantage of the fact that I'm on my knees. She uses all her strength to shove against my chest, knocking me over.

I land on my back and I can feel the scratches and wounds that dog gave me being aggravated, from the moment I land. I let out a grunt as I feel the pain surging through me, stronger than before. My eyes shut even tighter as I try to cope with all of it. It takes me a moment to gain control of my body and push myself back into a sitting position. Shaking my head, I finally open my eyes back up, only to find that my guest was gone. The sound of footsteps can be heard near the hallway. I let out a deep sigh, realizing that it is still going to take a good deal of effort for this woman to trust me.

Fortunately, though, I think she'll end up staying inside the house. Having wandered outside and immediately being attacked by that dog again surely scared her enough to keep her in the house. While I did not orchestrate those events at all, that will be useful for me. If I'm to find her and convince her that she can trust me, it will be a lot easier if she is inside the house, to narrow my search field. The foot steps stop as I reach up for the counter and pull myself up, into a standing position. Pushing up with my right foot brings some pain into my ankle, but it's nothing I can't handle.

My full breathing has not returned yet, but I must go onward. There is a lot in my house that she can get into and get hurt with. She's probably still a little panicked and afraid of me, so running through the house would open up a much wider range of dangers for someone short. I say short, and it's mostly right. Normally, when you think of a short person, you probably think of someone around 5 feet in height, maybe a little shorter. This person is less than half of that, like a miniaturized version of a normal person. I don't even know what to call someone that short.

It doesn't matter, though. The woman is still hurt and needs to be patched up. What I can call her can wait. For right now, I just need to find her and get her to trust me, at least for a moment. I come out into the hallway and walk towards the bathroom. Surely she wouldn't go to the bathroom twice, right? No, she wouldn't do that. If she's trying to hide from me, that's the first place she'd think of me to look. It wasn't exactly a huge room, full of hiding places, anyways. She would not be able to hide inside that room for long, despite her short height.

My search does not end up lasting long, though. As soon as I pass the bathroom, I hear creaking from the living room. I turn my head and peek through the doorway, letting a small grin across my face. The cushioned rocking chair is moving, swaying forward and backwards. I take a look at it, for a moment, and then see it magically holding still, in the middle of a rocking motion. That sure didn't take long. I slowly walk into the living room, slipping my other shoe off so I don't have to worry about limping through from only one shoe being on. I make it to the area in the middle of the room and sit down by the table, a good 5 feet in front of the rocking chair.

As I sit down, I make an indian-style-like movement and look towards the chair for a moment, to see if she is going to make a move. I know she's back there now, though, so she isn't very well hidden. At the very side of the chair, I can see tiny fingertips, hanging onto the back of it. I call to her, hoping that I can get her to come out, with the voice of reason. “You can't stay latched to the back of that chair forever, you know. Why don't you just come out, so I can patch up your other arm?”

This action got an immediate reaction out of her. The chair started rocking again and her voice echoed through the room as she screamed out, from her hiding place. “NO! You just want to hurt me, like every other giant freak in this messed up world!” I sigh, realizing that this is going to be no easy task. Of course, I didn't expect it to be. I think about moving back there, but then decide that might not be the best plan. If I want her to trust me, she needs to know that I'm not out to get her. I can't show any hostile actions. Keeping my sitting position, I tried to reason with her. “Listen, you're still hurt. You have a nasty cut on your left arm. You need to get it treated. Please, come out so I can help you. I promise I won't hurt you. I saved you from that dog, didn't I?”

There was a brief moment of silence before my little guest made her response, keeping up the angry, scared tone. “W-Well, yeah, b-but...only because you want to use me, yourself! You want to hurt me and take advantage of your giant size! You're trying to trick me into trusting you, and it's not going to work. You're not going to-AH!” In the middle of her big, yelling statements, I hear something thump against the chair and then hear a painful whimper come from her. The fingers that were on the side of the chair aren't on there anymore. She falls to the side of the chair, tightly grasping her left arm.

I sit there and reach my hand in her direction, thinking about getting up, but stop myself. Remember, Trent. No hostile acts. I call out to the clearly hurt woman. “Are you alright?”

That woman is down on the ground, tightly grasping her arm. The expression on her face tells me that she's in a lot of pain. I want to just run up there, pick her up and take her to the couch to patch her up, but is that really the right thing to do? No. No, it's not. If I want to gain her trust, I have to do things her way. I can't make any sudden movements, or do anything to her on my own. Not as long as she's awake, anyways. If I want her to trust me, I have to make it so she wants me to help her. I have to word my statements carefully and make sure she knows, full well, that I'm not here to hurt her.

My hand is still reaching out to her, but I know I can't do anything but talk. I carefully move my other hand and pull both the medicine and the bandages out of my pocket, setting them down, right in front of me. I come to a sitting positions, folding my legs indian-style, and begin to speak to her, hoping to find some way to get her patched up. “Listen, I know you don't trust me, but you're hurt, and I'm sure you know that. Both of your arms got cut up pretty bad, and we need to get your other arm treated with the medicine and bandages that I treated your other arm with. Please, can I come over there and help you?”

“No! Stay away from me!” The woman's screams only brought my optimism down further. Even in pain and holding onto her arm, she was resisting the idea of me helping her. The fear going through her head must have been absolutely horrifying for her to resist treatment, all this time. I cannot give up, though. Infection might spread faster in someone so short. I can't risk her not getting patched up at all. She needs to be treated, even if I'm not the person who would end up doing the treating. I can't force her to let me treat her, but maybe I can let her do it, herself.

With both my hands, I slowly push the medicine and bandages forward, opening up the medicine in the process. I let go of the two of them and scoot myself backwards as I talk to her. “Okay, that's fine. I'll stay away from you, if you're that scared. I'm just going to leave the medicine and bandages here, and I'm going to go to the other room, okay? You can come out and treat yourself, when you feel up to it, and I'll be in the kitchen, where we came into the house. Will that be fair and acceptable for you?”

I slowly get up, her eyes watching me, with an angry and intent look on her face, as if she were an assassin, watching her target. “I...I'm not scared! I'm just concerned for being trapped in a house with someone big and scary, like you!” I smile a little as I back up further, putting my palms in front of me, as I speak and reach the recliner on the other end of the room. The floor creaks as my socked feet press down, against the front of the chair. “Alright, alright. I'm sorry I thought you were scared. Just, please, treat that arm before you get an infection. There isn't a hospital around for miles, and I don't want you getting sick.”

I slowly move out of the living room, as much as I don't want to. There is a gut feeling that is telling me not to leave her alone, but what else can I do? She is obviously very afraid of me. I very much doubt she would use all of that stuff, were I still in the room with her. It will take time to get her to trust me, and I have to show her that she can do just that. I need to show her, slowly, that I'm not out to get her, and that she's safe with me. I have no idea how long that will take, but it doesn't matter. She's a pretty young woman, and for the time being, she's stuck here. I'll take as much time as I need to for this.

I step into the kitchen and grab a towel from the counter. This whole ordeal has been stressing me out. I can feel sweat pouring down my forehead. Throwing the towel into my face, I slowly push into it, feeling it's cool, soft texture and wipe away the perspiration that has produced itself on me. Pulling the towel away, I take a deep breath and look down at the counter. The pink towel is set down on the counter and I can't help but be curious and want to go back into the living room. As much as she doesn't like me being around right now, it's nice to have someone else in the house. Although she doesn't trust me yet, I kinda like this woman. It might be nice to have someone around the house with me, even if they're only a couple feet tall.

Pulling out a small bottle of Spray Deodorant from a drawer in the counter, I start spraying myself, not wanting any form of body odor, lingering from my body. I did just get back from a run, and I should probably take another shower. However, this deal with her makes me not want to do that. She could run off, or try to leave again, while I was upstairs and get hurt or something. I can't take that chance. Just as soon as I was thinking about this, I heard small footsteps in the hallway. I look up, confused a little. Surely, she could not have wrapped herself up so quickly, could she?

Peeking my head into the hall, I don't see anything, nor do I hear the footsteps anymore. My eyes scan the area as I make my way back into the living room. When I get there, I see that the bandages and medicine are gone. The girl must have grabbed them and run off someplace else in the house. I sigh and shake my head. She's still scared, but at least she is planning on patching up her wound. I cross my arms and start walking through the hallway, hoping to find her before she gets into something and makes a mess.

Look what I've gotten myself into now. I leave her alone for just a couple minutes and she's already run off, elsewhere in the house. I guess I can't blame her. If I was trapped in a house with someone 2 or 3 times taller than me, and I was afraid of them, I'd probably do the same. She just doesn't understand it yet. She doesn't understand that I'm not going to hurt her. All I want is to make sure she gets better. It would help that, a lot, if she weren't constantly running away from me. I've got to figure out some way to get her to trust me.

The question is...what is that way? I've been kind to her already, haven't I? From the beginning, I brought her into my home and tried to wrap up her injuries. When she was afraid, I didn't force myself towards her and move her, myself. I always gave her the freedom to move around, never trying to make it look like I wanted to control her. I ran after her when the dog attacked her again, even taking a few hits for her, trying to protect her. Then, after we come back in, I give her the opportunity to wrap up her own injury, completely free of having me watching her, in the room.

I sigh as I slowly trek the halls, thinking about all this. This woman was very short, or small, I should say, and she can get into a lot of stuff in this house. I didn't exactly decorate and buy furniture, with having someone a third of my own height running around in mind. As much as she doesn't want me around, I think I need to be with her. There's just too much she can get into and get hurt with. I admire her willpower to keep herself away from something she's afraid of, but she needs to view the bigger picture, or at least, my bigger picture. If she can just understand that I don't want to hurt her, maybe things can go more smoothly with this.

What 'this' is, however, I am unsure of. I keep thinking as I slowly walk into the downstairs bedroom, designed for when my family is visiting. What brought her here, in the first place? I've never, in my life, seen anyone else on these roads, let alone someone so short. No one likes living out here, unless they just want to be alone, or away from people. I, myself, love nature, so getting away from civilization was wonderful for me. I'd rather be surrounded by trees, fields, and greenery than skyscrapers and metallic buildings all the time. It's more peaceful out here. At least, it is until you find short women being attacked by dogs at your front porch.

After peeking around the bedroom and the small bathroom attached to it, I imagine that she's not in here, either. I go back towards the hallway, aiming to look in the other rooms. Unfortunately, though, there aren't any more rooms to look in on the first floor. I've looked everywhere. As I come back into the hallway, I stop and look towards the stairs. She couldn't have climbed up all those stairs, with her injury, could she? I can't exactly relinquish the possibility. She obviously has strong willpower to keep resisting my offers for help, so she could have tried to climb upstairs.

This situation keeps getting weird and more stressing. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I dash over to the stairs and look under the actual steps. I don't know if she could fall through the crevices between steps, but I should make sure, just in case. There's a small net under each step, in case anything were to fall through. If she had fallen, the net would catch her and she couldn't be harmed. This was mainly designed for pets, I think. It was already there when I moved into the house, and I never thought to remove it. After all, if something was there for safety, why would you want to remove it in the first place? A house should be as safe as possible, if you can make it that way.

A sigh of relief comes over me as I see that there isn't anything tangled up in that net. No pets, no inanimate objects, and most importantly, no short ladies. I turn my attention towards the second floor, however, as I hear something. It's a voice, female. It sounds like her, though it's a little different. The voice I remember of her is one that yells and shows itself off as a strong-willed person. This voice, however, was quite a bit different. It's very faint, but I can hear it. It sounds like whimpering. Could she be whimpering because of the pain she's feeling? Could she have been putting up an act before to make herself seem stronger than she is? I'd be lying if I said I've never done that before.

No matter the reason, the whimpering enters my ears and makes my legs start to move. I make my way up the stairs, slowly and quietly. If she has the same reaction to me that she always has so far, she'll be startled and will probably try to run, once again. I don't want that. I have to just go upstairs and come off as kind and non-hostile a person as I can. Games of hide-and-seek cannot go on forever. She's small, she's hurt, and she needs to be taken care of. The only way I will be able to take care of her, unless she's unconscious, is if she can learn to trust me.

Coming up the stairs, I peek into my bedroom, and grin for a moment. Before me is both an incredibly adorable and incredibly sad sight. On my own bed, curled up against the pillow I use at night, is that short woman. Nearly half her body is on the pillow. She is still whimpering, and looking in the opposite direction of the door. Her left arm has a bandage on it, very loosely wrapped. She has tried to put it on herself, but clearly, she has had issues with it. I stand in the doorway for a moment before deciding I need to make my presence known to her. I don't know what she's going through, but I should try and help her.

Curling the fingers of my right hand up, I gently knock on the door a few times. Her body stops and turns towards me. I stay right where I am and try to smile as I speak to her, as if it were her room. “May I come in?”

My body doesn't move an inch from the doorway. I can't afford to startle her too much and get her to run off again. It must have taken quite a deal of effort for her to make it out of the room, through the hallway, up the stairs, and onto the bed in such a small amount of time. She can't run forever, either. No matter what happens, she'll run out of energy, eventually. I would prefer it not come to that, though. I want to be able to gain some trust right here, right now. To help with this venture, I hold my position and let a smile come to my face, hoping it will help persuade her to, at the very least, talk with me.

“S-stay away from me...” That familiar phrase comes from her lips once again, a slight shiver in her tone of voice. I can see her pushing her face against the pillow as her eyes fixate on my position. The look on her face isn't only skepticism anymore. There's a little bit of expression in it. It almost looks like she's both scared and angry at me, all at the same time. Her words come into me and, as much as I want to come into the room and fix the bandage job she has done, I respect her wishes and nod towards her.

Slowly bringing myself down to the ground, I sit in front of the door, slightly inside the room. My feet fold and cross, indian-style as I keep looking at her, trying to keep as calm a face as I can. “Alright. If you don't want me to come any closer, I won't. You shouldn't be running all over the house in your condition, though. I know that I may have no place to bark orders at you, but could you, at least, stay in the bed and not run away this time? I'm sure you do need to get some rest after everything you've been through today.”

The woman didn't say anything, at first. She just stared at me with those big, quivering pupils of hers. Her hands gripped the edges of the pillow she was laying on and it looked as if the conversation wasn't going anywhere. I don't care about conversation, though. I just want her to get some rest. She can't keep running around at random in the house. There is just too much she can get into, and too much she can get hurt by. She soon stops looking at me, burying her face in the pillow, almost looking like she was nuzzling it with her face.

“I'll rest when I decide I need to! I don't need a big...person like you to tell me what to do!” Her arms are clenching onto the pillow a little tighter than before, and it looks like she is hugging into it. As her head turns away, I let a grin creep onto my face. It doesn't look like she's going to be leaving. Maybe she really is taking my advice and trying to get some rest. I don't say much, not wanting to strain her too much, though what she says does open up a door for me to finally introduce myself to this short, little woman.

I make sure my voice is at a low and calm tone as I speak out to her, leaning back against the door as I sit on the floor. “Alright, then you just rest when you want to. I'm sorry for telling you what to do. My name is Trent, by the way. I hope that bed is comfortable for you.” My statements are returned by nothing but silence. The little woman turns herself and looks in the opposite direction, not saying a single word. I can hear her breathing from where I'm at, so maybe she's trying to get some sleep. There's a good chance that she's not, but I like looking to the bright side. I want to think that she doesn't hate me completely.

I close my own eyes as I sit in the room, wanting to make sure she doesn't go elsewhere. My eyes shut and my mind is filled with thoughts about what can be done about this woman. If she starts trusting me, where do I go from there? Do I incorporate her into the daily life of this house? Do I try to figure out where she's from and who her family is? What will she want to do? There are so many questions going through my head, and I just don't know what to think about all of this. One thing's for certain, though. I enjoy having this person around, even if she doesn't trust me. It's a lot better than being lonely around this place.

It isn't long before my closed eyelids get the best of me. My mind wanders further and further and then my head jerks up, bring my consciousness back to reality. I feel so fatigued as I look around. Over on the bed is the woman, still laying there, presumably sleeping. I look down at my watch and see that it reads 12:34 p.m. I must have fallen asleep as I sat here. That run must have taken more out of me than I thought. Thank goodness the woman is still here, though. Perhaps she really was trying to sleep, as I had suggested.

I slowly got to my feet and stood in the doorway for a moment. I looked back, watching her resting form, and I began to walk out of the room when I heard something from behind me. “Rebecca!” said the woman. Putting my hand on the doorway and looking back inside, I looked over at her. “What?” I ask. The woman turns around on the bed and looks towards me. She looks towards me with her quivering pupils, still tightly clenching onto the pillow. “My name...is Rebecca.”

A grin comes across my face and I nod my heads towards her. “It's nice to meet you, Rebecca. Listen, I'm going to-” Before I can even finish a simple sentence, she sends her voice at me, in that skeptical tone again. “Hey! Don't think I trust you just because I told you my name! You just...told me yours, so it would be rude of me not to tell you mine! I still want you to stay away from me!”

I frown for a moment and blink for a moment before responding to her again. “R-right. Okay. Well, you just stay here and get some rest. If you feel like eating anything, I'll be downstairs.” The woman jerked her body around and clenched onto the pillow again, providing one, quick “Hmph!” I shake my head for a moment, finally thinking that I am starting to make some progress. I walk out of the room and head for the stairs, intending to go and make some lunch for the two of us.

Is it really the right thing to do? Is it alright to just leave her in there, alone, while I go downstairs to the kitchen? Part of me really wants to stay up there, with her, especially now that I know her name. However, another part of me doesn't. I understand that I need to leave her alone and give her time to rest. I also know that if I'm going to continue progressing and actually getting her to trust me, I can't force everything, or anything on her. I have managed to get her name out of her, which is a good sign. Time is the only factor in it now. I have to wait for her to be ready to leave the room.

I stop as soon as I get to the bottom of the stairs. I stand and look back up, towards the second floor. I still have those urges to go back up there and watch over her. There is a lot that she can get hurt with in the house, but I can't let this consume me. She trusts me enough to give me her name, and that should be enough, for now. It's the afternoon now, and I am quite hungry. I can't help this woman on an empty stomach so, while she's still resting, I should go towards the kitchen and make something to eat. Who knows? Maybe she'll wander downstairs soon and trust me a little more, knowing that I left her alone! It's probably a stretch, but I can still dream!

Moving my legs forward, I make my way towards the kitchen. As I walk through the hallway, I look in the bathroom. All the pill bottles are still scattered across the floor. I frown a little as I see the mess. There are some scattered in the hall as well. I should really clean that stuff up. As I look at it, I can hear a rumbling, gurgling sound coming from my stomach. I look down and blush, slightly, embarrassed that I've gotten as hungry as I have. Walking past the bathroom, I make my way into the kitchen. Cleaning can come later. I want to, at least, put some food on the stove or in the microwave, cooking and getting itself ready.

Coming into the kitchen, I walk around the bar-like counter and come to the refrigerator. I start thinking about what I want to eat, but that short woman also comes to my mind, as I think further. What if she comes down, in need of some food? If I do start cooking some food, then I should make something that I won't mind serving to both me and my little guest. The door of the fridge slowly opens as my eyes start scanning the contents that are inside. I think, harder and harder, trying to come up with an idea for what we can both eat, were that scenario to come true.

What is she able to eat? Surely, with her 'shortness', there would be some restrictions on her diet. She's the size of a small child, I'd say. Small children can't eat everything that they're given. Should I prepare something a little soft for her, like soup or something? Hmm...this is a hard decision. I think I have some Lentil soup that I made the other day, a suggestion from a friend from awhile back. My eyes move from the door to the shelves on the inside of refrigerator, scanning for that container of soup that I've got in there. It doesn't take me long to find it.

I smile as I reach in, pulling out the container of soup. Opening it up, I set it down on the counter, next to a 4-burner stove and realize that there is plenty for two people to eat up. Digging into a few shelves under the stove, I pull out a small pan and a metal whisk. Setting the pan on the stove, I use the whisk to pour the creamy soup into the pan. Before even a few moments have passed, all of it is in the pan and I switch the stove to the 'on' position, making sure the soup is getting warmed up. After stirring it for a minute or two, I walk off, moving back out into the hallway.

As much as I'd love to stay in the kitchen and watch my soup cook, there's a huge mess out here that I need to get cleaned up. Thanks to my own actions, the bathroom floor and hallway are filled with medicine bottles. Thank heavens all of them were sealed nice and tight. Otherwise, I'd be picking up half a million pills, along with their bottles, making this job that much harder. I ignore the bottles in the hallway at first, making my way into the bathroom, itself. Shoving some of the bottles to the side, I clear an area on the floor, right in front of the door these bottles came from. Sitting myself down, I begin picking them up, one at a time, and pushing them back onto the shelf they came from.

This is a rather tedious process, but as I slowly pick up more and more bottles, the bathroom floor is looking like more of a floor. Some people might have been surprised there was even a floor in this room, to begin with. The ridiculous stockpile of medicine my aunt supplies me with is borderline obsessive. My bathroom can easily pass as a pharmacy. As I keep putting the bottles away, I hear a clicking sound from behind me. I look back and see a few bottles, sitting up, lined across the doorway. I take a quick look, but I don't see anything around, though I have a feeling I know how they got there.

Trying not to take much notice of this, I keep piling the bottles onto the shelf. After a little while long, I reach back, without looking, and grab a bottle, only to hear a small yelp from that same location. Not moving my hand, I turn my head and look back to see that woman, standing in the doorway, looking down at a bottle that she is trying to carry. Her arms are shaking, seeing my own hand on the top of the bottle. We both look at each other for a moment, and then back at the bottle. “H-H-Here! You left this out in the hall and I nearly tripped and fell over it! Why is your house such as hazard?!”

I take the bottle from her and let off a small grin as I put it away. “Thank you” I say, as I reach for the other bottles she has brought over, putting them away as well...

I'm not sure what to make of what Rebecca is doing right now. One minute, I'm cooking soup and putting away bottles of medicine and the next she yelps and I realize that I've just grabbed a bottle that she is carrying over to the doorway. I can see the nervousness in her face, all too well. Her face was red and she'd had a lot of nervousness in her voice as she reprimanded me for having such a 'hazardous' house. She is trying to convince me that she's just moving the bottle because she nearly tripped and fell on it, though she couldn't have nearly tripped on all of the ones she's brought over.

My calm mention of thanks comes out as I put away the bottle she brought over to me, and I don't say anything else as I put all of the other bottles away, all that she brought over. Well, I'm pretty sure she brought them over. Either that or some of these bottles can bring themselves over. As I reach for the last bottle, I look over to see that she's still standing in the doorway, watching me. I don't look for too long. After a quick glance and then go back to the cabinet, where I fit the last bottle and close the closet door. I hear a click from the door and then think about the soup that's still on the stove. It's probably about time for me to go and stir it up.

I slowly put my hand on the floor by the doorway to get up when I hear a gasp from Rebecca. I look over and see her on the other side of the hall, hiding behind a post for the stairway. Her body is behind it, her arms wrapped around it, and her head is peeking out, towards me, a flustered expression on her face, again. “Watch where you put your hands! You nearly smacked me with it!” With that, she moves from the post and dashes into the living room, disappearing from my sight. I let out a small grin at how she's acting. It looks like she still doesn't trust me, but at least she's not deathly afraid of me. At least she'll talk to me.

Reaching for the doorknob, I pull myself up the rest of the way and turn into the hallway. I ignore the living room, not wishing to disturb her more than I have to. Instead, I head towards the kitchen. I may have managed to get a little trust out of her, but losing trust is a lot easier to do than gaining it. If I make one wrong move in this scenario, I could completely push her away. Things have to go slow, and when she wants them to, not when I want them to. Turning into the kitchen, I see a few streams of steam raising up from the pan with the soup. Making my way over to the stove and pick up a whisk that I can use to stir it up with.

The whisk slowly dips into the soup, the thin liquid oozing all around it, swallowing it up. The bottom of the whisk touches the bottom of the pan as I begin to stir. A quiet, scraping sound can be heard as the whisk goes back and forth, all around the pan in a circular motion. My mind is on Rebecca, at the moment, as my eyes look towards the doorway and towards the living room. I'm very curious as to what she's doing, but I have to respect her privacy and the sensitivity of the situation at hand. She must be handled carefully, in all aspects, and I can't rush a single part of it.

After about 5 more minutes of stirring, my mind has wandered off, thinking about the woman, not even realizing that the soup is finished. My eyes are shut and my hand is slowly, but surely, moving around, keeping the soup moving as I think about her. What am I going to do with her? Does she have a home go to? Can I keep her here and have her as a house mate or something? Quite honestly, I would prefer the latter. She may be short, but she's a little cute, and I wouldn't mind having company around here. As my thoughts race onward, I gasp and come out of my daydream as the smoke alarm goes off from in the hallway.

I take deep breaths and quickly move the pan onto another burner and pick up a towel from the counter, aiming to walk into the hall and blow all the smoke away from the alarm. As soon as I move out into the hall, however, I hear a high-pitched scream. From the living room, I see Rebecca bolting into the hallways. “TURN IT OFF! IT HURTS! PLEASE, TURN IT OFF!” She is covering her ears up and running towards me, not looking at anything. I want to move out of the way, but can't. Her body plows into my leg, knocking me over, and her on the ground, next to me.

I let out a little grunt as I push myself up. I take a breath as I re-grab the towel, preparing to get up before I feel something bashing against my arm. My arm retracts as I see Rebecca, looking at me, her face red and tears running down her face. Her fists are pounding against my arm as she screams at me. “Please...PLEASE! TURN IT OFF! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” Within moments, she falls to the ground, holding her ears and shivering on the floor. Is the alarm that volatile to her? From seeing her so upset, I pick myself up and run over to the smoke alarm.

Taking the towel, I fan the alarm until it ceases it's loud screeching. My breath is partially taken away as I drop the towel to the floor. I look back towards Rebecca, whom is shivering on the floor, curled up into a ball. I lower my head and walk back towards her. The poor girl was in pain from that alarm. Being so much shorter must have made her sensitive to that loud beeping noise. I slowly walk closer and closer before she opens her eye and looks at me. The moment she saw me approach, she forced herself up and darted off, back to the living room.

My hands are up for a moment, as I walk towards Rebecca, but I can't do what I want. She opens her eyes as soon as I come near her and darts off, towards the living room. My arms lower, coming back down to my sides, as I think about what just happened. The smoke alarm went off, and it was like it was pounding into her being. She screamed and begged me to turn it off. Before she realized I was coming forward after it was turned off, she was curled up, shivering on the floor. Is the sound truly that volatile to her? Is there something amplified in that sound, given her shorter height?

I don't know the answer to these questions, but I do know that it bothered and hurt her. Turning back around, I want to make sure this incident doesn't repeat itself. She might need a moment or two to be alone, so I make my way back to the stairs, where the smoke alarm is set up. Reaching up, I push a small button on it, opening up the battery compartment. I take a deep breath as I have both hands raised, digging my fingernail into the space around the battery, trying to pry it out. My other fingers wander and I eventually get under it. As I try to pry it out, however, my other finger touches a metallic part of it and a shock is sent into my body.

“Ouch!” I say, as I fall down, onto my butt. My finger roamed to just the wrong place at just the wrong time. The electric shock that I felt had surged through my entire body and forced me to push away from the alarm, leading to me falling down. As I sat myself up, I shook my hand around, trying to get the shocked feeling out of my finger. My eyes were shut as I moved it around, violently, and I could feel the joints in my wrist coming in and out of place as I shook it around. Clenching my hand into a fist, several joint cracks can be heard and, eventually, the pain goes away.

Pushing myself up, I look back up towards the smoke alarm, but decide to turn towards the kitchen, instead. There's a better way of getting this out. A way that will allow me to avoid getting shocked by that, again. I walk into the kitchen and pull out a small, straight-edged screwdriver from a shelf. The tool has a plastic handle and gives me more than enough space to reach that alarm without having to put my fingers up there. Content with what I find, I work my way back to the hallway, aiming to get that battery out of the alarm, if it's the last thing I do for right now.

I carry the tool over to the smoke alarm and, out of the corner of my eye, I see a little face peeking out from the wall in the living room, watching what I'm doing. How long has she been there? I didn't notice her there before, but maybe that was because I was too focused on the alarm? Did she see me getting the life shocked out of me? Did she see me shaking my hand, in pain, and leaving to get the screwdriver? I don't really know, and for right now, it doesn't matter what she saw. I'm in the middle of getting that battery out, so it won't bother her anymore, and that's what I'm going to do.

Not saying a word to her, I extend the screwdriver through my hand as far as I can make it go while still maintaining a steady and firm grip on it. Reaching up, I pry it into the space between the battery and the device and my hand slightly trembles, thinking about what happened the last time I tried to get this battery out. In the back of my mind, there are thoughts of a shock coming through the screwdriver and hitting me, even though I know it wouldn't travel through the handle. My breathing gets deep and heavy as I wait for a few seconds, looking at the alarm and thinking about the past.

Getting a grip on my trembling, I force the screwdriver forward and turn it, prying the battery out, sending it flying down, to the floor. I end up jumping out of the way as I see the battery coming down, towards me. It pings as it hits the floor and I drop the screwdriver, my heart beating at a rapid pace. My breathing is deep and I almost can't hold onto myself from the stress that situation took out of me. Before long, however, my attention turned to something else. In the doorway of the living room, was Rebecca, standing in the middle of it and looking over at me, an almost-blank look on her face.

Leaving the battery and screwdriver on the floor, I slowly walk towards her, halving the distance between me and the doorway. She slowly takes a few steps backwards, as I do so, so I stop and sit down on the floor, not wanting her to run off. The last thing I want right now is for her to keep running away from me every time I come near her or something happens, like this alarm going off. I sit down, my legs crossed as I wipe my head across my forehead, brushing my bangs to the right. I take a look at her and begin speaking, hoping to find out if she's okay.

“I'm sorry about the smoke alarm. I didn't realize that it would hurt you so much, or I would have taken the battery out sooner. I left the food on too long, and well...sorry. I didn't mean for it to hurt you like that.” Rebecca just stands there, looking at me, not saying a word. She can hear me, can't she? I'm sure she can hear me. I lay myself down on the floor and look up at the ceiling. “It took a good bit out of me, but the battery's gone, and you won't have t worry about that anymore. So...I'll go dismantle the other alarms later.” As I continue rambling, I let out a yawn and hear footsteps coming near me.

Looking to the side, I can see that girl, standing right next to me. From the floor's perspective, she actually looks fairly tall. She looked at me, changing her expression to that agitated look again. “I'm hungry!” I smile and start chuckling a little. This is quite the lady, to be sure...

I laughed a little. I can't help it, though! After going through everything that's been going on in this scenario, this woman is comical, at least a little bit. I understand that she's been scared and half a dozen other things, what with being assaulted by a dog, waking to find a huge person she doesn't know, assaulted by the dog a second time, and getting pulled back into the house by that huge person. She does seem to be starting to trust me a little more, or just has been coming around me more often. Right now, she's standing right next to my face and arms, the closest she's ever been.

The sound of how she just blurted out “I'm hungry!” was comical. I'm just here, lying on the floor, getting over the shock from trying to take that battery out and she runs on up to me and tells me that she's hungry. If there's anything about this woman, it's that she is completely unpredictable with everything. She goes from being scared of me to helping me put pill bottles away to running away after the smoke alarm goes off to telling me she's hungry. Thankfully, I have some soup that's very much ready to be served. The time it's taken to fix the smoke alarm has probably allowed it to cool off a good bit.

“S-sure, Rebecca. I've got some soup ready if you--” I don't even get a chance to full explain it before she darts off, making her way into the kitchen. Being able to deal with how she is right now will definitely be a task. It's better than her not trusting me and constantly running away, though! Letting out a sigh, I pull myself to my feet and start making my way towards the kitchen. As I walk, I hear a screech on the floor and begin to walk a little faster. She's already moving one of the chairs at the lower table. She must be very hungry, indeed.

As I make my way into the kitchen, I look over to the counter, seeing that pot of soup, smoke still piling away from it. Maybe it's not quite cooled off yet. I just hope my little guest is willing to wait for it to cool. If her hearing is sensitive, it stands to reason that her other senses might also be sensitive. Something hot to my tongue might be scolding to hers. I walk over to the pot and pick up a bowl from the other counter, preparing to dip some out for her, to get cooled off. As I begin to pour it in, I hear her voice coming towards me from behind. “This chair isn't working right!”

Turning my head around, I set the pan and bowl down, walking around the counter to look and see what she's doing. Next to the counter, which is about up to my chest, normally, are three tall bar stools. The woman had apparently abandoned the chair and went for the stools, despite the fact that the set was positioned higher than her head was. The stool had been pulled out a little and she was hanging onto where the seat was, her legs swinging back and forth as she tried to pull herself up. As she was pulling, her elbows straightened and she grunted, clearly not strong enough to get up there on her own.

Coming up behind her, I kneel down for a moment and place my hands about 3 inches below the bottom of her sneaker-clad feet. “Would you like me to help you, Rebecca?” My voice travels quickly, her body fidgeting as she heard me. She quickly turns her head and shakes it. “O-of course not! You think I can't get onto a chair by myself! I'm hungry! Go get the food!” She continues her struggle to get up the chair, but I don't help her. If she doesn't want help, I don't want to force it on her. I step back and start to walk towards the other counter, where the bowl and pan are located.

As soon as I get back to the other counter, I pick up the pan and pour a little more soup into the bowl. Once it is about half-way full, I hear another grunt and a whimper from the other side of the room. “T-Trent...” she says, almost a feeling of weakness in her voice. Setting the pan down again, I turn and look over the counter. “Yes, Rebecca?” Her eyes squinted at me, as if frustrated with something I had done. Her voice comes to me again, which makes me smile. “Come here and, uh...give me a boost! This stool is too slippery right now!”

'Too slippery, huh?' I think, walking back over, towards the stool she is trying to climb up. She is in the same position she was in before, and seems to be struggling just as much. I reach her and kneel down, pressing my hands against the bottoms of her feet. Her body shivers from my touch, and she just blurts out towards me again. “Okay, now just hurry up and push me up! I'm getting tired enough, dealing with your faulty chairs!” Not saying a word, I gently push up on her feet, moving her body upward. Within moment, she is high enough that she grabs onto the fabric of the seat and pulls herself up, sitting on the stool, with a cross-legged position.

I stand up, looking at her and smiling as she gets into position. She looks at me and almost looks like she's about to say something to me. I look at her, as if expecting something. As she looks at me, she only says “Where's the food? I'm hungry, you know!” Sighing, I turn around and go to get the soup, saying “Sure. I'll be right back.” As I walk back over, I stop for a moment, thinking I hear a soft “Thank you” coming from behind me. I look back, only to get a confused look from her. Smiling, I speak back to her as I move further towards the counter. “You're welcome.”

I have a feeling that this woman appreciates having me around, though she doesn't exactly make it apparent. From the very beginning of this day, with her, she's been very opposing of my presence and my help, for the most part. She's gone from running off and yelling at me to stay away from her to subtly showing me that she really does want my help with things or that she wants to help me with things. Sure, she hasn't come out to say it yet, but I have seen the little hints, like bringing me those pill bottles, or asking for a boost up to that stool.

To be honest, as stressful as this situation has been so far, it's a lot of fun for me. She's a handful and she's not exactly loving towards me, but I am enjoying her company. Had I not found her, I'd probably just be sitting around, eating a sandwich by myself. Instead, I'm getting food ready for my special, little short guest. She's bossing me around a lot, but I don't mind that. It's a lot better than being alone all the time. I know that, all too well. I may be an optimist, but that doesn't mean I never get lonely, living out here, all by myself.

The bowl is easily gotten from the counter, seeing as how I already had a good bit of soup in the bowl by the time I had left to help Rebecca up into her seat. There is a little steam coming out of it as I walk over, so I stop at the corner of the counter, taking my time in blowing on it and stirring it up with a spoon I'd gotten out earlier. The woman's senses were amplified by being so short. Or, at least, that's my theory, given how she reacted to the smoke alarm. I don't want the food to scold her mouth or anything of the sort.

Am I given the time to completely cool the food off, though? No, of course not. This woman was seeing to that, showing her attitude to me once again. “Hey! I'm hungry!” I look over towards her and she is pounding her fists on the table, like some impatient child, waiting for their meal. It's almost too cute not to laugh at, but I refrain, only giving her a small grin as I set the bowl in front of her, the spoon's handle sticking out of it. As I set it down, I warn her that it's hot, which she only responds with more attitude. “I'm not some kid! If you can eat it, so can I!”

I walk away, to get my own bowl of soup, as Rebecca digs into the food. As I walk around the counter, I hear what sounds like another whimper from her. As I get my own bowl of soup ready, I look back at her and see a shocked look on her face. The soup was clearly too hot for her. Her eyes were on me, though, and she saw that I was watching her. “Is something wrong, Rebecca?” I ask, wishing to know if she was actually going to tell me that her food was too hot. She quickly shook her head as she muttered under her breath, acting like everything was just fine.

I frown a little at this, wishing that she would just be honest about it. I can't make her tell me, though. So, I just turn around, acting like I'm not worried, finishing up my own bowl, getting ready to go sit down at the counter, next to her. I hear a loud gulp from behind me, followed by long breaths. Realizing that she's going to need something to drink, I prepare a small glass of water and take it back to her, along with my own bowl of soup. She nearly snatches the glass from my hand, putting both her palms around it and starts guzzling down water, streams of water dripping down her face and onto her blouse.

Setting my bowl down, I reach down and wipe the water from her cheek, which causes her to jerk back, shooting me with that “I don't trust you” look again. Retracting my hand, I try to act as confident as I can as I give her advice. “You know, Rebecca, if it's too hot, you should just wait for it to cool off, not force it down. It's just soup, after all.” Her look got even more fierce as I told her all of this. She looks as it she has a huge problem with me giving her advice, like this. She shrugs my statement off and took more water into her mouth, not saying a word.

Sitting down, next to her, I return to my own bowl of soup. I half-expected her to have another outburst and make me move to the table or something, but she didn't. She just sat there and stared at her soup. I took my first sip and blew on it as I did so. I smiled as I took in the warm, delicious spoon of soup. As I brought in my second, it almost sounded like I was blowing on it twice. Taking a moment to think, I smile as I realize what's going on. I don't look over at her, but I have a strong feeling that she really did take my advice to heart.

Maintaining a steady pace, I allow my blowing to take longer than usual, making sure she has enough time to do the same, as we both eat our soup. A good 15 minutes go by before either of us are finished. Eventually, though, I hear a metal clanging noise from beside me. The spoon she had been using hits the table and she spins the stool around, looking as if she was ready to get down. I set my own spoon down, thinking about how I had to help her get on top of the stool. She might need some help in getting down, since this stool sat a fair amount higher than she normally stood.

Turning my own stool, I reach over towards her. “You want some help getting down?” She looks at me, with that same look she had been giving me this entire time, giving me an answer I probably could have guessed. “I can get down by myself, Trent! I don't need you for everythi--” She yelped as reality, once again, settled into her tiny, thick skull. The moment she pushed herself off the stool, she tumbled and fell on her side. Her arm hit the ground and she started crying out. “Ah....OW!!!” Her other arm clenches the arm that hit the ground and her eyes shut, cheeks getting red.

I immediately jump down and kneel next to her. Her body starts shaking and she doesn't respond to me when I ask her if she's okay. Is she going into some sort of shock from falling on her injury? I have no idea, and I don't have the time to debate with myself over it, either. I reach down and start to lift her into the air. “N-No....don't touch me!” I respect her, but I also respect that she's hurt. “I'm sorry, Rebecca, but you're hurt. I need...I want to help you. I can't just let you stay here and be hurt. We're going to the bathroom, where my medicine cabinet is.”

She whimpers, but doesn't fight me with words any longer. Pulling her tiny body into my arms, I lift her from the ground and begin walking her out of the kitchen, a look of sadness coming across my face as I see the pain in her facial expression.

This is beyond just a lesson for Rebecca. She is definitely learning a lesson, but this is not the way I was hoping she would learn that she needs to depend on me. I carry her short form in my arms as I rush through the kitchen, kicking against a chair and hitting my own arm against the wooden frame of the doorway to the hall. I wince as I hit it, feeling a bit of pain, my elbow hitting the hard wood. Normally, I would have immediately grabbed my elbow and waited for the pain to subside to move, but there is something a lot more important at hand right now. Poor Rebecca is almost crying in my arms, and I have to get her well again.

At the beginning, she had told me not to touch here, and in a normal situation, I would have respected this wish. However, she's hurt, and I have to get her well again. She is going to have to deal with me touching and carrying her, for now. She has quieted down a lot, even offering me an “Okay” after I told her we were going to the bathroom, to the medicine cabinet. I am happy that she is okay with this, but it's not the time for me to worry about her trusting me. She fell on the arm that she bandaged up, and I'm not sure what all happened to it.

As I rush around the corner, I stop myself, my socks sliding past the door of the bathroom as I turn my feet. Catching my stride, I work my way back into the bathroom and walk inside, with Rebecca in my arms. Thankfully, I have some place to put her down, so she's not completely laying on the ground. Right next to the Medicine Cabinet is a Shower/Bath combination. This is made to be the spare bathroom for when my family is over and visiting. The curtains already open, I slowly set Rebecca down into the tub, letting her head rest on a folded towel that is placed at the bottom.

She looks up to me and has a new expression in her face as I reach down for her arm. It almost looks...sad. Not a single word comes out of her mouth, but I can see her pupils quivering. The pain she must be feeling right now has got to be pretty bad, to shut up someone with as much attitude as her, and to get her to stop yelling at me for touching her. I want to smile towards her, but it's hard. Putting my hand over her forehead, I brush her bangs out of her face and then reach down, towards her arm. “Everything's going to be fine, Rebecca, I promise. I'm going to take the bandages off your arm and see how bad it is, okay?”

Not as if she had a choice in the matter, the short woman, whom was in a lot of pain, simply nodded her head, not taking her eyes off me. It's like before, as she is always watching me. This time, though, I don't think she's watching me and looking at me as some sort of villainous person. She might be looking at me as someone who is trying to help her, which is what I've been trying to get her to see this entire time. My left hand gently wraps around her wrist and begins to undo the flimsy bandages she'd put on herself. I unwravel them a few times, nearly halfway done, and she makes a muffled whine.

I stop what I'm doing and look at her, for a moment. “Are you okay?” I get a simple nod in return, no speech. She's fighting this very hard, I can tell. The way her eyes look, and the way her cheeks are flushing...It looks like she wants to cry. To fight back tears when you're in so much pain is quite admirable, and I grin as I finish undoing the bandages, setting them to the side, and holding her arm as still as possible. The cuts are still there, clear as can be, and I can see a few smudges of the medicine from earlier on her arm.

Taking a look at her arm, I notice that her elbow looks like it's dislodged. I run my fingers down the length of her arm, trying to see just how bad it is. As I do so, our eyes meet and I speak to her. “Tell me if I hurt you, okay? It looks like you hurt your arm in that fall.” Rebecca was trying hard, and it's clear that she's in a lot of pain. Her lips close and quiver for a moment, her throat convulsing, before I hear “I...I will, Trent.” I grin a little wider and then go back to feeling down her arm. As my fingers get to her elbow, she winces, but doesn't say anything. My eyes go to her, and then back. She is such a strong girl, fighting the pain like that.

A few minutes go by, and I realize that she can't exactly keep her arm like this. I really hate this, but I'm going to have to force it back into position. I look at her and take a deep breath, not wanting to put her through this. I know I have to, but that doesn't mean I want to. No one should have to go through this kind of pain. “Listen...Rebecca...this is going to hurt, a lot. I need to put your elbow back into it's rightful position and, unfortunately, I have to force it back. It'll only hurt for a moment, I promise. Actually...”

I stop and move back to the sink behind me. Pulling out a bottle of painkillers, I pull out half a tablet and lower it down to her mouth. “Here, take this. It will help ease the pain you feel now and will feel later. But, I need you to be strong, so I can put your elbow back in place, okay?” I can tell she doesn't want any of this. A tear finally starts to roll down her cheek. She's in so much pain, and I'm about to put her in so much more. She downs the pill and blinks, dissipating the tear and nods. “I understand...” My hands are slightly trembling as I pull her arm up and put my hands in position to do this.

She looks scared and I look back at her, also with a sad look on my face. “Okay....3....2....1” I push and force the limb back into position and wince as Rebecca's back arches and her voice fills the room, screaming in pain....

The scream is terrible. Poor little Rebecca screams out as I pull her limb back into position. Why...why did it have to be like this? Even my own elbow starts to get pain from hearing the cracking noises of the limb going back into place, and the scream that had followed. There is no such word that I can use to describe my feelings at this time. I know I'm not close to this woman, but when you are trying to take care of someone, and they end up screaming in pain, it's not a good feeling. I know that this is going to make her feel better, in the long run, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Her back arches and her limbs are flailing around as the pain settles into her body. One of my hands immediately goes down to her stomach, gently yet forcefully pushing down on her body. Trying to get past her scream, I call down to her, knowing that this will go much more smoothly if she isn't jumping all over the bath tub in the process of her body coping with the sudden limb movement. “Rebecca! Please, calm down! I need you to be still!” Her body doesn't react well to this. She just keeps screaming and tries to squirm around, moving as the pain goes into her further.

Pushing down further on her stomach, I lower my voice tone a little, trying to sympathize with her. “Listen, I know it hurts! I had a broken limb when I was a little kid. It hurt, a lot! I promise the pain will subside soon. But, please, you need to be as still as you can. Please, stop screaming. Moving around will only make it worse!” I don't know if my words are going to reach her, but I don't know what else to do. I can't hold her entire body down. Her other arm is still cut up from when I found her, and I don't want to hurt her any more than I have to.

After a moment, the screaming stops and she looks up at me, her flailing body slowly coming to a stop. This is when the full force of what she's doing hits me. Her eyes meet with mine, and they are drenched. They are fogged up, and tears are running down her cheeks. Her arms and legs are shaking as we look at each other. I can't help it, either. Seeing the painful look on her face is making me start to feel like I'm in pain, just from seeing her plight. My eyes begin to tear up as we look at one another, not being able to take seeing that small, short woman in tears, because of me.

Her body's breathing is heavy, but begins to slow down as we look at one another. She blinks, more tears running down her cheeks and her shivering starts to slow down. I can feel her broken arm's limbs moving less and less, and I can't take my eyes off her eyes. She then begins to put up a soft grin, paining herself to do it, then immediately losing it. She has got to be going through a lot of pain right now to be doing this to herself. Knowing that her movements have slowed down, I reach down and pull her to a sitting position.

We look at each other for a few more minutes before we finally start talking again. It looks as if she wants to talk, but she is still probably going through a lot of pain. She hasn't taken her eyes off me yet, and the tears in them have started to slow down. “Let's make you a sling for the arm and get you back to a bed, so you can rest.” She didn't protest, but didn't exactly tell me it was okay for me to do so. Reaching for the bandages, I unroll a lot of it and make some sort of 'sling' out of it, wrapping it around her neck and coming down to her arm, which is now horizontal, right in front of her stomach.

One the sling is administered, she pushes herself up to a standing position and instinctively moves her arm, only to have a piercing pain coming through her system, making her grunt and fall back down to her butt. She holds her eyes shut, coping with the pain of using her bad arm. As I see this, I realize that she might have to trust me a little more, just to get her to a place where she can rest. Reaching my hands and arms out towards her, in the tub, I give her a suggestion. “May I help you?” She looked at me and blinked, moving her gaze from my face to my arms.

It took her for a few moments, but she silently nodded towards me and reached her good hand out, grasping onto my fingers. A grin comes to my face as I slowly pull upwards as those little fingers clench onto my, getting her to her feet. She stands still for a moment, her legs shaking as she looks over the bathtub. She looks almost scared to get out. Kneeling down against, I offer both my arms, one on each side of her. If she's a little scared to walk and move like this, because of the pain, maybe I can just carry her, if she'll let me.

Ensuring that I have a smile on my face and I tactfully approach this situation, I pose the question to her. “You still look a little weak from all of these accidents. It might be a good idea if I just carried you to the living room, so you can preserve your strength. Would that be okay?” Rebecca looks at me with a surprised look on her face, as if it were shocking that I would ask her of this. I suppose it would be surprising. Up until this point, she has stressed that she doesn't even want me to touch her at all, let alone carry her in my arms.

Still, the situation was making her trust me. She sighed a moment, and finally said something. “Y-Yeah. Sure.” Within moments, her good arm has come up around my neck and my arms around her back and legs. I lift up as she leans into me, staying as still as she can. As the two of us walk out of the bathroom, I hear a small “Thank you...Trent.” as we pass into the hall. I gently pat her on the back as I take the injured woman towards the living room, where she can lie down and rest for awhile. This situation is starting to get a little better, with her trust in me. I didn't mean for her to get hurt, but I think she's starting to trust me a little more. I just hope she can recover from this soon...

As I life Rebecca into the air, I feel it again. She is a relatively light person, as can be expected, given her height. She's only a couple of feet tall, so it's no problem for me to lift her. I cannot be exact in calculations, especially since her weight isn't exactly the top priority thing on my mind right now, but she doesn't feel much more than 30 lbs or so. Again, I can't be exact, but I do know that she is light and I don't really have a problem with carrying her. While I am not really all that strong, it's not that much to carry, especially given the circumstances.

Her arms makes a tighter grip around my neck as soon as we begin to walk through the hallway. She must be a little nervous, being up this high. It's nearly three times her height, so I suppose it would be like being held 15-20 feet in the air and carried around, like I am with her right now. I stop for a moment and think. I need to get a better grip on her and make her feel a little safer. If she has a problem with heights, she might be nervous or a little scared. God knows I'm more than a little nervous when I go up a good 12 feet or more in the air. My legs start shaking and it takes me a good while to calm myself down.

Trying to readjust, I lean against the wall, just outside the bathroom. My left arm, which was around the middle of her back, I slip down and support her bottom with, pulled her up, closer to me. Then, I take my right arm and wrap it tighter around her stomach. These actions initially cause her arm to twitch and hug to my neck a little tighter, her fingers grabbing and pinching on my skin. I wince from the pain of having my skin pinched on so tightly, but I soon shake it off. I can't afford to spend my time on such a minimal amount of pain when Rebecca is in so much more. I finish readjusting and try to reassure her. “Don't worry. I'm not going to drop you, Rebecca. I'm just getting a better hold on you. That's all.”

She says absolutely nothing to this. Her face, with that brown hair frizzled out a little from all of the turning, climbing, laying, and moving, shoves itself into the shoulder of my shirt. Her hand is shivering as it held onto me, and I realize that she is still nervous. I sort of enjoy this moment. Were the two of us not in pain right now, I might have cherished the moment and leaned against the wall for a few moments, but I know I can't. The poor woman is in pain and the sooner I get her to the point where she's only going through the physical pain, and not that as well as the heights fear, the better. Slowly pushing away from the wall, I continue my walk towards the living room.

My pace increases as we walk through the hall. Her grip is very tight on my neck and I, personally, don't want her to be scared more than she has to. I feel like I need to get her to 'safety' as soon as I can. Why do I think this? Well, I'm not exactly sure. Maybe it's because she's someone who's in pain and I just like to help others? That's definitely part of it, but it also feels like it's something else. I'm not exactly sure what, but there's something else there. I ponder this as we walk through the hall, and into the living room. We soon come back onto the carpet and reach the couch, where I'd first laid her town to patch up her wounds, before she'd woken up from the initial attack from that dog.

Lowering myself to my knees, I slowly nudge my head into hers, trying to grab her attention as I use my hands to grip around her legs and side, slowly pulling her body away from mine. Her head moves up to look at me, which I greet with a soft grin. As she feels her body being pulled away from my own, her head darts in two directions, looking to see where she was. I can feel a faint, but steady heartbeat in my neck, coming from the nerves in her fingers and arm before she lets me go. As she see the couch slowly coming under her, she loosens the grip on my neck and allows me to move her away further. I slowly turn her body, bringing her to a laying position as I set her down on the couch.

As she comes down, she looks at me, and then looks at the ceiling. Her chest is rising and falling, taking deep and steady breaths. The fingers in her broken arm twitch and shiver, slightly, but she is no longer whimpering and crying out in pain. Her cheeks are red and her foggy eyes simply stare into the sky. As I see her legs shivering a little, I stand up, which immediately catches her attention. She stares at me with that same gaze she'd given me earlier, right after I'd moved her limb back into place. I grin, placing my hand on her shoulder. “I'm going to get you a blanket. I'll be right back.”

Slowly getting up, I walk back to the hallway and down past the bathroom. Rebecca had not given me much speech when I left to get her a blanket. She just stared at me, and nodded, with a displeased look on her face. It almost felt as if she didn't want me to leave her, but she did, at the same time. I smile to myself as I reach the spare bedroom and pull a small blanket from the closet. It's a blanket that I keep for when my nieces decide to come and visit. It's bright-blue and has a design full of fruit trees all over it. I figure that, given Rebecca's height, it will be perfect for her.

As I return to the living room, I see Rebecca, her eyes shut. Softly and gently walking over towards the couch, I take a moment to look down at her, to really look at her. I have spent a fair amount of time with her, but I've never really stopped to look at her, completely. Her head is relatively long, the bangless, straight locks of light-brown hair bordering and shaping her face, resting down just above her shoulders. It looks as soft as silk. Her face and skin is almost pale, savor the rosy color in her cheeks and the small freckles that come around them. Her shoulders curve down, showing a very athletic-like figure in her body. Her breasts stick out from her shirt, though not terribly far. Down to her stomach, a slight curve can be seen where her hips begin, leading down to two thin, skinny legs and down to a pair of small feet. I take in her entire form and smile down at her.

“T-Trent?” The weak word comes into my mind and my trance comes to a stop. I blink as I see Rebecca, staring up at me, a confused look on her face. Has she been watching me watch her? My own face gets a little red as I quickly change my vision over towards the blanket. Unwrapping it, I hold it over her feet, slowly covering her body up with it. “S-Sorry about that, Rebecca. I, um, have the blanket ready for you!” She smiles up at me, using her good arm to grab the top of the blanket as it comes onto her. After setting all of it down, I smile towards her and nod.

“Would you like anything else, to help you rest?” I ask, curious, and almost sounding like some sort of nurse or something. Rebecca looked at me for a few moments and shook her head, holding the blanket to her body a little tighter. Grinning, I set my hand on her shoulder again and pat her once. “Alright, well, you try and get some rest. I hope your injury can heal up quickly. I'm just going to go and--” My body stops as her good hand comes over and grabs onto the wrist I have at the end of the couch. She shakes her head, a look of concern on her face. “Stay” she asked.

I blink for a moment and then move back down into my kneeling position, nodding. “A..alright.” Rebecca then smiles and keeps her grip on my hand. It looks like I'm going to be here for a little while...

This isn't such a bad day, after all. I'm just sitting here, next to the couch, Rebecca's arm still handing onto my wrist. I can't help but smile down at her as she rests, looking up towards the ceiling and glancing towards me and the couch every so often. Her limbs aren't shivering anymore, which is definitely a good sign. She's resting right now, and it looks like she's not in a lot of pain anymore. I'm glad, too, since that scream from earlier made my stomach turn. I hate having to hurt people to fix something. It's a reason I never pursued the medical field, like my Aunt did. Doctors have to hurt people, sometimes, in order to make them better. I don't like hurting others.

Seeing her here, like this, is making my day a little better, though. The progression she's gone through today is quite amazing, and very good for my side of things. I think she's finally starting to trust me a lot, though I have been thinking that for awhile now. She actually grabbed me and told me that she wanted me to stay with her, as she was laying on the couch. She didn't want me to leave her by herself while she rested after all of this. This makes me feel nice and, although I want to go and get something else for her, I'm more than happy to stay here and sit with her.

Seeing her eyes, staring, no longer sad and full of foggy tears, is also a blessing, to me. For as long as I've spent time with Rebecca, I've wanted her to be happy. That's why I've done nothing against her wishes, other than when I had to fix up her arm when she hurt it a few minutes ago. If she told me to stay away, I stayed away. If she wanted me to stay with her, then I stayed with her. Given her height, I could easily overpower her and make her do the things I want her to do. Just because I'm bigger, though, doesn't give me the right to assume authority and control over her. She's just as much a person as I am. She has the right to make her own choices. I can give her suggestions, but I will not tell her what she has to do.

As I sit here, I start thinking about her arrival, and start thinking about the meaning behind it. I was brought up, thinking that everything happens for a reason. What reason, then, was behind Fate throwing Rebecca into my path? What brought her to my home, of all places? It's an interesting thing to ponder, and I can't help but think about the wish I'd foolishly made last night. I wanted someone around here, and right now, I do have someone around. She's a little shorter than the average person, but she is here, in my home, and I definitely haven't felt one bit of loneliness since she got here.

My Little Wish, is what I'd like to call her, assuming that was the reason she was brought here. Sure, it sounds corny, but it fits, doesn't it? I make a wish for a companion to share the home with, and here comes this 'little' woman, whom can't leave because of that neighborly dog around that wants to maul her. This whole time, maybe I have always been thinking of her as a response to my wish, and only really spoke to myself about it at this point. I don't know, but what I do know is that Rebecca is here now, and I've been able to help her. I only hope that when she gets out of this trauma, we can get along a little better and she can accept my assistance to avoid any further injuries.

As I sit here, thinking about it, feeling the soft, warm, tenderness of her fingers on my wrist, I blur my own vision out, thinking about what life might be like with Rebecca around all the time. What all will be different? Will my schedule even be the same anymore, or will she be my new schedule? Will my days now consist of doing things with her and helping her with things, when I'm not getting work done on the PC? What will we do together? What will she want to do? Just who is she, anyways? A hundred questions plague my mind, but they are all rushed out as I feel some slight tension on my wrist.

Looking down, I can feel her pulling on my wrist as she comes up to a sitting position. Her face is now level with my own face as she keeps hold on my hand with her good arm. We look at one another for a moment, both of us having an almost-blank expression on. I want to ask her if she needs anything, but I can see that she isn't in much pain now. Her legs are moving around, kicking the blanket off her body and onto the floor. She looks into my eyes and makes the first move into a new conversation. “Thank you for helping me.”

Her voice sounds so sincere, and soft now. This isn't anything like the attitude-friendly, bossy Rebecca from earlier. It makes me smile and I give her a nod. “You're welcome. How are you feeling?” My question goes into her, and I am hoping for a miraculous answer. In the back of my mind, I'm wishing for her injury to be completely healed, even though I know that's an impossibility. She looked back at me and slowly moves her hand from my wrist and uses it to grasp onto a few of my fingers instead. “Much better, but...”

But? What' s the “But?” about? I am confused at hearing this out of her, and want to inquire. I keep my hand steady, as I feel her gripping it and feeling on my own fingers. “But...? Would you like me to get you some more pain medicine?” She shaked her head at the question. “No...it's not that. It's just...you're so much different than I expected...You're so...” She paused for a moment, looking at me with a smile on her face. “...kind.” I am unsure why she expected anything less, so I ask her. “You were...expecting otherwise?”

She let out a sigh and held tighter onto my fingers and began to speak about her expecations...

She calls me 'kind', and that I was higher than her expectations of me were. What sort of expectations did this woman have for me? Why would she expect me to be anything but kind in front of someone in such a plight, as she was? Did she expect me to just leave her out there to die? Was she expecting me to take advantage of her height or something of that sort? A lot of questions are in my mind as I stay there with her, hoping that she would be able to answer them in what she was getting herself ready to say.

As she sits there, she looks up at me and grins at me. The grin only lasts for a moment, but it is still there. Whatever these expectations of her were, I'm glad I was much better than they were, as she is suggesting. If She was expecting me to be some horrible, terrible person, then I both question where she might have come from and be glad that she came to me, and not someone else, who might have been a bad person towards her. She slowly gets up from the couch and stands, her head a little above mine. “My dealings with Giants have never been a good one” she says, walking towards the hallway.

Giant? I cannot help but wonder what she means by that. I mean, sure, I'm quite a bit taller than her, but a giant? Really? I blink as I pull myself up, walking along with her, staying slightly behind, wanting her to be in the front and picking the direction we go. I'm happy, just knowing that she wants me close by and is willing to hold onto my hand. As we may our way towards the kitchen, she stops at the table and climbs onto a small chair on one side of it, carefully letting go of my fingers. I take my own seat in a chair across from it and folding my hands together as I look at her. “I understand that I'm a bit tall to you, but I wouldn't call myself a 'Giant”, Rebecca.”

My statement is very true, though Rebecca doesn't change her expression very much. She pulls her lower lip into her mouth for a second and uses her good hand to rub against her arms for a moment. Making a quick nod towards me, she continues what she's speaking of. “To be honest, I'm not really sure why I refer to you as such. It's just...the first thing that comes to mind. Maybe having a name for you helps me...differentiate myself from you, as if we're not the same. To help me think that the last...person I saw was so much different, because of how she treated me.”

Things are starting to get a little weird, at this point. I'm not aware of anyone else living on this road. Who was this other person and what did she do to Rebecca to give her such a skewed view of people? Slowly reaching my hand forward, I can see her expression turning sour as she stared down as the table. Softly tapping on her shoulder, I am curious about this person, but I don't wish to pry, if I don't have to. Rebecca has already been through a lot of pain today, and it's only the afternoon. I don't wish for her day to be completely miserable.

She looks up as my hand touches her, and I smile to her. “Well, I'm not this other person, Rebecca. I don't know what she may have done or how she treated you, but from the sound of your voice and the expression on your face, it sounds bad. You may not have the best view of people, and I'm sorry you do have that. I'm not going to be mean to you or anything.” The woman sighed and nodded to me, reaching her hand up and pushing mine away, her little fingers clenching onto my arm, just below my wrist. “I don't think you will, either. Your actions so far today have shown me this. Especially when you were helping me in the bathroom.”

My hand is down on the table near her, and now her hand comes forward and rests on top of min, her entire hand able to lay on my palm. She looks me in the eyes and continues, her cheeks starting to get red. “When you did that thing with my arm, to get it back in place. I was scared, because I was in pain, and being in pain reminded me of...Melissa. She put me through a lot of pain. I've been in pain for almost the entire time I've been in your home. I thought I was trapped, and I thought that when you were putting my arm back in place, you were trying to hurt me, just like she did.” She paused for a moment, her fingertips softly running across my hand.

“...but you didn't mean it. You're...different than she was.” Her fingers run down to mine and she grips onto two of them. I can see her face getting even more red and a stressful look coming to her face. Whatever this Melissa did to her must have been bad. “The look in your face when you did that to me...I could see the innocence in it. You didn't want to hurt me, but you did because you knew you had to. You genuinely wanted to make me better and keep me out of pain, and it pained you to do that to me.”

She was very right. It did hurt me to have to hurt her. I don't like hurting others, at all. The fact that the person I had been trying to take care of had to get hurt made it all the worse. “You're right...I didn't want to have to do that to your arm. You were already in a lot of pain.” Rebecca nodded, closing her eyes for a moment, agreeing. “You also showed me that you big people aren't all bad. Melissa was the first other person I can ever remember seeing in my life, and...she hurt me, a lot. I have...bruises from her, and...I just...”

Rebecca's emotion were being heightened from the talking she was doing. I can see her eyes starting to water as she thinks on this Melissa person. Before she completely loses it, I grip onto her hand and put my other hand on top of it. “Well, the important thing is that you know not all people are out there to hurt you. I promise that as long as you stay here, I will never intentionally hurt you.” This made Rebecca smile a little. Her trust in me was definitely getting higher and higher. “Stay here...you want me to stay here?”

I chuckle a little as she asks the question. The idea of her staying is quite interesting and desired to me. I nod to her. “I would love for you to stay here. Although we've butted heads a few times since you got here, I've enjoyed having your company, and taking care of you. You may stay here, with me, for as long as you wish.” The two of us then just smiled at one another for a few minutes before Rebecca gladly took me up on my offer. “I'd like to say. Just...don't expect me to be all bending to your will or anything! I'm still a woman, and I still have my own independence. I still want to be able to do some things that I want, and not have you constantly carrying me or leading me to things. Let me do stuff on my own.”

I agree with her, with one condition. “Alright, but just make sure that if you need help with something, you let me know. I don't want you falling off any more chairs and dislodging any more limbs. It was painful enough to have to fix you that much once.” Within about an hour of talking about life and her staying, she and I both began walking upstairs, to get her settled in. It looks like life is going to be quite interesting from now on...

About a week has passed since Rebecca and I first met and had that rocky start. The sun slowly creeps in my window and I lay there, sound asleep. It's a wonderful Saturday morning and I am, once again, taking my sweet time in getting up. Ever since she came to this house, I've been sleeping much more deeply and calmly at night. Sleep comes faster and I end up not wanting to get up right away. Not at the same time I'm used to, anyways. Getting up later means that the days are, overall shorter, but it's just something that's happened with me in the past week.

Some of my schedules have altered quite a bit lately, yet some are not. My schedules for getting work papers in and all of that fun stuff hasn't changed all that much. Having all day to get stuff done definitely has it's perks, especially when one's life is dramatically changing on him. Allowing Rebecca to stay here has been quite the hassle for the both of us. It's not exactly easy accommodating and helping a 2-foot woman get used to living in a home built for a 6-foot man, especially given what happened to her the last time she was in a house like this, to stay.

It has taken some time, but I did get Rebecca to divulge information about Melissa earlier this week. It's a very touchy subject with her, but I was curious and wished to know what that woman did to her to make her hate the 'giants' so much. She didn't end up telling me much. All she said was that she'd woken up on the streets and Melissa took her into her home. Explaining further, she said she had the life of what one would call a “pet”. She was taken around the house on a leash, forced to do things for Melissa, and all around got hurt when she didn't do something correctly. I didn't get much information after that. After she'd told me that much, I could tell she was starting to get emotional and I told her she didn't have to tell me anything else.

The woman definitely trusts me now, and I have to make sure that trust is not misplaced. I have been nothing but kind to her, as I would any person, but I admit that it's been a challenge. After recovering from her injury, Rebecca's attitude returned, along with her trusting of me. The relationship between me and my new housemate is interesting, to say the least. Let's just say that it's definitely one-sided with control, at least 90 percent of the time. This part of living together is about to make itself apparent this morning, as I lay in bed.

Some rattling comes across my doorknob, along with some knocking and banging on the door. “Hey, Trent! It's morning! Are you sleeping in, again?!” Rebecca's voice penetrates the large, wooden door and I slowly wake up to it, but roll over in bed, not getting the strength or will to respond to her. I'm incredibly tired and I just want to sleep in a little more. I let out a soft moan as I turn around, cluing her in that I don't want to get up just yet. You know, as if she would actually take that for an answer to wanting to wake me up.

The rattling gets worse as the doorknob slowly turns and the door is pushed open. Rebecca, dressed in a small white dress with a red flower over the chest area, pushed the door open, both arms on the door. Her hair had already been combed down and her bare feet patted on the carpet as she made her way to the side of the bed. Her nose barely came above where the sheets were, and she looked at me, wrapped up in a sheet. She saw me lazily laying there and shook her head. “Excuse me, mister! It's time to get up and make Rebecca some breakfast! Hop to it!”

This got nothing more than another roll from me and a small muttered statement. “In a...minute, Rebecca. I just want to get a little more-..” Rebecca's attitude towards life didn't allow for me to postpone and procrastinate anything. Before I even got finished telling her I wanted a little more sleep, she'd jumped on top of a suitcase by the bed and had climbed up on the bed, itself. Her tiny body jumped onto the mattress, right next to my shoulder and put her hands on my arm. Pushing forward and back, she did what she could to shake me in the bed. “You've had enough sleep! I'm hungry and I know you are, too! I can't make breakfast on my own. I'm too short! Now, get your butt out of bed right now and make us some food!”

Yes, you read everything correctly. As I said, my relationship with Rebecca was a very interesting one. Her attitude had allowed her to take control of most situations. Sometimes, I think she looks out for me and pushes me to do things more than I help her with things, despite the fact that I'm three times her height. Feeling all of the tiredness being shaken, quite literally, out of me, I whined a little and turnedt onto my back, only to see her standing above me. Within a moment, one of her feet pushed forward, kicking against my cheek. It clamped onto it, her toes digging into my shaved cheek and she put her hands on her hips.

She gives a me a look. That look that said “Get up now, or I'm gonna do something you'll regret. I wasn't entirely sure how she would be able to back up that threat, but I had woken up enough now that I wasn't going to get back to sleep, even if I tried. She had threatened with me a few things before, though. Some serious, some funny. At one point, she'd threatened to sit on my face and fart into my nose. I thought this was half a joke, laughing at it, but the next thing I knew on that morning was that a little Rebecca butt landed right on my face, her threats heightening. I complied with her that time, not wanting to know if she was actually serious.

Slowly pulling her foot away from my face, I leaned up, letting out a yawn as I looking at her and pushed my hair down with my hand. “Alright, alright. You win. Give me just a second to wake up and I'll go make up some breakfast.” Her expression immediately goes to a smile and she pushes her body against my arm and cheek, as if she were going to hug me. Within a moment, she grabs onto my hand and jumps off the bed, tugging me along. It looks like someone was really hungry this morning...

Without any warning, it seems I am off to be making breakfast, early in the morning. I really shouldn't be surprised at this morning's events. For a good few days now, Rebecca has been coming in to wake me up, and take me downstairs to get some food in her stomach. The woman is incredibly insistent sometimes. As soon as we cleared the room, I tried to go to the bathroom to get a little cleaned up, but ended up being yanked further towards the stairs. At this time, I lose my balance and start tumbling down the stairs, her with me.

Both of us start screaming as we tumble down the stairs. I immediately move my body to the side, ensuring that I don't fall flat on my head as I yank Rebecca towards me. She yelps as I do the only think I can think of to keep both of us safe. She's pulled into my chest and wrapped in my arms, as tight as I can hold her. Thankfully, our stairwell is divided into two sections. As soon as we to the bottom of the first second, about seven stairs, we stop, landing on my back with her on top of me. This morning is definitely not on my side.

I cough as I slowly move my arms from the hold they had on Rebecca and I ask her about whether or not she is alright. Pushing herself up from me, she blinks and looks down at me. She'd been laying, face-down against me. Her face gets a little red and she shakes her head, quickly moving off me. “I...I'm fine! Watch where you walk, Trent. You could have gotten us both seriously hurt! Stairs aren't supposed to be that hard to travel through. I'm gonna go ahead and go downstairs. I'll meet you there.” She then quickly runs down the next set of stairs, which is about 8 steps in total.

As I slowly pick myself up, I hear her calling from below. “..and don't fall down this next set of stairs. I don't want an injured cook!” I can hear the scurrying of her little feet on the floor below. Getting to my feet, I hang onto the railing, slowly going down the steps. It was, surely, her fault that we fell down in the first place, but she is how she is. Even though she's living with me now, I can't very well tell her that she can't act the way she is. I like her company way too much to start giving her an uncomfortable experience here. I start to think about the past week as I come down the stairs.

Ever since she had decided to stay, I've had a load of fun. Every single day brought something different to the mix. One day, we were setting some things up for her, like a stepping stool for the bathroom and the bedroom which now belongs to her. Another day, we went through an old dresser to find some clothes that would fit her. I had offered to wash her clothes for her, the ones she had on, but she decided against that idea. She didn't like the idea of being without clothes in my house, even if it was just for a little while. Who knows what today will bring. All I know is that I'll probably have fun with it.

Coming into the kitchen, I see the refrigerator door already having been opened up, and Rebecca is on one of the stools at the counter. In front of her is a small plate, silverware, and a napkin that she'd had me lay out for her last night. She sits there, in her little dress, swinging her feet back and forth, smiling towards me. “I'm ready for breakfast! I already got out what we're having, okay?!” She points to the other side of the counter, where I can already see a carton of eggs and a small spatula. It looks like we're having eggs, again.

“Coming right up, Rebecca!” I say, enthusiastically. These times are when she's usually the most full-of-energy, and wanting to be around me. Although it's true that she sticks around me for most of the day, the times we eat are the times where she seems the most enthusiastic. I can't really allow myself to be anything, but enthusiastic as well. As I walk over to the eggs, getting a couple out, I see a smile on her face as she throws some attitude in there. “Scrambled, please, and hurry! I'm starving over here!” Her little bits of attitude make her seem very bossy, but that's alright. I do enjoy being instructed around, even if it is by someone only 1/3 of my size.

The next few minutes are spent getting a pan out and starting to cook the two eggs on the stove attached to the counter where Rebecca sat. As the food cooks and I stir it around, making sure to break it up as it cooks, I look over to Rebecca and begin to get curious about today. “So, Rebecca, what would you like to do today?” Although I can easily just wait for her to tell me later, I want to know now, so I can start preparing myself for what her curiosity will get herself into today. As I wait, she puts her hand up to her forehead, as if she were thinking really hard.

“I wanna talk about you today!” I can't help but blink in confusion as to Rebecca's idea. She just wants to talk, and about me, of all people? I was honestly expecting her to want to do something, like wander around the house, or watch TV, or something of that sort. Talking is the one thing that I was not expecting. “You want to talk about...me, Rebecca?” I ask, still in a bit of confusion. She wants to talk about her own life so little all the time, I can't imagine why she wants me to tell her about myself. I'm not against talking. It's just so surprising, from her.

“Yeah! I wanna know more about you!...and I can tell you more about me! Or, at least...what I can remember. I just want to learn more and understand you better, since, you know, we're living together right now.” I almost think I hear a giggle coming from her lips as she talks about living together. Now I'm even more confused. As I cut up more of the egg in the pan, I think about what she would want to talk about. Every time her past comes up, she tells me very little. Honestly, I don't know that much about her, at all. Of course, she could probably say the same about me.

After finishing the preparations and pouring the eggs onto two plates, I sit down next to her and softly pat her shoulder. “Sure thing, Rebecca. After we eat, we'll go to the living room or somewhere, and you can ask me anything you want.” Rebecca, losing some of her attitude, smiles towards me and then begins to shovel food down her throat, using small salad forks to cut up her egg, rather than the full-sized forks I am using.

Rebecca definitely seems a bit different than when I had first met the woman. A week ago, she was wanting to steer clear of me. From the beginning, she was afraid of me, thinking I was some horrible person that wanted to hurt her. She ran from me, yelled at me to stay away, and all around, wanted me around her as little as possible. I still remember her trying to 'escape' from the house, only to run into that nasty dog, once again. That first day had definitely been a handful on me and her both. She was very resistant to my help, for the most part.

Even with that first night, after I had helped her with her injury and she'd expressed that she wanted me to stay with her, she was very resistant. I offered to stay with her that night, to make sure she'd be okay in a bed by herself, but she expressed, ever-so-strongly, that she wanted to be alone, and didn't want me anywhere near her as she slept. Although I was a little worried about her, I stuck to her wishes and didn't stick around. I went back to my own room and slept, the door open, in case she got into trouble and needed some help, whether she wanted it or not. She did, after all, still have one bad arm.

Now, however, she was a little more forward with me. She came to me, all the time. She woke me up in the mornings, dragged me to the kitchen when she wanted food, asked for help when she needed to climb on something really high for her or needed up to the sink to get something down or wash her hands after going to the bathroom. She even 'puts me to bed' at nights, pulling me into my own bedroom and then leaves to go get in bed, herself. Her attitude is still there, so every one of those things is more like a bossy demand than a simple request, but it's a lot different than it was.

I suppose that's why I'm surprised that she wants to talk to me so much, about me. She has never expressed any willingness to talk much about herself, and she's never asked about me before. There's no attitude in her voice, just innocent curiosity. I have no problem talking about myself, but I am just surprised. I'm also curious and excited, to be honest. I've been interested in her past since she got here and I noticed how much shorter she is than most people. I'm aware that she doesn't remember much, but anything is good. Talking about myself for a little while is more than worth learning more about her.

It doesn't take us long to finish lunch. By the time she's done, she jumps off her chair and grabs onto my arm, pulling me out of mine. “Come on, let's go talk now!” In the middle of a bite, I nearly choke on it as I stumble out of the chair and walk behind her, being drug into the hallway. “H-Hey! Rebecca! Slow down!” She looks back at me and laughs a little. “What? You can't keep up with someone 1/3 of your own size! How sad is that?! Now, come on. I want to talk, and we're doing it now!” My jaw drops as soon as she throws that joke out to me. I want to laugh, but I also want to not believe she'd just said that. She is definitely more comfortable around me now. I start to wonder whether that's good or bad.

I stay behind her, letting her guide me through the hall and into the living room. If she's so adamant about talking and learning about me, I'm curious as to how much she'll divulge to me about her own life, her own past. I start to grin as we make it over to the couch and she climbs up onto it. Taking a seat on one cushion, she lets go of my hand and pats the other. “Sit here, right next to me, big guy!” I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at her overly-energetic attitude. Sighing, I sit down, next to her and look down to her. My eyebrows raise a little as I ask. “So, what did you want to know?”

I hear a loud slapping noise as her right hand pats down on the pants-covered section of my left leg. She looks up at me, raising her own eyebrows, trying to imitate the expression on my face and begins by saying the one word that I was hoping she wouldn't say. “Everything!” I blink and am not sure I quite understand it. “E-Everything?” “Yes! Everything!” she replied. “If I'm gonna have to live with and put up with you, I wanna know as much as I can about you. All I really know right now is that you live here, out in the middle of nowhere, and are a nice person who helped me! So, start telling me about yourself! Where'd you grow up? How did you get here? What do you normally do out here?”

She is throwing a lot of questions at me, and I'm not sure which ones to answer in which order. “Whoa...slow down, Rebecca. I'm, well...you know my name already. I guess I can tell you a little about me. Um...” As I think about my answers, I feel her other hand on my leg. She's looking at me, with an oddly enthusiastic look on her face. I almost think that I should ask her is she's feeling alright. She's never been this interested in me, or given me so little attitude, outside of when she was hurt and was clinging to me after I'd fixed her injury. Nonetheless, I continue. “Well, I guess I can start with where I grew up.”

My arms cross across my stomach as I begin talking about myself. “I was born up in Anderson, a good hour's trip from where we are, and I grew up in a small town called Paulstown. It's not anywhere near her. It was a small town that housed about a thousand people, give or take a dozen or so. That's where I grew up, with my mother. The father had been around, too, but I spent most of my time with Mom. I never really got along with Dad for a long time. He always seemed so...” I take a moment to pause, thinking about the relationship between my father and myself. It's not a very pretty one, and I would prefer not to bother Rebecca with all of this.

“..anyways, I came here after I started going to college. I didn't want to live with the family anymore. I wanted to live out here, away from them, and making something for myself. I wanted to make a life that I could call my own, and not just follow in everything the family put in front of me. So...that's how I got here.” Rebecca's elbows were now on my legs, her palms against her chin as she looked up at me, as if she were some intrigued child, listening to their parent tell them a story about their past. The girl's dress was leaning dowards, a tiny bit of her cleavage in view, as she called up to me. “What about your Dad?” she asked. “He always seemed so what?”

Looking down at the curious-happy beauty, I reach down and pat her head, feeling the softness of her hair with the palm of my hand as I lean back and start talking further. “My father and I...we didn't get along very often. Let's just say...it's something that I'd rather not experience again. Anyways, my daily life here usually went from exercising, eating, playing games, submitting those reports to work that I showed you the other day, and before you came here, that's about it. My life wasn't really all that exciting.” This made her look up, pushing my hand away from her. “Was? You mean...it's more exciting now? Because I'm here?”

My face gets a little red at her pointing out the fact that I indirectly told her that she is the reason my life is more exciting now. Not really able to get out of it, I nod my head in agreement. “Well...yeah. Having you around has made every day a lot more fun. I don't know what will happen, when you're here. I don't know if we'll help you get settled in, or if you want to do something new, or if we'll end up learning more about one another, like we are right now. You being here has made my life a lot less, well...lonely and consistent.”

Her face makes a smile as she sits up. Looking up at me, our eyes meeting, she lets out a big grin, taking one hand to push some of her dark-brown hair out of her face. “My life is more exciting and fun, too! You're not like Melissa was, Trent. You're nice. You let me do stuff I want, and you don't make me do things that I don't like to do or don't want to do. You help me and stuff! I like being here, with you. You're a lot more fun than she was.”

The fact that both of us are enjoying this little thing of 'living together' makes everything so much better. It's good to know that the enjoyment of this scenario isn't just one-sided. Slowly sliding off the couch, I kneel in front of it , bringing my face down to her level. “I'm glad you're enjoying my company, too, Rebecca. Speaking of what you mentioned...why don't you tell me a little more about you? You learned a little about me, and now I'd like to know more about Rebecca.”

Rebecca's face went blank for a moment, before she brought her hands together, as if she were getting ready to pray. “Umm...sure! I don't remember very much, but I'll tell you what I know!” Her attitude about her past seems to have changed today, or maybe she's just more willing to talk, since I told her a good bit about my own past. No matter the reason, a grin comes to my face, happy that I'm about to learn more about her...

This is a good moment for me. Or, at least, it is a moment I've been looking forward to for awhile now. For as long as I've known Rebecca, as short a time as that might be, her past has been a mystery to me. Where did she come from? Why is she only 2 feet in height? Where did she grow up? Where is her family? As these questions are bogging through my mind, she moves herself on the couch, backing into the arm of it and propping her legs up, letting her bare legs and feet rest on my lap. She reaches her arms out and stretches both them and her legs out. I can partially see her fingers and toes waving and wiggling around as she looks at me, a partial grin on her face.

“I dunno why, but I'm kind of tired, all of a sudden. You want to know more about me, so...can you massage my feet and legs a little while I talk to you? Melissa always made me do that for her, and I wanna know what that feels like!” I blink and then look down at her little feet. Then, I look over to her face again. This seems like a quite odd request, but if that's what it takes to get some information out of her, then I'd be more than willing to give it a try. Reaching down, gently wrapping my fingers around her left foot, I say “Sure, Rebecca. Whatever you want.”

A massage isn't exactly what I expect Rebecca to ask of me, but I suppose it makes sense. From what I know, she basically pampered this “Melissa” person every day until she left and found her way to my place. Seeing someone being taken care of so much and having to do so much for them would lead one to wonder what it would feel like to be pampered, themselves. My fingers feel around on her feet, They aren't very big, but they feel very soft. As soon as I touch her foot, her leg fidgets. I can see goose bumps forming on her leg as I gently press my thumb into the middle of the sole of her foot, trying to work as best I can. I let my thumb go around in circular motions and I look to her. “Is this okay?”

Rebecca's eyes were intently watching me, and she slowly made a grin. Her toes flex a little with each press that I do. “That feels interesting. Kind of odd, but sort of comfy at the same time. Yeah, that's good. Keep doing that.” She took a moment to pause before she started the real conversation. “My past is...foggy at best, Trent. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, since I asked you about your past, but I'm afraid I don't have a whole lot of answers for you. I guess I should start at the first memory that pops into my head. Just don't get upset if I want to stop. Most of my memories involve Melissa and I don't especially like what she did with me.”

I slowly continue the rubbing and nod towards her. “I'm glad to be learning anything about you, Rebecca. What do you remember first? What's the furthest back you can remember, before meeting Melissa?” My question flows through the air, into her ears as I can see her blushing from the feeling I'm giving her from my rub. “Well...” she says. “Don't think it's silly! But, the first thing I remember is waking up in a field of flowers. They were Lily's, I think. I dunno! Just don't think it's silly!” Her attitude is trying to make it's way into this conversation, and it's a little funny. I can tell that she wants to keep up her attitude with me and feel assertive, but at the same time, she just wants to talk.

I want to just tell her it's okay to drop the attitude with me, but I'm afraid that will just upset her. The attitude is part of who she is. I can't just ask her to stop being her. Trying to say all that I can, and all that she wants me to say, I come forward, continuing the rubbing of her left foot, saying “I don't think that's silly. It's kind of cute, waking up in a field of Lily's.” My smile reaches her and she starts to get red in the face for a moment, before opening her mouth again, throwing back towards my statement. “W-Well, whatever! Anyways, that's the first thing I remember. I woke up in the field and heard these loud things going by.”

“I, eventually, found out that they were called cars. I had no idea what they were, at the time. I was lost and didn't know anything, other than my name. I wasn't wearing anything, so I picked a bunch of the flowers to cover myself with and headed for the big, black road the cars were running down. That's when I saw her, for the first time.” Her...she must meant Melissa. Could all of her memories be surrounded by this woman called Melissa? It's a mystery to me, but intriguing, all the same. “Her?” I ask, trying to push the conversation forward after she'd stopped.

“Her...Melissa” she responds, her toes curling up, tensing and causing the sole of her foot to wrinkle up. I stop for a moment, reaching up and uncurling her toes with my fingers, trying to calm her down. “Sorry. You don't have to tell me, if it's too hard for you, Rebecca.” Her toes are uncurling and she's letting me do it, one by one. I can feel the little amount of warmth and soft curves about her toes as I move them. They're very tiny, but they are still soft. Looking back at me, She gets a grin on her face and then sighs. “No...it's alright. I want to tell you. We're living together right now. I want you to know about my past.”

A smile coming to my face, I bring the toes in her other foot back into place as I make my response. “Then go on with the story, when you're ready. I want you to be comfortable with this information, too. I don't want to force it out of you.” I wait as she gets ready to continue her story...

The redness in Rebecca's foot was slowly dissipating as I move her toes back to their rightful positions and she managed to calm herself down. The topic at hand is, clearly, something that she's not terribly comfortable talking about. I mean, how can it be? The woman doesn't have a whole lot of memory of her life, and most of what she does remember is being with this Melissa, whom she seems to have a great deal of discomfort and hated towards. She's trying so hard to talk to me about this, and I can tell it's a strain for her to speak about it. I have to find some way to help her with this.

I slow down my hand's movements and start massaging both of her feet at once, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. I have already told her to take her time with this story, and to make sure she talks when she's comfortable to talk. She may want me to know all of this, but that's no reason to force yourself into an uncomfortable situation and make yourself relive a lot of bad memories. I talk again, trying to calm her down, to the point where she can think things through and talk. As I do so, I take one hand off of her feet and place it on her left shoulder. I can feel the skin reacting to my tough, almost as if shivering. “It's alright. Like I said, take your time. I am happy that you want to share this information with me. Just, take it one step at a time, and don't rush yourself through it.”

Pulling both of her feet back, she bends her knees and lays them flat, her eyes on my shoulder, and then on me. Her right hand comes up and I can feel cold, icy fingertips come onto my own fingers, slightly trembling as they touch me. Taking my other hand, I reach to the back of the couch, where a small blanket hangs. It's the same one I put on her when we'd first met. Taking it down, I use that one hand to cover her legs up with it as she sits there. The two of us look at each other, and she simply nods towards me, her attitude getting less and less apparent from the situation.

Her hands then move back down coming together on her lap, and she looked at me. “The day I met her was, I thought, a good day. There were so many things I was seeing out in this place. Flowers, animals of all sorts of variety, but she was the only one that looked somewhat like me. She was the only other person out there. Sure, she was a great deal taller than me, like you were, but she was still a person. She took my hand and offered the words 'Come with me, little one. I have a place for you.' Her golden hair shone in the sunlight, and I was moved by her words. I didn't have anything else, so I took her hand and she took me home with her.”

“The woman acted so kind and gently with me. She wouldn't let me do things on my own that day, but she would very gently pick me up, put me in her car, walking me in the door, finding me a bed. Even though I'm a grown woman, that first day made me want to call her 'Mommy', for some reason. She was always taking care of me. At least, for awhile. That's when the changes started to happen...” Rebecca stops and looks at me, our eyes meeting, and I can tell that she is starting to get to the emotional sections of her story. Keeping my hand on her shoulder, I nod to her, enabling her to know that I understand. “What happened?” I ask, curiously.

Taking in a deep breath of air, she looks at me and then looks down towards one of the couch cushions, gripping onto her blanket. “Then, the changes happened. Then, I began to realize what she was really like. One morning, while we were eating breakfast, she props her feet up in front of me and tells me to rub them for her. Not seeing the harm in it, I did as she asked. Her face smiled, and smirked down towards me. I never knew what that meant, exactly, but I assumed that she just enjoyed what I was doing for her. So, smiling, I kept up what I did, trying to keep her happy.”

“I told her that I would do anything for her, because she treated me so nicely, and that's what opened the door even further...” One of her hands comes up to her shoulder, where mine is, and she grips onto it, tightly holding a couple of my fingers. “She asked me to do things, a lot of things. Rubbing her feet, helping her clean the house, and many other normal, little things. It was very tiring to work in the house and around her all day, but I didn't mind it. I really didn't! It was nice to give back to the person whom I thought had given me a lot.”

“Eventually, things started to differ, though. At one point, she stopped helping me with tasks, and she would expect me to do everything on my own. She would wake up and expect me to rub her feet as part of a wake-up call, she made me climb on top of her counter and fix her breakfast. I basically waited on her, hand and foot. I didn't really enjoy it, but I kept it up. I was living in her house, after all. I didn't have anywhere else to go, anyways. So, I put up with it, for as long as I could. As you could imagine, though...that didn't last forever.”

“My body is small and , although correctly proportioned, doesn't have as much energy as someone like you does. After about the 4th month, my body started running thin during the day. I barely got my 'chores' done one night, and Melissa was waiting for her evening back rub. So, I went in there and started rubbing, but in the middle of it, she turned. She never turned while she was getting a back rub. I was suddenly face to face with Melissa, naked, and she grabbed onto me and she...she...” Rebecca is started to break up in her speech, and I can see her cheeks blushing as she talks about it.

“Sh-She did...b-b-bad things to me...” The situation is escalating and I can see her having a breakdown already. I open my mouth, to tell her to calm down and that she doesn't have to talk about this, but she won't let me. “Rebeeca, you don--” I don't get a single statement out before she interrupts and continued on her own. “No, I...want to tell you...I need to tell you.” I put my other hand on her right shoulder and nod, blinking and feeling tingling coming through my own nose and cheeks, listening to where this story is going, and not liking it one bit...

Part of me doesn't want Rebecca to continue with this conversation. This is obviously something very personal for her, and part of me doesn't want to hear what this Melissa person did to her. Her voice is cracking, her face is flushing, and she is starting to look different. Her expression isn't happy anymore. It looks almost disgusted. Whatever Melissa did to her must have been very, very bad. She said that Melissa was naked, on the bed with her when it happened. I can only guess what this woman did to poor Rebecca. With my hands on her shoulders, I inch my face a little closer, hoping that she will keep herself together as she continues her story.

Even I'm starting to feel a little down from the direction this conversation is going. As always before I start tearing up, I can feel an amount of tingling and nervousness in my upper-cheeks and right at the top of my nose. My body is preparing itself for the blow that Rebecca might be giving me. I blur my visions, looking into her eyes as she continues, aiming to listen to every last word she is planning to throw at me. “This caused me to run away from her and eventually find my way here...She gave me a...smirk as she was lying there, my body above her stomach and chest. Her nipples were...”

The girl pauses, again. She looks at me, but the way her pupils look said that she is also blurring out her vision. She is probably deep in thought, remembering a lot of bad things. Bad memories, especially ones of being hurt by someone, are never easy to revisit, whether it is willing or unwilling. She is digging into her darkest memories because she wants to tell me about her. She is showing so much courage and willpower to do this. I can see the regret and sadness in her eyes, and I can't, for the life of me, think of anything I can do to help her get through this. I'm the reason she's revisiting these memories, but she wants to tell me. If I don't let her do so, it may just keep itching at her brain until she does tell me. All I can do is say “One step at a time.”

She starts to grin as she quickly gives me a head gesture that says she understands what I'm saying. Both of us are feeling emotional as she continues, slowly. “At first...it wasn't that bad. I was scared, but she just pulled me down, into her body, and held me there. My face was in her chest, touching against her breasts. My cheek was touching a hard, erect nipple, and it was wonderful. I could feel the warm air that was coming from her body. It felt like she was holding me and protecting me from something. I even started to smile, but they d-didn't stay that way...” Her voice is slowly getting higher and more emotion-filled the more she talks. I can see the breakdown coming. I have to be prepared for what will come in a few minutes.

“She whispered in my ear...'I love you, darling. You need to show me that you love me'. I didn't know what to make of it, right then. I was too in-the-moment to think clearly. My emotions were all over the place and I just...I couldn't do anything. I didn't feel comfortable with her, the way her voice sounded. It wasn't the affectionate voice I remembered. It was...cold. Cold and needy. It was like she stopped asking me to do things, and was telling me that I had to do something. I did the only thing I could do. I told her what I was thinking, and that I wasn't comfortable with the situation. I knew she hadn't been that affectionate with me lately, but I thought that would help me, help her to stop this behavior.”

“It didn't, though. It just...made her worse! She grabbed me by the hair and held me above the bed. I...I can still feel the roots being pulled out...I can still see her body shifting and her hands going to my...more private areas. The next thing I knew, I was on her stomach, on my back. He was yelling at me, screaming that whatever this was...I would like it. I didn't, though. I kept telling her to stop, asking her to. I told her that I didn't like the feeling of this, but everything I said made everything worse. I felt her fingers roughly moving down my hips and down to...that area...”

Rebecca cannot stand the pressure anymore, and neither can I. We both have tears running down our faces as I finally realize the proper course of action to take in this situation. The only thing I can do now is be there for her, to show her that not everyone is like Melissa was. I, now, have a very bad impression of this “Melissa” person. My hands move and she begins to scream out and moves her entire body towards me. I do the only thing I can do, and begin to wrap my arms around her small body. Making sure I miss her more sensitive areas, I wrap my arms around her stomach, holding her against my chest, her face pressed into my shoulder.

How anyone could do something like this is beyond me. You take in a person in need of help, make them be your personal servant, and then rape them? It's inhuman. I try to keep a gentle, yet firm grip on Rebecca as she lets out all of the screams into my shoulder as she wants. I'm trying to hold back my own emotions in this situation as I hold her against me. I can feel the soft, wet tears running down my face just as much as I can feel her tears staining into my shirt. I gently rock my body forward and backwards, trying to reassure my friend that she is safe. “Please don't tell me any more, Rebecca. Please...y-you don't have to worry anymore. As long as you live in this house, with me, I promise I'll...take as good care of you as I can. I will never take advantage of you, like she did. I swear on my life that I will do only what I feel is best for you. You're safe now.”

A lot of sniffles followed this situation. She looked nodded her head, pushing her face against my shoulder as she listened to what I told her. She wrapped her own arms around what part of my back she could reach and pulled herself in, tightly. The two of us sat there for hours. I see no other way to let her deal with this. She went through a bad situation with Melissa, and I think about how living with me will affect her. I will tell you one thing, though. I will make sure that Rebecca has a wonderful life. I won't treat her like Melissa did...

Rebecca has just told me a very deep, very personal memory of hers. How hard it must have been for her to dig deep and tell me all of this, and why, is completely beyond me. Just because we live under the same roof does not, in any way, mean that she has to explain her entire history to me. I am more than happy that she trusts me enough to tell me all this, but I don't like what has come of the situation, from her telling me about this. Her trust is gladly appreciated, but the fact that she's now crying her eyes out, whimpering and gasping for air as she is letting her emotions out wasn't the desired result of this conversation.

I have told her that she's safe now, and that is the truth. I'm holding her against me as tight as I can. At least, as tight as I can without thinking that I am inflicting harm upon her small body. My voice is cracking as I hold her. Her tears, her cries, her whimpers, her shivering...it's all affecting me as well. Her emotions are digging into my own, and causing me to cry, too. I pat her back as I stop rocking my body and sit back on the couch, making sure she is securely there with me. I don't know what else to do, than to just sit here, holding her and reassuring her that everything is alright.

“Trent...can I ask you something?” she asks, weakly. The fact that she's got enough willpower to still talk after sharing such a terrifying memory is beyond me. Maybe I'm just an overly emotional person, but I'm not sure that I could still talk after sharing that sort of thought with someone. I don't think I would be able to handle reliving that sort of memory and being okay to talk soon afterwards. Still, she is, and I push back some of my own tears as I muster up a response, making sure I'm able to be strong, as she is. “Of c-course. W-what's on your mind?”

“I...d-don't remember anything after that...That night led me to leave, and you're the only person I've been around, since her. I just...don't understand why...why did she do that to me? What drove her to that?” The question she poses is a very difficult one, both for her to ask and for me to answer. My hand rubs along her back, feeling her shoulder blades and that thing spine of hers as I rub along her, trying to think of how I can possibly answer that question. She wants to know why people do things like that...why they rape others, force them into sexual scenarios with them. I don't even know if I can give her an answer.

Why do people force people into those positions? Is it just because their sexual drives are so dominating and strong that they can't even control themselves? Is it a power thing, to show that they can dominate their partner, or whoever it seems to be, at the time? Or, was it some odd part of the human brain that's only present when you have a certain type of behavior and thinking, that I can't possibly comprehend, no matter how hard I try to think and contemplate it? There are so many possibilities of things it can be. What is the right answer? What's the right answer, for Rebecca?

I don't think any 'right' answer is going to come to me as I think, still rubbing over her back. The question is just too vague and, without feeling like doing those things myself, I don't think I can ever give her a true, honest answer. So, the only thing I tell her is the only thing that I know about this question, which is absolutely nothing. “I don't know, Rebecca. I don't know why people would want to do that to you, or anyone else.” There's no guarantee that Rebecca will accept this answer, but it's all I have to give to her. It's the only sort of answer that I can give her, instead of lying and saying some optimistic answer that I don't believe in.

“Why? Why don't you know?” says Rebecca, her little fingers clenching tighter onto my neck. Now I'm really starting to feel bad from this situation. She wants an answer, and I just can't give it to her. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? I need an answer, but I just don't have one! I close my eyes, another tear running down my cheek. I can't give her a fake answer, or an answer that I don't believe in. What am I supposed to say to her? I want to make her feel better, with an answer. I want to, badly! I just don't have one in me.

Not knowing what else to do, I whisper in her ear again, with the only thing running through my head. “Forgive me, Rebecca. I don't know why people do that, because I don't want to do that to others. I can't comprehend why someone would want to hurt you like that. But, please stop worrying about it. Please stop crying. All you need to know right now is that you're not living with Melissa anymore. You're living with me, and I will never do anything like that to you. I will never do anything without your permission, unless it's a matter of life-and-death.”

“Trent...I..” She speaks to me, but I don't stop with my own statements. I'm on a train of thought and part of me is opening up, speaking everything on my mind and in my gut, wanting her situation here to be the best it can be. “Whatever you need, Rebecca, I'll give to you. You've had a terrible life, and I want you to have a wonderful one. While you're here, you can do what you want, when you want, and you don't have to have any sort of responsibilities and chores. I can support supplies and food for the both of us. I just want you to have a relaxing life, from now on. It's not fair that you went through what you did, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure I can make your life better and to help you move past those memories...”

If you were to ask me, I'm not sure I'd give a reason as to why I am talking about all of this with her. Maybe it's because she dug deep in her heart and mind, and offered this bad memory of hers with me. Maybe it's because of something else. I can't say, but I just spoke my mind on the matter, and told her that I would do anything to make sure her life is wonderful from now on. I feel her moving around and can feel a soft pecking on my cheek. My cheeks get red for a moment as I hear soft words from her. “Thank you. You're very sweet.”

I don't know where this will take us, but there's only one way to find out. The two of us sit together and stare off for the rest of the afternoon, until dozing off to sleep, not even bothering with lunch or dinner. We have shared a moment today, a moment that has made us closer. I think so, anyways. Only time will tell what will come next...

The moment we shared wasn't expected, by me. When she had told me she was to tell me about her past, I didn't imagine that she would break down soon afterwards. She has given me a lot of information very personal to her. I don't know if I should feel happy or sad about all this. I am crying, myself, yet she trusts me enough with this information. Melissa must have been an absolutely terrible person for doing that to her. Still, the fact of the matter is that Rebecca is still here, and the two of us are close to one another, and she is having a breakdown.

My grip on her has to be steadily monitored by my mind. I'm crying, too, but I can't risk hurting her by holding her too tightly. She's already been under the same roof as someone who has taken advantage of her. I can't do the same thing to her. My grip remains gentle, my arms around her back as her arms stay wrapped around my neck. This is like holding a small child, except the child is a grown woman whom has just let out a lot of her past to me. I let her hold onto me, and she lets me hold onto her. Much time passes by, but that doesn't matter. I will let her have as much time as she needs.

About an hour passes by before Rebecca, herself, passes out. Her body loosens up and I soon have a little woman sleeping in my arms. As I look down at her, her eyes are shut and the redness in her face is starting to fade away. Putting an arm down, I move under her butt, trying to support her weight so she doesn't fall off and hit the floor. One of her arms isn't able to move much but one of them is still around my neck. My arm and hand can feel the soft material of her little dressy clothes, and I start to think of what else I can do for her. “Poor girl. She should rest for now.”

Slowly picking myself up, my arm strains as she comes up with me. Her front-side is still pressing against my chest and my other arm pushes her against me, making sure that I can keep her steady. I feel small amounts of pressure as her breaths move her body. Looking around, I think. My feet go into motion as I walk towards the hallway. She wore herself out with all of these emotional scenarios, and there's only one place I can think of that I can put her to rest. As much as I love having her against me, I need to go and put her to bed.

My feet start hitting the stairs as I hear both creaking from the wood floor and a soft moaning from the woman I'm holding in my arms. Her head moves around a little as she sleeps. There's something going on in that head of hers. I don't know what it is, but at least she's still asleep. Hopefully, I'll be able to get her to bed without her waking up from the movement, or just time it's taking me to get back upstairs. I slow my footsteps, trying not to making them sound too loud, thinking about this situation.

As I get up, I see the branch of the 2nd floor. To my left is the bedroom that I let Rebecca use and to my right is my own bedroom. We're just across the hall from one another. I had originally thought to leave her in the bedroom on the first floor, but I figured that we should be closer. If something were to happen during the night, and I needed her or she needed me, it would be better for as little time to get from one room to another as humanly possible. My body turns to the left and I head towards her bedroom.

The room is dimly lit, the blinds on all of the windows having been shut and the light switch being turned off. When I first brought her into this room, she gave me a lot of 'orders' and such about the environment she wanted. It seems that she has a hard time sleeping with light around, so she always wanted her blinds to be shut at night. As little light in the room as possible, and everything. Her bed isn't made, thankfully, making putting her in it that much easier. Taking one arm off her body, I pull the sheets down and begin to lower her towards it.

He body gently uncoils from my neck and rests on the bed. Her little form has arms out on all sides and her hair is sticking out, all over the place. Her feet touch down near the top of the sheet and I softly pat on the top of her foot, looking at her as I reach for the sheets. Pulling the sheets over her, all the way up to her shoulders, I lean down and let my face softly touch her forehead. Part of me wants to put more emotion into this, but I hold myself back. I whisper into her ear as I pull myself away. “Have a nice nap, Rebecca.”

My arms cross as I look down at her. Most of her body is covered up by the shadows of everything in the room. With the door shut behind me, there is very little light in the room at all. Just the way she likes it, though. With darkness comes the idea of sleep and will help keep her asleep, for now. The woman wore herself out, and needs a lot of sleep. I plan to let her have any and all the sleep she needs. Having other things for the day pushed aside until this point, I slowly creep out of the room to go and fetch my laptop. I still need to get some things done. Hopefully, I can get them done before she awakens again.

Coming back into the room, I pull a wheel-clad computer chair next to the bed where Rebecca is sleeping and I open the computer up. Sitting down next to where her arm is laying off the side of the bed, I prepare to do some things today. With the computer's backlight on dim, I slowly begin to type, logging myself in, and starting on the day's work. I glance over at her and smile as I open up my Word Processor, knowing what she's expressed to me today. The soft sounds of typing can be heard through the room as I get to work...

It's a good thing I've got a work-from-home job right now. With everything going on in my life now, with Rebecca coming into it, I can't really afford to go off to a job all day long. While I'm sure that Rebecca would be fine, for the most part, on her own, I feel like I still need to be around her to make sure she won't get hurt on anything in the house. Having spent a week with her or not, I know that there are a lot of things around the house that she can get into, that she can get hurt with. At a job, I would be too worried about her, not wanting her to get hurt while I am at work and unable to call for help.

Or maybe that's not the reason I'm glad I can stay home with her. Maybe it's something else, entirely. Today has got me thinking a lot as my fingers type away at the first document I have to send off via company email. Today has been an emotional thrill-ride of sorts, both of us having broken down, to a point, from our little conversation earlier. I still feel a lot of emotions, sitting next to her sleeping self. As I look at her and back to the computer screen, I start to think. Maybe there's something more to all of my feelings with this. Maybe it's not just fear for her safety that's making me want to be close to her. Maybe it's because I'm happy that she's in my life, that someone is in my life.

I've been alone here for a very long time. Granted, that's what I had wanted. My life at home was filled with nothing but people looking after my every move, my family doing so. Moving out was my escape from that. Living on my own and out here in the middle of nowhere gives me the privacy that I like and enjoy. However, is privacy the only thing that I want? That I had wanted before? I'm not so sure. At least, not anymore. Being around Rebecca like this, taking care of her, dealing with her attitude, talking with her. It all brings something up from deep inside me, that I didn't feel before when I was living here.

Maybe I feel lonely here, by myself. Maybe someone can feel both independent and lonely at the same time. Some of my time with being on my own is nice, because my family isn't constantly looking over my shoulder, judging everything I do. On the other hand, I don't have anyone here to spend my time with, to spend my life with. I'm just here, alone with nature and my home. With Rebecca, however, it's different. With her around, I don't really feel like people are looking over my shoulder, as I did when I lived with my family. It's a sort of company that feels different. It feels...wanted.

About 20 minutes go by and the first document of the day is finished. Thankfully, for me, I can type relatively quickly. I only have to do about a dozen documents per day, so my work day never really exceeds more than a few hours. As I get the first one saved, I take a moment to look over at her again. She's sleeping soundly and the light from my laptop is shining against her face. She looks so...calm now. There's no more red in her cheeks and everything is still, aside from a slight movement in the blankets, where her chest is rising and falling with her breathing.

Looking back to my laptop, I start typing again, thinking about what she told me earlier. What is that supposed to mean? Does this mean that we're going to get close, and should act as such, since she shared such a big secret with me? Will she expect me to act differently around her, knowing that she was hurt and raped by this Melissa person? What is going to happen next in this situation that has shown itself? I let out a sigh as I think about it, but don't seem to come up with an answer. “I guess...we'll just have to see what happens when she wakes up. I'm just not sure where to take it from here.”

That is the truth, too. I don't know where I'm supposed to take it from here. Should I just take care of Rebecca, as I have been before? Should I act differently around her, since she shared so much with me? Should I let myself be more forward with her and become more affectionate or emotional towards her? All of these questions don't have answers. Not without her, at least. I keep asking myself these things, knowing that to find an answer, I need to see more actions out of Rebecca. I should wait and see how Rebecca acts to find out or at least try to guess what she wants from this.

I'm just some guy who lives out in the middle of nowhere and wants to help take care of her. She's the one who has been traumatized by some crazy lady who raped her and made her be a little personal servant. She's been through a lot in life. I haven't. Is it really my call on how this goes? Should I not be looking more to what's best for her? I'm starting to feel like that is exactly what I should be doing. I should try to figure out what's best for her, and act on that feeling. I admit, it's nice to have the little lady around. My hand comes over to her head, my fingertips softly brushing over her hair. I smile as I look at her. So calm. So...pretty.

Pretty? I think to myself on the matter, but for a second. Yes, she does look pretty, doesn't she? Even though she's short and small, her face is pale, and she looks cute and pretty to me. I let a smile come across my face as my laptop's light dims out from not being used. My hand is still on her head, my eyes stuck to her face. I guess I just never stopped to look at her for her own, personal beauty before. I was always thinking about what to do for her, how to take care of her, what she wants. I never stopped to look at her, as a woman.

The smile keeps up in my head, but a chill runs through my arm as her lips begin to move, signaling that she wasn't asleep anymore. “We can start 'taking things from here' by wondering how long you're planning on letting your hand touch my hair.” My entire body twitches and my hand retracts at the sign that not only is Rebecca awake, but she was awake to hear me talking to myself. The laptop falls off my legs and taps against the floor and I bring my shaking hand to my side. “S-Sorry. I didn't know you were awake.”

Rebecca takes a moment to pick herself up and look at me. Her face is mostly darkened from the lack of light in the room, but I can tell she's look right at me as she speaks. “I know you didn't. That's why I didn't let you know until now. I've been awake this entire time. I wanted to...see something about you.”

This situation is...strange, to me. Rebecca has been fooling me with her sleep, all this time? No, she was definitely asleep for part of this. The way she passed out earlier was unmistakable. She had to have been asleep during that. The question, then, would be, how long after I put her into her bed did she wake up and start listening to what I have been doing? Just what is it that she is trying to find out from me? Is there some trait or message she thinks that she will want to hear that I wouldn't say if I knew she were awake, in front of me?

“You wanted to see something? What did you want to see? You can ask me whatever you want about me, and I'll gladly tell you.” My message goes towards her as I reach for a nightstand behind me, turning on a small chain-powered lamp. Both of our eyes squint as light pours up from the lamp and illuminates the room. Pulling a small brush from her bed, Rebecca starts brushing her hair down as her eyes adjust and she looks back to me. Her eyes move from place to place, looking towards my chest, and then back up to my face, as if she needs some time to think about what she wants to say.

“How you would act, knowing I was asleep and here, in front of you.” she says. Her eyes move from my face and look directly into my eyes. My pupils quiver, slightly, from the serious look on her face. She's such a small person, but she knows how to intimidate through a gaze. “Your actions this week have been nothing but kind and caring towards me and my well-being, Trent. So, I wanted to know what you would do once I had opened myself up to you, and was asleep, with you able to do anything you wanted to with me.”

Now I'm just plain confused. What I wanted? She wanted to see what I would do with her, once she was asleep? “What I would do with you? Rebecca, did you think I was going to try to do what Melissa did or something?” Her eyes darted away from my eyes, looking towards the comforter on the bed, as she continued. “I wasn't sure what you would do. This entire time, I've been nervous about opening up to you, in case you really were too good to be true. From the moment I started digging into my past, some part of me was telling me that I shouldn't, that you would do to me the same thing Melissa would, that everyone bigger than myself was the same.”

This is her fear talking now. The fear, most likely, of getting into another bad situation and being forced into things, like Melissa had done to her. Before meeting me, she was, after all, Rebecca's only idea about normal-sized folks. I suppose it's natural for her to be doubtful, despite how much I've been trying to take care of her. I don't know what to say. Thankfully, I don't have to say anything. “...but another part of me was telling me that you were true to your word, that you are different. So, because of that part, I let myself completely open up to you. I knew that, by talking about Melissa, I'd have a break down, but I didn't care. I wanted you to know, on some level, and I wanted to put myself into a position, where you could do whatever you wanted, where I was vulnerable.”

“Rebecca...” I say, not knowing just how to handle this situation. She's put herself in a vulnerable spot, both because she trusts me, and because she wanted to see how I'd react to being able to do whatever I wanted with her. That has to feel strange and worrisome to her. I very well could have forced her into some sort of sexual scenario, and I still can. I'm a lot bigger then her and can probably easy overpower her, if I wanted to. Why would I want to, though? What would that prove? The only thing it would prove is that I am no better than Melissa, that I would gladly take advantage of the situation and do what I want, not what she wants.

That's not me, though. I'm not that kind of person. Slowly getting out of my chair, I get on my knees on the floor, my head at her level. I reach my hand closer and rest my fingers on her shoulder. “...and how did I do? What did you think of how I approached this situation?” My eyes stare at her, an innocent curiosity in my mind. I want to just go forward and tell her I'm not that kind of person, but I think it will be better to find out what she thinks first. It will be better to let her keep control of the conversation and get out everything she wants to say.

Putting the brush down on the bed, one of her hands comes up and rests on my fingers, a small smile appearing on her face. “You did what you have always done since this began. You took me to bed, and let me rest. I woke up while you were working on your computer. You brought me here to rest, and you didn't leave my side. You stayed in here, in case I needed you. You're different from her, Trent. I can tell that right now. From the beginning of my relationship with her, I could tell that, on some level, she was having me do things for her. It's the opposite with you. You don't make me do things for you. You try to do things for me.”

I stay there, my knees starting to hurt a little from pushing against the ground, but they stay there, all the same, calmly listening to what she is saying, while a smile comes to my face at how she is describing what happened. She looks to me again, slowly getting the sheets from the top of her and sits on the edge of the bed, her face level with mine. “You're a good person, Trent. I'm convinced of that now. All this week, you could have forced me into things, made me do chores around your house, made me sleep with you and do horrible things to me, like she did. You didn't, though. This whole week, you've done nothing but try to take care of me, remove hazards in your house that I could fall into and hurt myself with, and all around just watch out for my safety.”

“If you want to know how you did...” she starts, moving her hands from the sheets. “This is how I think you did.” Using her feet to move her from the bed, she forced herself forward, wrapping her two small arms around my neck. My arms react, holding her back and her behind up. She is clenching to me, tightly, and I can feel her face moving, her lips pushing against my neck. “You did very well, and I'm proud to call you a house mate.” My face brings a smile to my face as I hold onto her for awhile. I had not expected this kind of test from her, but it seems as if I'm doing just fine.

“It's getting late, though...” she says. “Let me hang onto you for a few minutes, and we can both call it a night, okay?” Turning myself around, I lay back, against the bed, and agree. “Sure, Rebecca. Whatever you want. So...how should we take it from here?” My question lingers, as I hold onto her. She looks up and smiles. “I may have a few ideas for what we can do...but to make this work, you're gonna have to stop being such a sleepyhead in the morning! I don't wanna have to...” she yawns in mid-sentence. “...wake you up every single morning. That's a hefty task, in itself!” The two of us laugh a little as we sit there for a few minutes, before I put her back into her bed.

As I tuck her in, I smile and pat her head. “Good night, Rebecca.” She looks back to me and nods her head. “Good Night, Trent!” I start to walk away and shut the lights off as she says one final thing to me. “See you in the morning.” As I close the door, I walk back to my own bedroom, smiling at the current situation. I never could have expected all of this to happen, but things seems to be getting better and better with her. I can only begin to wonder how the days will proceed from here...

The life I have right now, with Rebecca, and with the wilderness around this area, is changing, and fast. It's been nearly 2 months since the day I found Rebecca, and things are quite interesting, to say the least. I spend so much time, looking back on my life, before all of this happened. Well, I guess 'happened' is a bad way of putting it. I suppose the more proper terminology would be as it is happening. This life I have, with Rebecca in the house, is on-going, even today, and it is still going on, further and further. Perhaps I am not looking back on what's happening as a turn that has happened, but one that is still happening.

One thing I know, for sure, is that life seems very...different to me now. The things that I feel throughout the day, what I'm doing as the days go by, my hobbies, how I spend my days, the mindsets my brain has been going through. It's all different than it was 2 months ago, before she arrived. Her arrival seems to have changed everything, even in what I am looking for in my life, out here. It's so hard to explain, with rapid changes going on in my life, and I am hardly even noticing them until they've already happened and I look back at what I want out of each day.

At this very moment, I am thinking on all of this. It's the middle of a Wednesday afternoon, and I am laying in bed, my laptop resting on my lap. I'm not really trying to sleep, but rather taking a rest from the day's work while I write up my usual papers to be sent for my job. Writing is something that I enjoy doing and, although my job doesn't let me creatively write, it is writing, all the same. Anyways, I am finishing up one of my reports as I think back on the past 2 months of my life, and how they've changed. I have a little time to myself, Rebecca taking a nap in the other bedroom.

Speaking of each day, they start out in similar ways. Rebecca and I alternate our alarms. Since the sound of the alarm clock I have in the house hurts Rebecca's ears, and seeing as how we only own one alarm clock, we alternate on where we keep that alarm clock. Every other day, we alternate which bedroom it goes in. Yesterday was Thursday, which had the alarm in the hallway, outside Rebecca's bedroom. It is set to automatically turn itself off, given the pain it induces in her when she gets close. As the alarm goes off each morning, one of us slowly gets out of bed and then goes to wake the other up. This morning, for example, the alarm clock was in my room, so when I awoke, I threw on a T-shirt and walked into Rebecca's bedroom to wake her up for breakfast.

I spend a fair amount of time, worrying about Rebecca and what she can do. In the past 2 months, we do absolutely everything together. Well, almost. We eat together, we sit in the living room and talk together, we cook together, we take care of the garden together. The only things we don't do together are use the bathroom, take baths, and sleep. She has become a huge part of my life, lately, and I think is part of the reason I'm starting to see things a little differently, with my day-to-day life. You're obviously wondering why I keep distracting myself with these other subjects, and not talking about the actual changes. Let's get to them now.

Before, I would get up and think about everything I can get done. I can exercise, submit my work, and everything else until the point where everything I need to do and get done is done, at which time I can relax and just play video games or surf the web for the rest of the day. Work, then one can play for the rest of the day. It wasn't the greatest of lives, but it was fun to get up in the morning, feel myself getting a lot of progression done, and then sitting down in the evening for a nice session of Gran Turismo 5 or Star Ocean: Second Evolution to help calm me down and relax.

Now, things are a little different. Being around Rebecca all the time, or just being around someone all the time, has changed me a bit. My days normally go in two directions and the privilege of having someone else around has made me more dependent on attention, among other things. Every day, Rebecca is by my side and, although short, she provides me with a lot of company. She has an attitude, sure, but we've come to understand one another, to a point. She spends a lot of time with me, and the fact that she enjoys that time makes me feel happy that I have her around.

She doesn't seem to do anything, other than things with me, except on occasion. My mornings and afternoons always make me feel so...emotional. Like, I get out of bed and am anxious to spend time with her. Last week, I started giving her a hug when she would come in and wake me up in the mornings. I don't know why, but my morning mood just makes me feel emotional and almost-clingy. It's sort of like I have this emotional barrier that helps me deal with my emotions that gradually raises itself throughout the day. When we're having breakfast, talking in the living room, and other things during the day, I always try to be close to her, like I'm depending on her to keep going.

By the time night comes, everything is good again. I'm completely happy and don't feel like I need to be near her all the time. Granted, being near her is always nice, for me, but it's not as much of a 'needing' feeling, as it is in the morning. I'm not exactly sure how to explain all of these changes, but maybe the fact that there is someone around here, paying attention to me for once, has helped some emotions come out of me. It definitely feels nice to have her near, whether she and I are sitting next to one another at the table, or I can feel her tiny arms pushing against me as we sit together, watching a movie at night. One thing's for sure, though. I really enjoy her company.

As I send the last of the papers through the email, I start to close my laptop's case and unplug the power cord when I hear the creeping of the door to the room. Looking up, I see Rebecca walking into the room, parts of her hair sticking out from sleeping, and the long, white robe I'd gotten for her still on her. It was more like a long, casual dress, but she uses it to sleep in now. She's not wearing any shoes or socks, as she usually doesn't, and she walks towards the bed, rubbing her eyes. As she yawns, she speaks to me. “H-Hi. Are you all...done with your reports and stuff?” I set the computer aside and send a smile towards her. “Yes, I am. Did you have a nice nap, Rebecca?”

I smile and the little bit of needy feelings I have in my system for the day create a tingling feeling in my stomach as she walks up to me, setting her hands on my leg and smiles back to me. “It was okay, I guess. If you're done, we're gonna go and play a game, okay?! Let's go!” With that statement, her little hands grab onto my fingers and begin tugging on me, as if she had the strength to drag me downstairs with her. There's no need. More than happy to do something with her, I pull myself out of bed and follow her down the stairs, towards the living room. If it's a game she wants to play, then tonight shall become game night...

The afternoon is wearing thinner and thinner as the two of us stumble down the stairs. My legs are a little tired from resting in one spot all afternoon, submitting all of my work while on the laptop. Not only that, but walking with Rebecca, and holding her hand has always been...interesting, to say the least. Her height obviously makes some things a little different than if she were my own height. Only coming up to my knee, my hand, at it's lowest comfortable point, is right around her head. So, holding her hand, comfortably, isn't really that comfortable for me. It's a lot lower than I am normally comfortable with.

I'm partially bending over as we come down the stairs, her hand still wrapped around my own, the sounds of four feet touching the floor, her naked feet and my socks. She, apparently, wants to play games tonight and, while that's fine with me, I question the reason for this. Did she just randomly get up from her nap and want to play a game, or is there something else? We don't normally play games together, since the controller for the PlayStation 3 we use is almost as big to her as she is to me. Needless to say, she's not as comfy with controllers as I am. We hit the floor and then make our way down the hall, to the living room.

In the living room is the couch that the two of us sit on nearly every day. In front of it is a rectangular coffee table, and several feet in front of it is a TV stand. Inside the stand is a relatively large flat-screen TV, and in the bottom of the stand is where I have our games, PS3, movies, and other equipment for it. Rebecca climbs herself onto the couch and grabs a small remote control from the arm of the chair. She carries it with two hands, the entire thing nearly half her height. Setting it across her lap, she puts a hand down on the “power” button, and presses down until a small light appears on the remote. Across the room, we hear a soft, humming sound as the television turns on.

I stand by the couch as she turns the television on, not exactly sure what she wants to do, what she wants to play, and all of that. All she's really told me so far is that we are going to play a game. She didn't say what game, when we were going to play it, or anything like that. I look back, towards the doorway to the hallway and to the kitchen. Through that doorway, I can see the atomic clock hanging in the kitchen. It reads 4:45 P.M. If we do end up doing a gaming night, I will probably have to throw something in the oven to fix for dinner. That way, we can stay in the living room and play games and hang out, while the food cooks itself.

I admit, it's not the best idea in the world, but hey, it'll work. Rebecca does seem to want to play a game with me, so it makes sense for me to not stall that desire with a really long meal. I start thinking about what we can make, and really, we have plenty to do so with. In mid-thought, I feel something tugging on my shirt sleeve. Looking down at the couch, I see Rebecca, her little feet curled over the arm of the couch, standing and grabbing onto the sleeve of my shirt. I blink towards her and she lets out a sigh. “Finally! I thought you were out of it! Go over to the TV and get the controller so we can start up your P..S...whatever it is, and get this going.”

Looking over towards the TV stand, and then back at Rebecca, I smile. Using my two arms, I pull Rebecca's sides and sit her back on the couch, not wanting her to fall. “Sure thing. Let me just get you down here and I'll get right on that.” As she gets set down, she lets out a little snorting. “H-Hey! I can sit myself down, thank you very much!” My smile never fades as she looks up at me, her arms crossed. I enjoy touching her, though the situation doesn't come about all that often for me to actually pick her up and hold her. She could have gotten down on her own, but I wanted to make sure she could get down. “I know. I just didn't want you to slip and fall off the couch.”

Rebecca just stared back at me, almost as if she were glaring at me. “J-Just get over there and turn that thing on! You're wasting valuable time!” My head nods towards her, understanding her position and the likely frustrations going through her head from me taking it upon myself to sit her down, myself. “Alright, alright. I'm going.” My face brings about a smile as I begin to walk towards the TV stand. She has yet to ask me to put a disc into the system, so maybe she doesn't know what she wants to play yet. Maybe she just wants to play...something. I get over to the stand and take the cord out of the two Dual Shock 3 controllers, preparing to bring them over to her.

As I come back over to the couch, I plan to make the preparations that we need for other things. I'm not terribly worried about what game she wants to play. Half the games we own are digital downloads, so she can just navigate the menu once we get the system turned on and she can choose whatever she wants. Setting the controllers down in beside her, I continue walking, towards the back of the couch. My mind is on getting dinner ready, whatever that may be, though I can tell that Rebecca is no longer paying attention to the black-screened TV. “Where are you going, Trent?!”

I stop halfway across the couch as the hand that is skimming the top gets held down. To my side is Rebecca, leaning on the back of the couch, both of her hands trying to hold mine down. “Huh? What?” I say, my mind having been distracted. She looks at me again and pulls herself up higher. Her face is almost to mine now and she stares into my eyes, with a serious look on her face. “Where...are....you...going?! We're supposed to be in here, playing a game together! Why are you leaving? You want me to play in here, all by myself?!”

That girl is smart. Oh, she is incredibly smart. She knows just what to say to make the situation turn in her favor. As soon as she mentions being by herself, a knot appears in my stomach. I start to wince, feeling that guilty feeling of leaving her alone. I quickly shake my head as I look down at her. “N-No! Of course I don't want you to be in here by yourself. I just thought that we could...you know...get some dinner in the oven, so we can eat in here, while we play and stuff later on tonight.” It isn't easy getting all of that out, but I did get it out. She looks at me again, her eyes moving from the kitchen to me. “Oh...okay! I'll come with you!” Now Rebecca jumps from the couch and comes to my side, grabbing onto my hand and my initial lonely trip to the kitchen is now a venture, led by Rebecca. Oh, how things can change in a split-second...

I really should know better than to broadcast my thoughts to Rebecca, like I just did. We do a lot of things together, and I should have known she would want to come with me, to the kitchen, despite wanting to sit down and play a game. She has easily turned this venture of me going into the kitchen to find something to fix for dinner into her leading me into the kitchen to find something to fix for dinner. Not that I mind this, though. At heart, I am a follower, not a leader. I enjoy being led by others, even if it is by someone whose head only comes up to my knee. I lean over as she pulls on my hand, bringing me into the kitchen.

As soon as we enter, she lets go of me and goes straight to the freezer. Putting her two hands on the very bottom of the full-door handle, she tugs and tugs on it, trying to get it open. I stand back, for a moment, curious about this. She's small and not nearly as strong as I am, but is she able to open up that freezer door? Her mind seems to be on the same pattern. As soon as I move, I hear her calling back to me. “Don't help me! I can do this, myself!” Taking her words in, I stop and rest against the counter. “Alright, alright. Go for it.”

So, she does. Her fingers tighten around the bottom of the handle and she starts moving outward, straining her arms as she tries to pull. Pulling and pulling, I can hear that soft, padding sound of the door starting to open up. A smile comes across my face as I realize that she is strong enough to open up that door, a door that's a good three times her own height. Within moments, the door swings open, her falling backwards and yelping as she hits the floor. Well, it looks like she managed to do it. She's panting and I can see a little stream of sweat running down her forehead, but she was able to strain enough to get it open.

She's lucky she's finally to the point where she can strain her arms. With the injuries she'd gotten when we first met, she'd never be able to pull on anything like this. I know that I'd be a little skeptical if I'd gotten injuries like that and tried to move something heavy, like that, so soon. Rebecca had a relatively speedy recovery, though, thanks to my aunt. I have so much medicine stockpiled in the cabinet I the bathroom that I had a complete supply of the antibiotics that she would need. I also might have given my aunt a call one night to ask about what to give her, but that's not as important. The important thing is that she had a relatively speedy recovery and she doesn't have to wear a sling anymore.

“Are you just gonna stand there all day? Help me up!” Her attitude comes and goes all the time, and I cannot say that I don't enjoy it. I am a very mixed-up person. On some level, I like being bossed around by others, and on another level, I like taking care of others. With Rebecca, it seems like I can have both of those things fulfilled, at the same time. Kneeling down, I offer her my hand, not saying a word. As she grabs onto my fingers, I pull her back up and both of us walk over towards the freezer that she just opened up. We need to decide what we want to have for dinner. “So, what looks good?” I ask.

I see goose bumps appearing over Rebecca's leg, from what part of her legs that I can see under her little 'dress' that she's wearing. Needless to say, I'm sure that she will be choosing quickly. Cold isn't something anyone should be around in for long periods of time, let alone someone much smaller than myself. “Um...” she says, biting her lip for a second. A few minutes pass by as she looks around, before yanking out a small, frozen pizza. “We've never had this before! I wanna try this, um...pizza, right?” As she pulls it out, she wobbles around, trying to carry it. The pizza, itself, it about half her height, so it almost looks like she's holding it in front of her, covering most of her body with it.

“Yes, Rebecca. It's a pizza, and sure. I wouldn't mind having that for dinner. I'll get a pan ready and we can stick it in the oven.” Turning to the counter, I open up a small door as Rebecca still wobbles from side to side, trying to balance herself with the pizza in her hands. I reach in to grab my round “pizza” pan when I'm suddenly rushed. “Hurry it up! My hands are numbing over here!” Pulling out the pan, I hold it out in front of her. “Alright, alright. Go ahead and set it down on the--” My arms feel strain pushing down on the as she, literally, throws the pizza on top of the pan.

As soon as it hits the pan, her hand shake around a little and grab onto a nearby towel, hanging from one of the doors on the counter. She is wiping her hands off as I get back up, beginning to tear the plastic off the pizza. “Are you alright?” I ask, seeing her frantically wiping her hands across the towel as I remove the pizza and it's cardboard from the plastic and place it back on the pan. “Fine! I'm just fine!” she says, looking back at me and pulling her hands away from the towel. “Why didn't you tell me it was going to get me all wet?!”

Rebecca's never gotten anything out of the freezer before, so I guess she had no idea that frozen things start to melt when they're out in the normal heat of the house. That isn't the only thing that she doesn't seem to know that is common knowledge to me. When she talked about her past, she also mentioned that she had no ideas what cars were, and various things around the house she would ask me about, once in awhile, having no idea as to their name or purpose. It makes me wonder just where she came from or if she suffered amnesia for her past before she met Melissa and myself.

“Sorry, Rebecca.” I say, as I open the door of the wall-oven and slip the pizza inside. Pressing a few buttons, I set the oven's timer and turn the oven on. Looking back to her, I smile and pull out a smaller towel from a drawer in the counter. “Here, you can take this one, if you still need it. Everything's done in here, though. We can go back into the other room if you want.” Rebecca quickly grabs the towel from my hand and then grabs onto the leg of my pants, tugging me away. “Good! Time to go play a game. I wanna race you! Racing always helps brighten up my mood!”

It looks like we're going to be playing a racing game tonight. That means...either Gran Turismo 5 or Wipeout...

Off to the races, we go. Well, maybe that's a bit of an extravagant way of putting it. Rebecca wants to go in and play a racing game, so it looks like we're up for a little fun. Concentration, sure, but fun. Out of all of the games we've played together...Grand Theft Auto, Wipeout, LitteBigPlanet, and half a dozen others, the racing games seem to have an effect on Rebecca. We don't play games all that often. About two or three times a week, we turn the PS3 on and go at it. At least, when both of us are awake. I'm guilty of not being able to sleep some nights and creeping downstairs for a nice, quiet game of flOw to help calm my nerves down.

Maybe the racing games are better, to her, because they're easier for her to play. Truth be told, it's not exactly easy to play a game with a controller that is one-third of your entire height. There's no way Rebecca can ever wrap around and use the triggers, analog sticks, and the face buttons at the same time, like I can. With racing games, however, it's easier for her. She can just lean against the X button to get her vehicle to go forward and drag her hands around on one of the analog sticks to move around curves. With this in mind, she's not the best player in the world, but she doesn't really have to be. We're just there to have fun.

As we get back into the living room, she lets me go and jumps back up onto the couch. Jumping isn't the right way to put it, though. She jumps at the couch, and then pulls herself up with her arms clenched onto the cushions. She makes it, though, and gets herself sitting down, her legs and feet extended to the edge of the cushions. “Alright, go grab the other controller while I get things going! We're gonna play Wipeout for awhile, first!” My face makes a smile as I walk away from the couch to get the second wireless controller. To think that this woman I found outside was not only a good, adorable person, but also someone who came to love playing games.

Some soft music comes through the television's speakers as I walk back to the couch. Wipeout Fury's music is playing in the background and, by the time I get to the couch, she's already at the title screen, setting up a multiplayer game. “Alright, I'm gonna sit down, so--” “...so I'd better be careful, right?” she interrupted. She looks at me for a second and grins. “This is not the first time we've sat on the same couch. I know what to expect. So, just get your butt down here, next to me. We've got a race to do!” She knows me better than I think she does. Am I really that predictable to her? I suppose I am, in some ways. She knows I look out for her. Maybe I say the same things often?

“Player 2, choose your vehicle.” says the automated voice on the game. Rebecca goes through these menus fast, despite the fact that she has to press hard on all of the large buttons of the controller. Sometimes, I think she's better with this thing than I am. I slowly cycle through vehicles until I find my regular model, the Assegai vehicle. “Still going with the Ass Car, huh? Because you like being behind my car's ass?” asked Rebecca, a giggle coming through the room. I always forget what she does to me because of that. She's definitely comfortable around me, to be able to make fun of my vehicle like that. Still, it is a bit humorous. I let out a slight chuckle and nod to her.

“H-hey! Don't make fun of it. It's a great Ass Car! Let's just start the race!” I respond, trying to show her that I'm having as much fun of this as she is. “Yeah, sure. We'll start the race.” said Rebecca, moving her hands across the buttons, going through the final set of stages. Before long, we're at the screen that shows us a piece of artwork from the game as the map and cars are loading. This time can be taken for Rebecca to have a break. She may not like to admit it, but I can see just how much work she has to put into doing all of this. It's not easy for her to play around with a controller like that.

“You know, it's a shame they don't make controllers your size, Rebecca. It would probably make things a lot easier for you.” I mention this to her, not really having a solution in mind for making things easier for her. I mean, I can go buy her a remote control for the PS3, which would make the face buttons easier to use, but it would still make playing the games a little awkward. She'd practically be sitting on the remote to reach said buttons. “Easier?! It doesn't need to be easier. I can kick your butt just fine like this!” Her response is a bit cocky, but predictable. I just nod to her and the race starts, stopping me from saying anything else.

The buzzing of techno music plays through the speakers as we are set off, the screen split by a horizontal line in the middle. On the top is her car, and on the bottom is mine. We set off, my thumb gentle pressing down on the buttons of the controller, while Rebecca's body pushes forward, her arm resting on top of her X button. The race goes onward, only the two of us in the race. With Rebecca's difficulties, I never think it necessary to have AI opponents. As we set off, I pull ahead of her, having been place in the starting lineup. “Hey! You get back here! I'm gonna get ya!”

Her adrenaline is starting to rush as a Quake wave comes blasting through the raceway and knocks my vehicle into the wall, raising it's damage level up to 49%. “Whoa, there, missy. Packing some firepower back there, I see!” Rebecca's vehicle then whizzes by mine, and she starts laughing at me. “Yeah! That's right!” She always gets like this when we race. It's like games are a sure-fire way to get her blood pumping and her concentration on something, other than what's going on in the house, or what's going on in that head of hers.

We keep this going for nearly an hour, all in the same race. I can hear panting next to me, and I know she needs a break, but her attitude hasn't given up. She's got such a competitive nature to her, when it comes to this stuff. Every time I hit her with something, or we come close to one another, she's like some sports announcer or something. It's hilarious, at times, but also interesting. As the kitchen timer goes off, she quickly pauses the game and jumps from the couch. “All right! Dinner's ready. Let's go get it!” One quick statement and she's gone. It's like she's a little kid, full of energy. I slowly get up and follow after her, laughing as I go...

She's off yet again. I swear, with being the size of a child, Rebecca has the energy of a child. Sometimes, it's like she is like the Energizer Bunny. She just keeps going, and going, and going. I'm not running out of energy, myself, but I can see a day coming where I just won't be able to keep up with her. The good thing about the situation this time is that she runs off without tugging on me the entire time, letting me come at my own pace. It's not like she can reach the oven to get it open, anyways. The very bottom of the oven is a good three feet in the air, much higher than she can reach.

Coming into the kitchen, I see that Speed Racer already has some things ready. There are two oven mittens out on the counter and she's on one of the bar stools, pushing back the mail we got yesterday. By the time I get over to the counter, it's all cleared out and she looks to me. “Hey, where were you?! I already had time to get everything ready!” In order to keep up with this woman, I'm going to have to be in constant overdrive. At least when she's like this, I will. “Do you ever run out of energy, Rebecca?” I ask, avoiding her question. She knows she's too fast for me and can do some things better than I can, but that doesn't mean I'd like to admit it all the time.

“What's the matter?” she asks, as I slip on the oven mittens, getting ready to get the food from the oven. “Am I too fast for ya, Trent, just like in Wipeout?” A few chuckles come out of the crease in my lips as I turn away from her, slowly opening up the oven. She is so comfortable around me. She's got an ego that far surpasses her height, and she teases me like this all the time. I don't mind it, though. I kinda like her being like this. Pulling the pizza out of the oven, I look back to her, still holding that grin on my face. “Maybe you are, Rebecca. Maybe you are. For now, though, use that speed to clear away from that cutting board. I don't want you to get burned by this food.”

Rebecca quickly retracts herself and starts climbing down the stool, using a net that I attached to all of the chairs in the house. The precautions I have thought of over the past couple months are definitely helping the situation. The last time Rebecca tried to climb down from that bar stool, she ended up dislodging her arm. This time, however, she got down, just fine. The net was like a climbing ladder to her, and enabled easy access to the ground. She wasn't really that heavy, so it worked just fine for her. I pull out a pizza cutter and get the pizza sliced while she climbs down. By the time I finish up the last cut, I feel her against my leg.

“Don't worry, Rebecca. I'm done.” I speak to her, as if I already know what she is going to ask. The pizza is done now, and needs some time to cool off. I'm sure she's more than happy that we can go back to our little race while that happens. “W-What? I wasn't going to ask you if you were done! Don't make assumptions like that. What are you thinking, up in that head of yours?!” she says, a little flustered. I simply pat her on the head and start walking away, back towards the living room. “Come on. We've got a race to finish. Better hurry or I'll get in there and unpause it!”

“H-Hey!” she yells, running after me. I know this will only make her more frustrated with me, but I don't really want to go there. I impulsively assert myself, every so often, in verbal ways, or by picking her up, and I don't really mean to. I'm a two-sided person, after all. I want both to be taken care of and to take care of others. That's a hard mix to balance out in everyday life, especially with a house mate small enough for me to pick up and easily carry around the house with me. “Don't you walk away from me, Trent! You...You get back here!” I can hear her feet running after me and she practically slams her body into my leg as she latches onto me.

I look down at her, seeing both her arms grabbing onto me, being dragged across the floor. I stop moving my leg and look at her, a look of frustration looking back to me. I blink, and then speak, trying to see what's up with her. “Rebecca?” She just shakes her head at me. “Don't walk away from me! I asked you a question! Please, answer it. Until you do, I'm not letting go of your leg. You'll can drag me completely across the house, if you want to, but my arms are not letting go until you answer my question. Understand?” Her face then looked like it was a mix of different expressions. Part of it looked frustrated and upset with me. Another part looked a little disappointed and sad.

Already near a step, that led to another room, I move my free leg and sit myself down. If she wants to talk about this, I will. I may not like to talk about this stuff, but hey, I can't have her latched onto my leg all day. “Alright, Rebecca. I'm sorry.” “You'd better be!” she says, pushing away from my other leg and nearly punching me in the side. It doesn't hurt, but it's enough to make me flinch for a second. I move my leg and she sits down on the step, right next to me. Looking back up at me, she gives me a serious look. “So, back to my question? What do you think about? Why do you make assumptions?”

I take a deep breath, thinking about the question. Why do I make these assumptions? “Well, Rebecca” I say, as I look into the next room, towards the ceiling. “Everyone makes assumptions about certain things. I guess I was just trying to predict what you wanted. Maybe...just maybe, I was wrong in that guess?” I look to her again as I raise this question. I'm still not sure if I was wrong, but if she was pushing this hard on me, I suppose I might have been. “Yes! You were!” she replies, hitting my side again. “You may be predictable, Trent, but I don't think I am. I was just going to ask you how you were doing, not if you were done.”

She crosses her arms and leans against me. “I...don't like being predicted upon and being told I'm doing something when I'm not! It's not fair!” I look at her, for a moment, and then wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer to me. “Sorry, Rebecca.” I say, softly. “I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to think of what you were thinking.” She sighs and pushes against my side a little harder. “I...I know. Just try not to do that in the future, alright? Let me be myself. Just let me...do things without constant interference. I may be smaller than you, but that doesn't mean you have to try to help me with everything! I'm a person, too, and I can do things just as well as you can!”

I nod to her and rub my fingers along her back as she tells me all of these things. “Yeah, you can. You're amazing, especially for your height.” She pushes in a little harder for a second, and then pulls away. “Darn right I am. Now, let's go finish our race!” She runs off, as if that talk hadn't just happened. This whole situation is so confusing...

The way the situation was going today, I hadn't even begun to think that I was depriving Rebecca of her independence and freedom to do things on her own. Now that I think back, I did a few things for her, in a way. Earlier, when we were getting things set up with the couch, I picked her up and put her up their, much to her own frustration. Then again when I interpreted and guessed what she was about to say, answering a question that she had yet to ask. While I was in the process of doing things, I didn't really think about what that was making her feel. I just like doing things for her, and the assumption thing sorta just came out.

Now she's off, getting back to the couch, so we can continue our race. Did she really just want to talk for that short amount of time? She definitely got her point out, when she told me she didn't want me to do everything for her. I guess what she really means is that she doesn't want me to help her with anything, unless she's in dire need of help. It makes sense, now that I think about it. She's always had a little attitude about her, and the drive to do things on her own, denying or resisting the help I am able to provide for her. Sometimes, she's been fine without it, and sometimes, she's gotten hurt because of it.

I suppose my main problem is my desires to help her. Both of these times, when I've helped her, I haven't been all that polite about it. I didn't ask if she needed help. I've just assumed things and done actions on instinct. I guess I feel that, since she's becoming a friend and the fact that we're both living in my house, I can do these things with her. Maybe that's not it, though. Maybe I'm just drawn to being close to her, for some reason or another. On some level, maybe I want to be closer to her and, by touching her and helping her with things, I can feel closer. That might be it.

As these ideas and theories flow through my brain, I start thinking about Melissa. She did things with Rebecca because she felt entitled to. She did things without Rebecca's permission, one thing that would likely scar the woman for the rest of her life. Slowly pushing myself up from the floor, I think on this. If I keep doing things on instinct and without asking her if she needs help, will I start acting like Melissa? Even if I don't, would Rebecca start to feel differently about me? Would she start seeing parts of Melissa in me, and not want to be around me as much because of it?

She stays in my mind as I stand behind the couch. I don't know what Melissa looks like. Her mental image is nothing but a faceless body, yet I know some things about her. Thanks to Rebecca, I know what she did to the poor woman. Since I know this information, I feel like I can almost know Melissa, and picture her in my head. The thought about Rebecca seeing parts of Melissa in me makes me slow down. My breathing starts to get longer and my vision blurs out. I focus on the thought, and I almost seem to become absorbed into it. I have feelings on this matter, and they're not peachy ones, either. My stomach starts to tingle on the inside from these thoughts.

It's a nervous feeling, an anxious one. Were Rebecca to start seeing Melissa in me, she might not only want less time around me, but she might want to leave. She went through so much bad stuff with Melissa, and I wouldn't blame her for wanting to leave. If I start to act like Melissa, and I were in Rebecca's shoes, I'd probably want to leave, too. It would be safer to leave, rather than to stay and risk that memory of rape repeating itself. The very thought of Rebecca leaving, though, makes me feel nervous. It's not something I want. It's something that I very much do not want to happen.

I'm not sure what the full reason is, but the more I think about Rebecca leaving, the stronger the tingling in my stomach starts to feel like some sort of gentle or light shock. My body is trying to tell me something, and I can already tell what it is. I don't want Rebecca to leave. My body is just showing it a lot more, right now, than my mental being is. Something is changing inside me, to be feeling all of this. Rebecca is just a visitor. She is a rather small visitor, and one I've shared a lot of time with, but she's just a person, right? When someone comes to visit me, like friends or family, I never feel like this when I think about them leaving.

This is different, though. I can't fully explain this, even to myself, but it feels like I can't have her leaving. My life is going through a lot of changes, lately, and I feel like she is the primary factor to all of those changes. She has become an important part of my life, a central part of it, even. We do a lot together, Rebecca and I, and my entire day-to-day schedule has changed. Sure, I still get my reports sent via email, but everything else is different now. It all has to do with her. Everything I do has to do with her. Having that factor suddenly gone, what would I do? Would I just go back to the way things were? Logically, I would say yes. This feeling, however, makes me want to say that it wouldn't be that simple.

I don't know what to call all of the feelings I have right now. It almost feels like I won't be able to go on with my day-to-day life, as it is, were she to leave. I have definitely grown attached to her, over the past couple months, but I never thought about how strongly that attachment has grown until now. I don't want her to leave. I desperately don't want her to leave, in fact. This is giving me a realization that I may be much fonder of her than I realized. Not wanting her to leave, feeling like I can't just go back to how things were, were she gone?

The thought was broken as reality came back, a voice coming to my head. “Trent? Hey, Trent! What are you standing around for? It looks like you're lost in la-la land or something!” The current situation reestablishes itself as I see Rebecca standing on the couch. She looks at me, her eyebrow raised. I must have looked strange, just standing there, my mind elsewhere. The thoughts of her leaving are pushed out. Right now, she's here, and that's all that matters to me. “Oh, sorry! I guess I got lost in thought.” Walking around the couch, I sit down, next to her, and we continue our race...

The two of us race for quite some time before we stop to get dinner. The pizza came out of the oven about 20 minutes ago. Okay, so maybe that's not really a long time, but longer than I had imagined we would race before going to get the food. I get up from the couch to get the food, while Rebecca practices her racing in the single player campaign. She started messing up in the last race, so I suggested that she get a little practice in and not worry about the food. She had gotten frustrated when she messed up, so she was perfectly alright with that idea.

As I get to the kitchen, I let out a quiet sigh, completely overtaken by the sounds of high-speed racing and weapons firing that are coming from the living room. I'm glad for that, too. I get out two small plates and distribute the pizza between them. As I start cutting up Rebecca's portion, the entire pieces two big for her to pick up at one time, I start to think. The ideas and worried I had awhile ago were pushed out when she spoke to me, but they gradually came back when we were playing together. I guess things aren't as easy to let go for me, as they are for others.

The time we had spent racing, I had spent thinking. I focus on the race, but I also focus on the thoughts. Times like this are when I don't think it's a good thing to be able to multitask. As I think back on it, I can't help but think more and more on the fact that Rebecca might be seeing part of Melissa in me. She hasn't shown me any signs that she doesn't like being around me or that she wants me to leave. I can't stop thinking about it, though. Why? Why is this so frequent in my brain today? Why am I obsessing over this? That answer, I do not know. I can only guess that it's because I desperately don't want her to leave.

I quickly finish the cutting and pick up the two plates, not wanting to get lost on a mental tangent, like I have done before. The food is already cooler than I had hoped, and I don't want Rebecca to be coming in here to see what I'm doing. These thoughts are just thoughts. Nothing more, nothing less. They will go away, in time. All I need to do is focus on getting back to the racing, not acting like Melissa, and everything is going to be fine. With the two plates, I slowly walk back into the living room, where a race is ending. As I walk in, I hear the announcer on the television congratulating “Player 1” for winning 1st place.

“Nice job, Rebecca.” I say, trying to send my voice over the sound coming out of the television. The scenario was perfect for this, as I just passed the couch when I opened my mouth. From Rebecca, I hear a scream and the controller falls off the couch and hits the ground. The scream makes my own body quiver, for a second. I strain to maintain the hold on the plates, so I don't spill them. I then walk forward and set the plates down on the table. The moment the plates do touch down, though, I get my punishment for what I did when I spoke to her.

I feel Rebecca's tiny fist punching into the side of my arm. My hand comes to it and rubs against it. Although she's such a short person, she still packs quite the punch. I imagine I'll have a nice, small red spot on the arm tonight. “Don't scare me like that!” she yells, muting the television in the process. “I didn't know you were back there. You could have given me a heart attack!” Her arms cross and she looks at me with this face that I don't even know I can describe with a single emotion. She partly looks like she's pouting, but she also looks like she's upset. What do you even call that?

I look down at her, mentally shaking my head past this look she's giving me. “Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.” I'm unsure of what else I can really say to her. I didn't mean to scare her, or call upon her wrath of punching. I just tried to make my voice loud enough for her to hear me past all of the noise the television's speakers were making. If I want to be able to make it so I don't act like Melissa, I have to be mindful of everything I say or do to her, from now on. I do not mind this, though I am a little scared, scared that she might already feel like I'm like Melissa.

I try not to show it as she shakes her own head and sits back down on the couch. “Well...” she starts, trying to bring out that cocky attitude of her into her speech. “...just don't do it again! I scare easily, sometimes! That's why we never watch scary movies!” My head impulsively nods to her as I begin to walk around the couch and lean down. After picking up the controller, I hand it to her, a forced grin on my face. “Here. I'm sorry again about scaring you. It won't happen again. I promise!” She jerks the controller away from me as I sit myself back down.

Unfortunately, she doesn't do anything with it. She just hands it back to me. “It better not! Here, you play for awhile, if you want. I'm kinda hungry right now. Pull over my plate, if you would.” I look at her, and then at the table. Yeah, that's right. She's already back to giving me orders. I don't mind it, though. The plate's too big and heavy for her to pick up, anyways. I lean forward, retrieving her plate and bringing it back to the couch. I set it down between us, being too big to just sit on her lap. As I do, she starts picking up the small pieces, as if they were chips, biting into them. What's a small bite to me is a rather large one to her.

As she eats for awhile, I use my free hand to get the other plate, starting to eat my own pizza. The game can wait. I'm hungry, too, just as Rebecca is. This was our plan, anyways. She wanted to come down and play together, and I wanted to eat together. The two of us eat to our heart's content before putting all the leftovers on a single plate. I set the leftovers down as we both sit back on the couch, sighing. “So...what next, Rebecca? You want to race some more, or do something else?” I wait, patiently, for her answer...

I await an answer from Rebecca. We're been racing for awhile, and now we've stopped to eat something. I finish about half of the slices on my plate, and she finishes about half a single slice of it. That's one good thing about sharing food with someone one-third of my height. There is always plenty of food left over, and I never have to cook much for her. As I look to her, her mouth opens, letting air flow out of her lungs as she yawns. It looks like someone is starting to get tired. Moving through the main menu on the game system's screen, she shuts it off and looks back at me. “I think I'm done with that game now. I need to go take a bath. Come and get it ready for me!”

Off the couch, she is already running off, the sounds of the bare skin on her feet patting and running across the hallway's floor deep in my mind. She always has to be doing something, much like myself. She's clearly tired, but she wants to be doing something, at all times. I push myself up and leave the plate of food on the table. I know that if I don't follow her, right away, she'll get herself in trouble again. The last time she went to get a bath ready by herself, she got her ankle stuck in the drain. That is something I'd prefer to not have to deal with again.

The moment I reach the hallway, she's already running upstairs, heading for the bathroom on the second floor. She is moving so fast, I can hardly keep up with her, especially when she dashes off like this. “H-Hey! Wait a minute, Rebecca!” My call doesn't get answered, of course. She is probably so looking forward to having a nice bath that she just wants to rush up there and get things started, herself. Baths aren't exactly the safest things for her, unfortunately. I can't run her as much water as I do for me, since she's so small. If she wants to lie down in the tub, I can't have the water up much more than 4 or 5 inches, or I risk her having an accident and drowning in the water.

Running, I hustle my way up the stairs, knowing that she's going to start things off. She always starts things off. The incident with the drain didn't teach her anything. She knows she can get stuck in that thing, or get hurt by the flow of water from the faucet in the tub. If the water feels 5 or 10 degrees too hot for me, it's like it's 20 or 30 degrees too hot for her. Were she to fall in the tub with hot water, she can get seriously hurt. I start to pant as I make it to the top of the stairs and walk into the bathroom. Sitting on the tub, waiting for me, is Rebecca, her arms crossed.

“Good, you're here! I already got the plug in the drain, so start getting my stuff out, and I'll make sure you don't do anything wrong!” She has this smug, happy look on her face, as I walk over to the tub, starting draw water. I'm sure she enjoys ordering me around like this. She has to, or she wouldn't be doing it. It makes sense, though. She spent so much time, doing nothing but taking demands and orders from Melissa. It's about time she got to give out orders, for once. She is doing that now, and clearly enjoying it. I am, too. I like seeing her happy, like this, especially after the bad feelings and thoughts I had a little while ago.

The faucet turns on and water starts to fill up the tub. Realizing that I don't have a whole lot of time, I turn and go to the closet, on the opposite wall. As the door opens, I reach in and grab some of the materials from the higher shelves. I pull out a hand towel, wash cloth, and some hotel-sized bottles of body wash and shampoo. My mother always gave me those mini-sized toiletries when she would go on vacation, and they were finally having a use. They are almost normal-sized, for Rebecca. Coming back to her, I set all of the things down, right next to her, and I watch the water until it is high enough for her.

The handles on the inside of the tub squeak as I turn them off. Dripping drops of water keep coming down as the water slows to a stop. I take a look around, making sure I've got everything I need for her. There's already a poof in the tub, she's got her towels and toiletries. After a moment of scanning, I think she's ready for her bath. I take a deep breath, looking towards her and putting a smile on my face. “Well, I think you're all set! All you have to do is get in. All your stuff is right here.” As I finish my statement, she gets down and starts shoving me towards the door.

“Alright, alright.” she says, still pushing me. “Now get out here so I can get undressed and take my bath.” I start to oblige, walking out the door. From inside the room, she grabs onto the door and being to push it shut, exerting a lot of energy to do it. As soon as it's almost shut, she talks to me again, pulling out more of that attitude towards me. “...and no peeking, mister! I may trust you, but that doesn't mean I want you to see me naked! You haven't earned that yet.” I chuckle as the door shuts in my face, the sound of her feet moving across the inside of the bathroom.

Her attitude is funny, sometimes. I agree with her, though, as I sit myself against the wall, just outside the bathroom door. I don't think I'm ready to see her like that, either. I don't really want to, either. Not right now, anyways. She may be my little wish come true, but that doesn't mean I automatically want us to be in a romantic, sexual relationship, or anything of that sort. I'm happy, just having her around. After today's thoughts and emotions, I think I'm a little more appreciative of having her around. I now know that, even if life isn't as wonderful as it could be, it's a lot better with her around than it would be without her. If I felt that knot of nervousness from the thought of her leaving, what would I feel if she actually left?

“If you have any problems, just yell for me.” I say to her, through the door. I want to make sure she knows that, although I'm not peeking, I'm right here, nearby. I'm also here, for her. That is something I feel like I should make sure she knows, completely, bath or not. Maybe I'll try to show her more of that, in the future. Maybe, soon, I'll start doing more for her than I already am, within the bounds of things she wishes to do on her own...

It's pretty quiet on the second floor. I'm still sitting by the bathroom door, calmly waiting for Rebecca to finish up her bath. I've been here the entire time, just sitting against the wall, arms crossed and head staring up at the ceiling. This happens every time she takes a bath. Ever since the incident where she got her leg stuck in the drain, I've always wanted to be close, in case something happened and she needed me. It's possible to get hurt in a bath tub when you're my height. She's a lot shorter than I am, though. It would be a lot easier for her to get hurt. She hasn't had any incidents since that initial one, but one can never be too careful.

While I've got this time to myself, I start thinking about what all I can do for her, and how to go about doing it. I already do a good bit for her, and I'm borderline going too far and doing too much without asking. One thing I have to learn is to be more respectful to her. I shouldn't just pick her up for something or assume something that she's going to say. Deep down, I do know better than that. As I think, I start deciding that I need to ask her whenever I want to help her. That way, she will know that I wish to assist her, and will also have the opportunity to say no, if she doesn't want my help.

I'm realizing that with being more comfortable around her, things like what happened earlier are happening. Since I'm more comfortable around her, I'm starting to feel like I have some leeway to do certain things, like that holding thing earlier. I didn't even realize, at the time, that it was bothering her. Coming forward and telling me about it bothering her brought me back to my senses and made me realize that I was out of line. I take a deep breath as I think on all of this, trying to figure out more ways to get this situation progressing more smoothly.

All I have to do is be myself and make sure I don't ever act like Melissa did. That means that, unless it's absolutely necessary, I can't force her to do things or take matters into my own hands. I've done that once before, when she hurt her arms, on that first day. That was a unique situation, though. She was hurting, and needed help. I couldn't stand by and not do anything about it. As my head moves around, I see a window in the distance. It's starting to get dark, about the time where both of us head for bed. I imagine we'll both be going to bed as soon as she comes out of the bathroom. My mouth opens as I yawn, already starting to get tired.

I put my hand to my head, keeping my eyes shut for a few moments as I gather together my thoughts, and my energy. I'm giving this situation a lot of thought. There are a lot of feelings inside me that don't want Rebecca to leave. Maybe I'm falling for her, or maybe I just want or need companionship, now that I have it. No matter the reason, it makes me not want her to leave this house. I can't force her to stay, so I've got to make her stay here as comfortable as possible, to make sure she doesn't ever feel like she's in danger here. She already trusts me, sure, but there's more to wanting to stay with someone than just trust.

Opening my eyes back up, it feels like it's work, just to keep them open. This isn't terribly good. I'm starting to shut down. Will I be falling asleep soon? Perhaps I will, but not until she's out of the bathroom. I have to force myself to stay awake until that time. I can't risk falling asleep and having something happen in the bathroom afterwards. I'd never forgive myself if she needed me, and I was asleep, just outside the room. I move my head from side to side to keep my brain moving, trying to switch thoughts on things. I move onto thinking about what we can do tomorrow, that is different than other days.

The events of the days are always different, and sometimes, I find it hard to think of things the two of us can do. Before she came into my life, I was on a pretty repetitive schedule. I did the same things every single day, only changing some of those things when various seasons hit. Gardening came in the spring, shoveling snow and less exercise came in the winter, and similar changes in the other seasons. Otherwise, I basically did the same things every day. She is to thank for this constant switching of things. She has ideas, herself, about what she wants to do, and I just go with it, sometimes. She has her own ideas, and they're usually fun, although not what I would have thought of to do.

I yawn, again, thinking about all of this. My eyes shut and my mind changes a little. I begin to tell myself that I'll be able to hear just fine without having my eyes open. If I just rest my eyes and not fall asleep, it'll be good to go. If I can just keep myself mindful, I can do this. I can rest my eyes, listen for her having problems, and everything is going to be perfectly alright. As I close my eyes, my body starts to get more sluggish. Before long, I feel myself being drained, further and further, until I finally end up falling asleep, completely unintentional.

My mind is completely blank for who knows how long. I sleep a dreamless sleep and my head moves, my eyes bolting open. I blink, starting to take deep breaths. Looking at the window in the distance, I can tell the moon is in a completely different location. My head turns to see that the bathroom door is open, but the light is still on. Well, of course the light is on. Rebecca's not tall enough to reach the light switch. I almost begin to move to go look for her, but I feel something pushing against my side. My head moves and my worried expression turns to a smile.

Leaning against me is a sleeping Rebecca. She's got her little bed-time 'gown' on, and has both of her arms folded and pressed against me. My nose tingles as I feel the emotions building up, seeing that cute, short lady sleeping against me. She could have gone to her bed, but she chose to come back outside and sleep with me. Moving my arm around, I hold her against my side and lean my head down. Letting my lips graze against her hair, I whisper “Good night. You really are my little wish come true.” Afterwards, I lean against the wall again and close my eyes. These moments are what make life worth living...

Last night was special for me. Not only did I get a chance to play games, one of my favorite hobbies, with Rebecca, but that moment when we were sleeping was wonderful. Waking up, only to find the little lady I worry about right there, hugging against me as she slept made me feel great. A lot of emotions arose yesterday that surround her, and that only added to it. Nervousness, fear, and now happiness. I think my life is starting to change. At least, that's what I feel like, anyways. As if it hasn't changed enough already, it's like I'm starting to get a little more attached to Rebecca. I woke up this morning and she was off in another room. I felt my little bouts of neediness until she came back. It's like she's an irremovable part of my life now.

I sit in that same spot right now, as I did last night. She's in the bathroom again, washing up and getting dressed. I had offered to help her get dressed and said that she didn't have to lock herself in the bedroom to do so, but she didn't go for that. “Nakey Rebecca is not something you're allowed to see yet!” is, I think, what she said. I smile at the nickname she gave herself. I understand that she doesn't want me to see her naked. I really do, though we are getting closer. The fact that she wanted to sleep with me last night meant something. I know she's capable of getting herself in her bed, yet she chose to curl up and hold onto me. That's got to mean something.

The rustling in the bathroom is followed by a yelp and then a soft thud. I turn my head and resist my urge to just go in the door and see if she's okay. If she's hurt, I'm sure it'll be alright for me to go in, but if she's not, I'll probably get a foot to the face or knee or some other part where it would hurt. Instead, I call in. “Rebecca? Is everything okay in there?” It's not much, I know, and it's not what I want to do for a person I am starting to get some strong affection for, but just because I feel a lot doesn't mean that I should drown her in that affection.

“I...I'm fine! Don't come in or anything! I'm still not dressed! Don't worry about me!” Her voice comes through pretty well, despite her size. I don't hear any more thuds going on, which is good. My head turns back and I look at the wall in front of me. Just like any morning, I'm a little emotional. The only thing on my mind is her, however. From the moment I woke this morning, all I've wanted to do is be around her. I can't tell her how much I want to be close, though, can I? I mean, I'm sure she'd enjoy the attention and the fact that I appreciate having her around, but I don't want to drown her in my affection.

That seems like a problem for me. It's causing a bit of conflict in my head as I wait for her to get dressed. I have a lot of feelings inside, and she's the only person I really interact with or have contact with. Feelings aren't meant to be bottled up. That's how people get them to build up and they explode in emotional spasms or breakdowns. The only problem is...how can I let all of these emotions out without overwhelming Rebecca with affection. She wants to do a lot on her own, and I want to take care of her. I can't just take care of her, on my own. Yesterday showed how she hates it when I do things with her without asking if it's alright.

The only choice left is to experiment for awhile. I should just try throwing out some affection, keeping some in. Maybe I can be more emotional at some points, to see how she reacts to it. I know she's a very affectionate person, deep down, so there's some place for my affection to reach, for sure. It's just how much that I'm worried about. I don't want to overwhelm her, as I've thought recently. Finding that balance is the important thing right now. Today should be my first test for that. Yep! As soon as she comes out of that bathroom, clothes on, I'll start showing her some of my affection and seeing what happens.

As if answering my call, the door immediately opens. I turn my head towards the door, but before I can move, a little, bare foot comes onto my leg. Rebecca puts it on top of my leg, near my thigh, and puts her hands on it, looking up at me. She has this strange, serious look on her face. What's she up to? Her eyes are squinting as well. I'm sure what she's doing. “I know what you're thinking!” she says, all of a sudden. Her eyes stare at me, like she were trying to intimidate me. I'm not sure what's going on, though. “You're thinking that you want to go down and make breakfast for little, old me! You're thinking that since I'm so teensy, you can make breakfast for me. Well, it's not gonna happen! You know why?!”

Now things are even weirder. Is she trying to tell me I'm not allowed to make her breakfast? I raise my eyebrow to her and wonder. I see her breathe in as soon as I want to talk, but I shut myself up. Even if I were to say something, I know that she'll just interrupt me. My eyes go down to that foot that's balanced on my leg and back to her. “It's not gonna happen because you're gonna let me help you! You're going to get something for me to stand on, understand? We're going downstairs, right now, and you're going to let me do most of it! You're teaching me how to cook. Sound okay? Good!”

She is so assertive today. She must really want to help with the cooking. Before I can even respond, she is off my leg and wraps her arms around my ankle, yanking at my socked foot. My body fidgets, slightly, as she yells at me. “Oof...you're too heavy! Get up and moving! I'm ready and dressed! You're the big one here. Let's go get a stool or something and I'll make you breakfast, for once!” Every day is a different, unique adventure...

I reach down and fix what wrinkles that Rebecca just put in my sock and pick myself up. I yawn, still a little tired from just waking up from the night before. It's been at least 9 hours since I fell asleep, but I'm always tired, in some form, during the day. I think it's a family trait, to be honest. My father was tired all the time, too. He was tired much more often than I seem to be, but still, that's the only connection I can possibly think of for why I'm so tired all the time. I don't eat badly, I take vitamins and everything. I'm not sure. It lingers in my head as I start to walk downstairs.

I walk down the stairs, hearing her feet running all over the house already. How can she so full of energy this early in the morning? You'd think that she would run out of energy quicker than I would, since running across the house once for her would be more like running across it three times for someone my height. I just hope she never runs out of that energy. She wants to do something that might be a little dangerous for her, this morning. She wants to help make breakfast and, depending on what she wants to make, the environment might be a little dangerous for her, concerning burners and pans.

I get down and start walking towards the kitchen, when I hear a dragging sound, like metal scraping against something. My eyebrow raises up and I start walking a little faster, trying to get into the kitchen to see what's going on. Once I arrive, I see Rebecca, dragging one of the bar stools across the floor, the floor pads for the legs left behind, on the floor. The sound of the jagged bottoms of the stool legs is grinding through my head, about to give me a headache. I reach forward, standing behind Rebecca and put my hands on the stool. “Please, stop!” I call out, the pain of my coming headache starting to irritate me. “Just let me pick it up. That noise is killing me!”

Rebecca, in her actions to drag the stool, lets go as my hands put pressure on it, and she falls backwards, hitting her back against my leg. She lets out a whine for a second, and then jumps right back up. “No way! I want to get it over to the counter where the stove is all by myself. I don't want you to help at all! If you can't take the noise, then hold your ears or something! I'm going to do as much of this on my own as possible. You're going to have to deal with it!” She sounds so...assertive when she's like this. It's like she doesn't care what problems would happen, so long as she can do what she is aiming to do. I slowly let go of the stool and agree to let her do it, walking out of the kitchen, in the process. If she's going to be making all that noise, I don't want to be anywhere near it.

I get through the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me before I start hearing that noise again. At least it's muffled, with all of these doors shut. I get headaches easily, and having noises like that around doesn't help my head at all. My head starts pounding, every beat of my heart a painful strain on the sides of my head. I quickly pop in a capsule of Ibuprofen, hoping to kill the headache before it gets to a bad spot. The noise lasts for a few minutes, though it feels like half an hour or more. By the time it does stop, I look up and take a deep breath. I look at myself, in the mirror, before turning, knowing that I need to go back to the kitchen.

By the time I get back, Rebecca's already on top of the stool, half her body dangling over one of the burners. Her arms are out, reaching for the dials that turn those burners on. “No! Wait!” I yell as I run across the kitchen. I don't care about letting her do things right now. She's trying to do too much. My arms come down and I pull her out of the chair. My arms wrap around her and I squeeze her into my body as I keep myself away from the stove. I can feel her moving around, trying to break free. I know she's about to yell back at me, most likely, but I'll take yelling over her being hurt.

She does yell at me. As she squirms in my grip, she asks me why she moved me and tells me to put her down. I get down on my butt and shake my head in response to this. “Not until I know that you're going to be safe. You were half-dangling over the stove, Rebecca! You could've gotten your shirt stuck in the burner! If I'd stayed in the bathroom longer, I might not have had a Rebecca to come out and see! You have to be more careful, from now on.” I'm not willing to let her go. Not just yet. It's easy to burn myself on that stove, but even easier for her, and the fact that her skin is thinner than mine. A mild burn for me could be fatal for her. I don't want that to happen.

She keeps going, saying that she would have been just fine. She even mentions that I would have come out and gotten her out of it, even if she did get stuck. She has faith in me, that's for sure. I like that, but it still doesn't make what she did any easier. “...but what it you accidentally fell off when breaking free from the stove?! What if you burned your hand beyond my abilities to fix it?! I know you want to be independent. I know you want to do stuff without my help, but not this!” As I talk to her, my grip slightly tightens, my face starting to get emotional. “Don't do anything dangerous without me. Don't scare me...”

“Scare you? All I did was try to turn the burner on!” She sounds confused, as if she doesn't know what really scared me just now. The truth is that I am scared, even right now. Seeing Rebecca so close to burning and fatally hurting herself did something inside me. I dropped all ideas of letting her do that on her own and went straight into a mindset of wanting her out of that scenario as soon as possible. I respect her, but I won't push respect above her personal safety. When I saw her like that, I got scared that she was going to get hurt, or killed.

“All you did was almost get yourself killed!” I say, my voice starting to crack. All I can think about is the idea of not having her around, or having her hurt or worse when I am just in the other room. My head leans down and I hold her in place. “I would never forgive myself if you were left alone and you got hurt in this house. You almost got hurt right now, and that's why I'm not putting you down. You scared me because I...I don't want anything to happen to you. You're...too important to me...”

“Trent...I...” Rebecca's voice travels, although it doesn't say much. I'm clearly overwhelming her with this recent, emotional bout of mine. I can't help it, though. The moment I saw her over that burner, the thoughts of her getting hurt or worse flew into my head. I had to do something. I felt like I needed to do something to keep her from hurting herself. The feelings of losing her are too much to just let this sort of thing go. So, I ended up rushing forward, pulling her from the chair, and clenching onto her, protectively holding her in my arms.

She doesn't like it when I do things with her before asking, but how could I really have asked to do this? I couldn't, that's how. She probably would have just dismissed my concern and say she was fine. Instead, though, I went forward and did something. She may not like it, but my arms are around her now, and they're not letting go. Not for awhile, at least. I rest my head on top of hers as my face starts to show more of how I'm feeling, at the moment. My face is red and the borders around my eyes are starting to get damp.

This situation isn't a normal one, for me. I didn't expect to come in and see her in an extremely dangerous situation. I didn't expect to run through the kitchen, snatching her away from the chair. I didn't expect to have such strong and terrible feelings about losing her or her getting hurt. It just happened. As I hang onto her, I know she deserves another answer to the little bit of speech she gave me. So, the side of me that wants to protect her just takes over. I kiss the top of her head and whisper down to her. “Shh...please don't say anything. I'm sorry for this, but I just...I needed to do this.”

That's right. I did need to do this. I guess this is both part of me protecting her from getting hurt, and showing her how much I care, along with how much I don't want to lose her. We're both surprised by this, though. She's not saying a word. She's not yelling at me, squirming to get out of my grip, fighting me, or anything. She's just...letting it happen. Is she waiting for me to continue this? I suppose she is. She's a lot smaller than I am, so my grip on her must be really strong. As I feel the emotions building up, even worse, I slowly loosen my grip and let her move, if she wishes it.

“I'm sorry, but I just...can't lose you, Rebecca.” I say as she pushes back, standing in front of me. My arms are still touching her, but now she's standing on the floor, between my two legs. She's looking at me, and I'm looking at her, practically eye-to-eye. The only difference is that I can feel a tear running down my cheek, and she's not having any run down hers. “You could have...gotten burned, or fallen, or who knows what else? I know you want to do things on your own. I really do, but I can't lose you. I can't let you get hurt. I can't.”

She just stands there, still listening. As she does so, however, she reaches forward, to where my face is leaking tears. Her hand comes up to my face and starts to wipe away the tear. I sniffle as I feel her tiny hand, running across my cheek. She looks at her hand, and puts is back down. “Stop crying!” she says. “I'm just fine, Trent. I'm not going anywhere! You don't have to protect me from this stuff to prove a point. You don't have to snatch me away and drown me in your worries to show that you care about me, that you don't want me to get hurt or go anywhere...”

“But, Rebecca...” I begin, starting to speak back to her. My voice cracks a little, the tear and emotions still in my system. I know I don't have to do all of this, or do I? What would have happened if I hadn't come in when I did, and got her from that stool? What if she had gotten hurt? “I'm not just trying to prove a point...I still remember the day you fell from that stool. I remember...the pain in your eyes, your voice, and everything. I don't like seeing you hurt. I didn't back then, and I don't now.” I take a moment to stop, letting both her process what I'm saying, along with myself.

“You're a good person, an important person. I'm bigger than you, and have a better time around the things in the house than you do. If I don't try to protect you, who will? Who's going to be around, to watch over you? Who's going to make sure you don't get yourself hurt, or worse? You've brought a lot into my life. Everything has changed since you came into it. Everything is better. Your presence makes me very happy. The least I can do is keep you safe and make sure you don't hate this atmosphere, right? The least I can do for the one person I don't want to lose...”

Now things are starting to get even more emotional. Rebecca stops and gives me a look. It is a look of surprise, but also not. It is as if she was surprised I'd said what I said, but at the same time, it looks as if she already knows all of this. It takes her a moment, but after that moment, she walks forward and pushes herself against me. The two of us embrace and she starts whispering up to me. “I'm not going anywhere, Trent. You don't have to worry about making sure I'm safe, or making sure I like it here. I told you before. You've proven that you're a kind and caring person. I know I'm bossy, at times, but you know I can be like this.”

Rebecca then starts hugging onto me, even tighter. I can feel her face, moving around, as she gives me a tiny kiss on the cheek. My face quivers and gets red from it as she continues. “I love being here, with you. Stop worrying so much. If I need your help with something, I will ask for it. If I run into trouble, calling for you will be the first thing I will do. Now, stop your crying, right now. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm not ever going to. Don't make me reach up a little higher and kiss you someplace else to show you how true I am to that.”

How sad is this? I'm the big one in this house. I'm the one who should be responsible and be taking care of everything. Yet, here I am, in tears. I'm crying and Rebecca, that little lady that's only 2 feet in height, is comforting me and telling me to stop crying. What kind of person am I? How can I let myself break down so easily? Sure, I was scared for her safety, but I'm all-out breaking down. How am I supposed to take care of Rebecca if I can't even be trusted to hold myself together, emotionally, while she does stuff?

I can feel her kiss on my cheek and it only makes my crying worse. I understand her position in this, though. She wants to do things on her own, and she doesn't want me to be like this. I know I can't do everything for her, but...I don't know what's going on, sometimes. Feeling her kiss, though, makes me feel better about what has been bothering me. She promised me that she wasn't going anywhere. That's the one thing I wanted her to say to me, that she wasn't going to be leaving this house. I crack a smile and try to push back my tears as I process this and prepare to get on with my day.

It takes me a minute, but I pull her closer and let my lips touch her cheek. It takes me some time to do it, but I let them kiss her, gently, and give her back what she gave me. She nearly gasps as I do so, obviously not expecting it back to her. I pull my head back and wipe away my tears into my sleeve. My cheeks are blushing, and so are hers. We share a moment of eye contact, and then I speak. “Thank you. I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay here, with me, and be happy, just like I am with you around.” I take a deep breath as I finish this statement, my tears slowly drying to my cheeks.

I let go of Rebecca and let her come back down to the floor. I'm still sitting, and I look her in the eye. “Listen, I know you want to do stuff. I know you want to help me with stuff. I understand that, completely. I want to help you with everything. I can't do that, though. I won't ask you to ask my permission before you do anything dangerous. But, may I request that I, at least, be present in the room when you're doing things near burners and such? I know you have faith in yourself, I just want to be really careful. I want to make sure nothing ever happens to you.”

She looks at me, and I can see her pupils shaking. She's in shock, obviously, from what I did. I've never seen her so frozen in these months we've spent together. She reaches her hand up and puts it on my arm. She grips it and is silent for a few minutes. Her eyes blink, as if she's trying to deal with everything. The shock of everything must be going through her head, this very moment. How can someone really deal with everything that just happened? She couldn't have imagined I am such an emotional person and would go to such lengths to keep her safe.

As she gets a grip on herself, she looks at me, that confident look coming back. Her head nods towards me and she gives me a smile. I can feel her grip on my arm tightening as it happens. “Alright, Trent. If that's what it will take to allow both of us to do what we want, then so be it. If I do anything that is dangerous, or can be dangerous, I'll have you in here, with me.” It seems that the little compromise is working. Honestly, I wish I could just do everything for her. Sadly, though, I can't. I have to respect her own wishes for independence. I can't steal that away from her, like Melissa did.

“But!” she adds. “That doesn't mean that you can do everything for me. As much as you may want to, and as much as it might be nice to be pampered all the time, I want to do things, myself. You will merely be watching over me, as I do things. Nothing more. There will be things I want your help with, and there will be things I don't. Right now, for example, I want to make breakfast. I came in here, quickly, to get it started without you. You cook me food all the time, and I want to cook the food for us today. I want to do as much of it as I can. Now, help me back up into that stool and get some supplies out for me. You will be watching, but not involved in the food I will be whipping up for us. Got it?”

The way things always seem to go with the two of us are odd, but at least they're progressing. It would be much worse to have a bond progress and then be torn, at the deeper level, because of something else. This is different, though. This is us compromising. We've both shown each other that we care about one another, through our talking and through the exchange of kissing and hugging. Now that I know she's not leaving, and she knows I don't wish her to, we can get on with all of this. I simply nod to her, and offer her my arms. “Sure. Would you like a lift to your stool?”

Rebecca retracts herself for a second, hiding her arms behind her back. Her eyes dart, back and forth, staring at my arms. It's clear that she's second-guessing what I ask. She looks skeptical as she does so, but slowly returns to a comfortable state. She probably doesn't want to be lifted and put up on the stool. She probably wants to do it by herself. As she looks back at me, though, she walks forward again and turns around. “Y-Yeah, a lift would be nice! Just make sure that's ALL you do. No tickling or anything!”

She's a funny, funny girl. I laugh, for a moment, and agree to her terms. “Alright. I promise I'll just help you up. No tickling or anything else.” I move my arms closer to her, letting my hands rest below her arms, against her sides. As soon as I have a gently grip, I can feel her tiny bones through her clothes. I lift up, bringing her into the air. Her legs kick, for a moment, but soon stop. I push myself up and walk over to the stool. Aiming her legs at the seat of the stool, I slowly bring her down and let her go as she lands on it.

She looks back at me, face red, and points to the refrigerator. “T-Thanks! Now go get me some eggs, and cheese! And a spatula! Go go go!”

The two of us are quite the pair. I am always amused at how blushy Rebecca gets when I touch her or do something with her. It makes me smile to know that I have someone around like her. We have our differences, and we don't always agree on everything, but that's minor compared to other things. The fact that there is a woman in my life my own height or not, that I can make blush, simply from a touch, means something to me. We just had a moment, she got her attitude back, yet she can still let her face go deep red, when I touch her and lift her onto this stool.

I do as she asks and get the ingredients and spatula. She quiets down and I think I should, too, as I walk back to the refrigerator, a carton of eggs and a few slices of cheese in one hand, and a small, plastic spatula in the other. Our lives can't be constant emotions. That, and the fact that what we're going to do, soon, is something that's not exactly safe. Rebecca's going to be near a burner that is nearly half her own size. I promised her that I wouldn't do everything for her, but that doesn't mean I can't worry for her.

There is a small, cutting board to the right of the stove, and where she's standing. Carefully setting the supplies down, I set everything up, where she can easily reach it, and turn the stove on for her. As I put a pan down, above the warming burner, I see her fidgeting. Her head shivers, as if she just got a cold chill. My attention turns towards her, as I set the spatula down, by the other materials I just brought over. I ask her, calmly, if something's wrong. I get an answer that is to be expected. She violently shakes her head, telling me that she's fine. It was just a cold chill. “Now just get over there!” she says, pointing towards a wall. “Remember! Your job isn't to help me. You can only watch and observe, got it?”

I slowly back up, reluctantly, moving to the wall she suggested I move to. Her right eye is shut, as she reaches for one of the eggs, presumably to put it into the pan. Who shuts their eye like that? It's pointed towards the stove, so maybe the fumes are starting to affect her? Should I do something? No...I shouldn't. If she needs my help, she will ask for it. I'm a very worrisome person. I worry about everything. She's probably just fine. I put both hands behind my back and let them clench onto one another, trying to look as if I'm not worried. I just watch as she puts the egg in both hands and pushes it onto the edge of the pan.

“Unnnf!” she says, assuming I can even call that a word or speech at all. The egg hits the pan, clenched in both of her hands. It looks more like she's trying to break a softball on the pan, rather than an egg. Everything is big to her. Well, I guess I should say it's bigger to her than it would be to me. As the egg hits, nothing seems to happen. I hear the tap as it hits the pan, but it doesn't break anything. I don't see any yolk coming out of it. Her head goes down and looks at it, before she lifts it up again. She doesn't say a word, but it's clear that her first attempt at cracking it failed.

She shoves it down again, making a loud, grunting sound, as if she were trying to push out all of her energy during this action. The egg hits again, but this time she has some success. A clear crack in the egg nearly breaks it in half. One part of the eggshell breaks over the pan, while the other is broken outside of the pan. It moves and she yelps as she tries to hold it up. It's obviously not easy for her. Her arms shift positions, her right arm moving downwards, trying to balance the rest of the egg. She starts to breath more deeply and slowly lifts it up, pouring the rest of the egg into the pan. Then, another problem arises. What will she do with the eggshellr03;?

“T-Trent! The garbage! The garbage, now!” She practically screams at me as she tries to juggle the eggshells in her hands. I can see the yolk seeping down, getting all over her hands. I begin to walk over to her, the door to the waste basket just to the left of her. By the time I get behind the stool, I feel like I'm about to go deaf, her screaming entering my system again. “TRENT! Hurry up! It's getting all over! Just open the door and take this stuff!”

I try to pick up the pace, responding to her rather abrupt and blunt orders. Opening up the door, I pick the eggshells up from her hands and toss them into the waste basket. I smile as I close it back up and look back to her. I kind of expect a thank you, or at least her getting back to work on what she's making. Instead, though, she grabs at my shirt, waving her arms around. “Ew! It's all over me! It's going down my arms! It's going to stain everything! Get it off me! GET IT OFF!” Trying to think quickly, I turn and look for a towel. Unfortunately, I don't see one. This is going to be tricky.

I reach for a nearby drawer and, luckily, find all of my towels. Grabbing one, I put it on her arms and nod to her, telling her to wipe off with it. As she gets it off, she still whines to me, explaining that she can still feel it all over her. What a girl. All of the emotions in the world are right here, in this room. One second, she's loving and affection, then she's bossy, and the next she's freaking out over egg yolk. Who knows what will happen next? I simply pat her shoulder and head back to the wall.

“Don't worry. You're doing just fine. Just finish breakfast and, before we eat, you can get your hands washed or a bath in or something.” As I speak to her, she gives me no response. She just starts going at that egg and pan with the spatula. This is an interesting moment...

What can I say about how the day is proceeding, thus far? I want to say there is a huge revelation in our lives that is happening. On some level, I want every single day of our lives to be big, important, crucial. I want every moment we spend together to be something big that is happening. This, of course, is just a desire within a fantasy world. If there's one thing that I know about real life, it's that it's not all crucial, important, and big. No matter how much I want something crucial and emotional to happen every day, it's not going to be that way. Nor should it be. If every day was emotional and crucial, we'd have no time for rest and relaxation.

For now, though, life is going steady. As my frustrated, little Rebecca wipes off most of the egg yolk that got on her, she is continuing her work with getting breakfast made. To her, this day probably is big, even if it isn't for me. Size aside, her day seems to be starting off on something important to her. She has shown, all too often, that she wants to make breakfast for the two of us. She doesn't want my help with anything, in regards to this. She wants to do it on her own. She wants to be able to do something like this, on her own.

I suppose you can call this her being independent. Then again, maybe there is something else she wants with this. Maybe she wants to prove that she can take care of herself, or maybe she just wants to be able to cook food for me, to be doing it. Either way, I'm going to let her do as much as she wishes, unless she gets in trouble. I'm naturally overprotective of people and their safety. If I were to make and enforce rules around here, without regard for her wishes, I'd likely do everything for her. She would do almost nothing, but sit around and spend time with me. She would have no responsibilities or anything. I would do everything for her.

This isn't that situation, though. As much as I wish to do everything for her, and that I really want to devote my efforts to her, I cannot do that. Rebecca is, after all, a human being. She may only be about 1/3 of my height, but that doesn't change the fact that she is just as human as I am. She has her own desires for independence and everything else that I feel. So, I need to respect her and let her do things. I sit by and watch her pick up a spatula and work on the eggs as I think on all of this.

Seeing her trying to use the spatula to scramble eggs is quite a sight. The spatula is half as tall as she is, so it looks more like she's poking a big walking stick into the pan. Her fingers are wrapped, tightly, around the handle of the spatula, and with every motion, I can hear a grunting noise. With every grunt, more of the egg is pushed aside and moved. She forgot to mix up the yolks before making the scrambled eggs, I notice. It's her breakfast, though. I know not to interrupt her and make suggestions. She wants to do this on her own, so I shall let her do that.

Her form is still interesting to watch, though. She is struggling with the spatula. Her face starts to get red with each extra motion she uses. After about a minute, I can see sweat starting to drip down her forehead. I cannot help, but smile to her as I see this. This picture makes me happy. It's not just the fact that she's doing this, on her own, but more. The fact that she is putting so much effort into this is the best part, to me. The look on her face, the shaking of her arms and legs, all point towards the conclusion that it's wearing her out. Yet, she doesn't ask for help.

After a few more minutes, probably much more scrambling than anyone would ever do with scrambled eggs, she turns and tosses the spatula across the room. The way she turns and moves her body makes her look like someone tossing a spear forward. The spatula shoots across the room, but halfway to the sink, it loses it's momentum. As it does so, it falls to the floor. I walk over and pick it up, putting it in the sink, as she says “Oh...c-come...come on!”

The pauses in her voice are showing me that she has truly spent all the energy she has on this meal. I retrieve a plate and another spatula, beginning to take the scrambled eggs from the pan and put them onto the plate. They don't look like they should, of course. Some of the eggs are still white, and there are huge bubbles from where the yolk wasn't mixed well with the whites. As many faults as I see here, though, I don't really want to say it to Rebecca. So, instead of saying how bad it looks, I say “Good job. It looks delicious.” It might be a lie, but lies are useful, in certain situations. The eggs will likely taste good, no matter how they look, and she might need this little boost of confidence.

She doesn't say anything in response to my praise, though. As I look over to her, after setting the plate and pan down, she is rubbing across her arms. “Ew...still sticky” she says. I know the feelings. Even though she wiped that egg yolk off herself, there is likely residue still there, making her arms feel tight and sticky. I feel the same thing whenever I get something sticky on myself and don't wash it off right away. Taking the focus to her, I smile towards her and ask her where all she feels sticky.

“Everywhere, really...my arms, stomach, chest...all over. Not that it should concern you or anything! I just need to wash up really fast and I'll be good as new, just like you said.” Her tone was a little more positive now. This is, likely, because of the praise I just gave her. She might have a little confidence boost and trust with me, now that she has succeeded in what she wanted to do, and I let her do pretty much all of it, herself.

I offer her my hand and suggest the next course of action. “Fair enough. Come on. Take my hand and we'll go back up to the bathroom. You can soak away all of that stickiness in a nice, warm bath. I'll even stay in there with you, to help you. Well, um...” My face starts to blush as I begin to talk about staying in the bathroom with her. “..if that's okay with you, Rebecca. I wanna make sure you get washed properly, especially with how much egg yolk you got on you. You could slip, trying to get into the tub and all...you know. I should make sure you're safe!”

The blushing is returned in an instant. Obviously, we were both thinking of the same thing. Rebecca, in the bath tub, with no clothes on. And me in the room, at the same time. I'm not sure if she's ready to do something like that, but I wanted to suggest it, anyways. Can't hurt, right?