--- Hild ---

I didn't know how long I slept, and I only woke up when I felt someone stir next to me. For a moment, I was confused until I remembered: the girl!

I turned, facing her in what I hoped was a reassuring and comforting way. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow on our faces, indicating that we had both been sleeping for a long time. 

"Hi. My name is Hild. We met yesterday; I don't know if you remember. You have been out for more than 24 hours. How are you feeling?"

She flickered her eyes as if trying to remember how she got here, who I was, and god knows what else. Her eyes were clear blue, and I guessed she was pretty under all those bruises and bandages—brave, little girl. I took her hand.

"Are you hurting?"

She swallowed, and it looked like she was doing some damage control. She looked at me again.

"My leg a little, and the arm, the shoulder a little, and my head," she said and dropped my hand to touch her forehead. Feeling the bandage there, she looked at me with a worried face.

"It will be fine. Shall we go to the kitchen and get some breakfast? I can make scrambled eggs if you want."

She looked at me with new life in her eyes, and I almost heard her stomach rumble. I helped her up to a sitting position, and by doing so, I realised I was in no better shape. It hurt from my torso, my head, and basically everywhere. 

Broken, we helped each other up to standing positions, and slowly, like we were little old ladies, we walked out into the kitchen area, just outside the bedroom.

A low growl made us stop in our steps. Right! Harry, the grump, was still inside, and even though I thought it changed yesterday, he still disliked me. Walking towards him, however, I noticed he was not growling at me. It was the girl. The growl intensified, and he bared his teeth in a very "do not come closer"- kind of way. I crouched down in front of him and patted him on the head.

"Harry."

I was surprised he stopped his antics and looked me dead in the eye, making me pause for a second, slightly taken aback by his undogly behaviour. He waited. I continued.

"Harry. This is a friend to me. To us. She helped us yesterday, and she is a friend. F. R. I. E. N. D." I spelt it out, just in case dogs knew how to spell, and my slow talking would help him understand.

I don't know if he understood me, but he gave me some sort of look and stopped growling.

"Good boy."

He seemed to huff in annoyance at the mere thought of him being a good boy, but I didn't care. At that moment, he was the best boy I knew. Literally.

The girl slowly walked up to us and sat down next to Harry. His upper lip trembled as if he still wasn't convinced that she was not a threat, but she carefully patted his head. After a while, he sighed, put his head back on his big front paws, and either ignored her or pretended to. 

I opened the door to the small patio to let him out, and he jumped off the sofa and ran out. I could see through the window that he did his business at the small gate surrounding the tiny garden that belonged to the cabin. Then he left the garden and circled our area, peeing on all corner posts as if to literally mark his territory. Dogs.

I turned back to the girl and smiled.

"Breakfast?"

She smiled back and nodded eagerly, and I started scrambling the eggs.

She got up from the sofa and moved to the kitchen table, closer to me.

"My name is Beonnie," she said and smiled at a happy memory. "My friends call me B."

I smiled back.

"Ok... B," I said tentatively, and she nodded approvingly. "It is very nice to meet you."

I cracked the eggs on the edge of the pot, added milk and some flour, and stirred slowly. I started with the bacon in a frying pan, and soon, the sizzling started making the proximity to the frying pan risky business. The sound blended nicely with the aroma, and my mouth almost started to water. Some salt and pepper on the eggs later, and we were good to go.

I divided my creations onto three plates and took one of them out to Harry together with his water bowl. The Labrador finished his breakfast in about two seconds and huffed as thanks. Then I grabbed the other two plates with our breakfast and sat opposite the girl.

"Here you go," I put the plate in front of her, and she smiled.

"Tack."

I looked up.

"Tack?"

"It means thank you in some language my Dad taught me," she answered with a dry smile. It's like a tradition—sort of."

I smiled at her.

"Ok. Are you and your Dad close?"

She stopped chewing and shot me a quick look before she stared down her plate.

"No, I think he is dead," she murmured the last word, and I was again reminded of how little I knew about her.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, B. Is that why you were with Laverne?"

Her eyes snapped up to me, and she furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Laverne? Who is that?" she asked and stared at me in bewilderment.

"Laverne is the guy who held us captive.. or me at least.. and you. Why were you there again? In Kurt's house, I mean."

"Kurt?"

Our conversation was staggering. Like we were reading the same page but from different books, it was apparent we needed to get on the same page. I smiled.

"Heh, okay. Let us start from the beginning to straighten things out," I said and leaned back. I'm Hild Connors. Connors, I made up because 32 years ago, someone put me on the doorstep of a hospital, and no one knows my last name. My first name was tattooed into my arm." 

I raised my arm and showed her the scribbled "Hild" on my right biceps—if I had biceps.

She lightened up.

"Cool! I always wanted a tattoo."

"Well, let us get you one at some point then!" I smiled and continued. "I have been on the run since I was about 18 and moved from town to town. I have made a living as a stripper."

Might as well get it all out there. Yesterday was the day after all — no more lies.

She was utterly unfaceted—no reaction to the stripper thing at all.

"Uhuh," that was what I got.

She saw my questioning look and continued.

"I think a woman has the right to her own body. So if she wants to take off her clothes and show it, then it's her right."

"I thought your kind, our kind, was a bit more.. conservative than that."

She shrugged.

"Maybe, but I was not brought up in a pack," she said, then looked at me and sighed. "I lied to you before."

I looked up. She continued.

"My friends don't call me B. Not friends in the plural. I only have one friend, at least sort of. He is my friend. But he calls me B. And you," she explained with a shy smile. I returned it.

"So, I have been alone a lot, and even though I know all the pack rules and stuff, most of the time I spent alone on the internet in our house. I have taken most of the senior year courses in high school this year and spent a lot of time in chat forums on different subjects, such as women's rights. So, I guess perhaps that makes me a little different."

I felt something inside me finally relax, even if only a little. It was almost confusing to have a normal conversation for once with someone who considered me an actual person and not just a tool. 

"I see. Well, anyway. I realise I need to get my shit together. This body will not get a stripper job in a couple of years, and I need to get a proper job," I said and felt a little ashamed for not being.. better for her. But I was all I could give.

"So I started this education online to be able to work in accounting but kept the other job to be able to pay for it. About a year ago, I moved again; this time, I ended up in a small town a couple of hours from here. I meet Kurt and move in with him to save money."

After we finished our food, she got up to do the dishes. I leaned back and wished I had a cigarette. But no. No more cigarettes. 

"What happened?" she asked over her shoulder, finishing the dishes. 

"Kurt lost his job. He increased his assholiness, his drinking, and his intake of drugs. Laverne came to collect the money for said drugs. There was no money," I paused. We were now closing in on compartmentalised memories. Years of therapy to come. Did I want to burden her with all this? I didn't. But yesterday was the day—no more lies.

She patiently waited for me to continue. I obliged.

"They kill Kurt."

She didn't blink. I fidgeted with the tablecloth to buy some time to muster up the courage.

"They tie me to the dining room table and..," I stopped.

She looked up. Tears welled up in her eyes. I realised now that she had witnessed it. I hesitated. It hadn't happened for real until I said it. I knew that. I fidgeted some more with the tablecloth. Tears were burning behind my eyelids, begging to be let out, but I knew if I did let them out, it meant someone hurt me. If I didn't cry, nothing terrible had happened. I swallowed. My throat hurt. She helped me by finishing my sentence.

".. they have their way with the body on the table."

I looked at her, nodded, and repeated her words.

"They have their way with the body on the table," I repeated. Not with me, just with the body that wasn't mine.

She frowned and exhaled, trying to calm herself down. I collected myself. The hard part of the story was over.

"And I don't know for how long that happens. I think it goes on for several hours. I am in and out of consciousness. Right before you arrive, I think at least, they hit me in the head, and everything gets blurry after that. Someone comes in and throws one of the guys off... off the body... and I... I...," I stuttered and furrowed my brows, trying to remember what happened during those incredible minutes when it all turned around.

I remembered someone coming into the room from the hallway. Someone dressed in black, with something black covering—oh... with something, like a scarf, covering the mouth. Someone with a bandage over the forehead—oh...my...

"It was you."

She looked at me as if unsure if it was her or not like she was caught between the option of complete denial and full responsibility and couldn't decide which road to take.

"Oh my god, B. It was you. Of course, it was you. No one else was there. I thought..." I rolled my eyes at my stupidity. What exactly had I thought? That they fell over by themselves?

"Did I kill them?" she didn't say it; she whispered it. It was a question laced with panic and desperation.

"No, they were pretty beaten up but alive," I tried to calm her down. It was true, but I didn't think she would go uncharged if caught.

"Good."

I got up from the chair. It had been an exhausting breakfast, even at this time of day. I stifled a yawn.

"You know, B. We have had enough dark background stories for this morning, lunch, or whatever time. Why don't you go shower, and then perhaps, considering our bad condition, we can get some rest and continue talking later?"

She nodded and slowly got up from the chair. She didn't move for the shower but stayed behind as if she wanted something more.

"Hild?"

I was just about to leave the room and check on Harry but turned around at the apparent worry in her voice.

"Yes?"

"Can I stay here with you? Or go with you when you move again?"

Now my tears came—sweet, brave, little girl. I hastily walked towards her and threw my arms around her.

"You can stay with me for as long as you want."

She hesitated for a moment and then hugged me back. We stood like that for a long time, both crying, and I heard her murmur against my shoulder.

"Tack."