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Hannah wakes with a start. She immediately wonders where she is. Her eyes gaze about the sunlit room. The walls are gray, not a gloomy gray, but more of a calming gray. She looks down to see that she is laying on a dark, maroon couch that has some tears on it. There is a soft, blue blanket covering her. Lining the walls of the room are stacks of books and small plastic cases. There is a large television on one of the walls and several other devices under it. She doesn't know what those are but knows that she has seen them before. A guitar is resting against the side of the couch also. The floor is covered with dark green carpet that she reasons would feel good beneath her bare feet.
She glances to her left and views the man that helped her last night sleeping in a light green chair. Hannah gazes at him. He appears to be tall, his long legs are stretched out in front of him. He has dark hair that is kind of shaggy, and a short beard. The man has a black metal stud sticking out of his lower lip and a silver stud in his left ear. His arms and neck have different, distinctive designs covering them. Hannah can’t help but notice that he has a kind, peaceful face. The man is clothed in a black shirt, a pair of blue jeans and white socks.
She looks down at her own clothes. She sighs, registering how filthy she is. Her skin and clothing are so grimy and stained. There is dried blood and welts covering her arms and legs. Hannah glances down at her feet, which are throbbing. They have so many wounds on them from running that she dares not even try to count them. There is a large amount of blood on her. She makes a futile attempt to run her fingers through her hair but fails. Her face must also be a mess. She remembers being slapped repeatedly by branches while running from that place.
Hannah thinks to herself that he would never approve of her like this. She would most definitely be punished. She knows that she would be scourged in a boiling tub of water. Then he would use a brillo brush with some foul-smelling soap and wash her until he deemed her to be unsoiled. He detested filth of any kind. She had learned this the hard way. Hannah was expected to keep her dark dungeon spotless, which was hard. She had never had to clean by herself since she had her mom with her. Her mom would talk to her and try to teach her with what materials they had in the dark room. They would sing songs and reminisce about her dad and their house before he had taken them.
Hannah was about eleven or twelve when he took her mom away from her. He said she was filling Hannah’s head with nonsense, and that she was bad for her. She cried for her mom endlessly for days. Now, all that is left of her for Hannah are faded memories and a blurry image of her face. On occasion, she will have a flash of a clear recollection of her, although she has trouble distinguishing if they are genuine or not.
Hannah knows that she must stay strong. She needs to keep moving. The farther that she can get away from him, the better she will be. Hannah rolls herself gradually and silently off the couch and heads toward the door so that she won't wake the man. She takes a step and trips over a boot, causing her to fall. The man wakes with a start and looks at her. Hannah can't look away from him, and he can't look away from her.
He slowly rises out of the chair and walks to where she is sitting on the floor and crouches down.
"Are you hurt sweetheart?" he asks.
"Not from the fall," Hannah whispers.
“Will you follow me to the bathroom to get your cuts bandaged? I won't hurt you, I promise," he says sympathetically.
She shakes her head yes, limping as she follows him down the hall.
***
SAWYER THINKS TO HIMSELF that Hannah must trust him enough to follow him. They walk down his short hallway to the bathroom. He quickly kicks some of his clothes off to the side on the floor.
“Sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” he tells her awkwardly.
Hannah nods her head and continues to look down. Sawyer senses that she must be too frightened to even look at him.
Sawyer motions toward the commode,” Have a seat here and I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Hannah sits down obediently as he grabs the kit from the cabinet under the sink. He turns the water on, wets a washcloth, and begins to gently remove the dried blood from her skin. She winces when he touches her, causing him to automatically apologize. Hannah nods her head again and lets him continue.
“Babe, where do you live? Is there someone you want me to call for you?” Sawyer asks.
Hannah shakes her head no to his question. This confuses Sawyer.
“No to someone to call or no to where you live?” he questions again to clarify.
“I don’t have anyone to call and I don’t live anywhere anymore,” she answers so quietly that he has to strain to hear her.
“Do you stay at a shelter?”
Hannah begins to cry again. Sawyer feels guilty that he is to blame for this emotional outburst. He can’t put into words how he feels watching her cry, but he knows it pains him.
“Hey now, I just want you to be able to be safe. It looks like you were running from something or someone, am I right?” Hannah nods her head tentatively at him, signaling that he is correct.
“Do you want to talk about it? Do we need to call the cops? Who do I need to go beat up?” Sawyer asks her while smiling, trying to lighten the situation.
She answers quietly while still gazing at the floor, “Can we not talk about this? I don’t feel like talking. I’m sorry.”
“Sure sweetheart. Well, do you want to get cleaned up? You know, take a shower or something. You can borrow some of my clothes, but I think everything I have will be much too big for you.”
“Yes, thank you,” she answers gratefully.
“I’m just going to go across the hall and grab the clothes. While you are in here I can fix you something to eat. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” she replies simply.
Sawyer ponders that he has been reduced to some sniveling idiot in his own home. He feels that there is just something about this girl, that he needs to protect her. She is innocent, so much in fact, that he believes he needs to keep her that way. He abruptly hopes that no one finds out about this. He can just hear them now; Sawyer Monson has a girl staying over and wearing his clothes. He grimaces to himself. He can already see his image crumbling away at this very second.
Sawyer enters his bedroom and begins to rummage through his drawers. The only thing he can find clean is his favorite shirt, just his luck he smirks. He reluctantly grabs his Led Zeppelin shirt that has faded from black to gray in color. He thinks to himself that Hannah better not mistreat his shirt, or he will have no other option but to kick her out, sans shirt. He moves on to the next drawer and finds some sweat pants that he has had since high school. They are small, but will most likely still swallow her. Sawyer brings the shirt and pants to her in the bathroom and shows her how to turn the shower on. He takes a clean towel out of the closet and finds a spare toothbrush for her to use.
“Just holler at me if you need anything. I will be down the hall in the kitchen,” he tells her. Hannah nods her head at him and closes the door. Sawyer hears the lock engage then the water running through the creaking pipes. He stands outside the door for a moment before turning to walk in the direction of the kitchen. He wonders aloud if he has anything fit for human consumption.