My Mate, My Killer

“I’ll see you at four o'clock, Mamita!” I bellowed at my grandmother who was clemently watering her garden. 

Opening the small wicker basket where I carried my supplies, I double-checked the small first-aid kit: the towel, the white linen, the antiseptic, the needle, and a few apples which are all hidden under a neat white cloth.

"Where have you been going for the past few days?" My grandma asked in a calming voice, but I can sense that suspicion lingered in her tone.

“Huh?” I gave her a breathy chuckle. “Just the regular old days, Mamita! For your good health, I shall be gathering some fresh pears and perhaps a bunch of berries too!” 

While tying a bright crimson scarf around my neck, I caught up on the day's headlines from the newspaper my grandmother left on the patio. 

A blizzard is on the way. 

‘Gosh, I must hurry!’ I told myself. "Adios, Mamita!"

“Cassidy! Wait—”

I bolted out of the castle through our massive wooden door before my grandmother could physically stop me. When both of my feet already reached a distance from our abode, I laughed at her chagrined expression before yelling at me, her voice bouncing on the walls. “A storm is on the horizon. Please return home by four o'clock!"

But I only squared my shoulders as I trekked further. My mother and father have already departed from this world and into the next—dead, in simple terms. Therefore, my grandmother has taken responsibility for me. 

I was born here, in Spain. My ancestors who used to live in our castle are now at peace. Their graves are just within the castle’s perimeters. It's huge for the two of us to be living here, but my Mamita and I are quite happily content with the two of us and what we have.  

We don’t have neighbors, but I have a lot of pups in our backyard so it wasn’t a problem. And oh, I have another pet to bring home! 

A huge yet adorably chubby dog was waiting for me in the cabin. It's a long walk from where we live, but it's the only way I can get to him.

Even though there was a blizzard, I made it to my destination without incident.

As soon as I realized that the huge dog was still alive, I exhaled a frigid breath from my mouth. “God! This freezing weather nearly killed me but I had to come because I know how much you needed my help.” I patted its furry head, “Don't worry, everything will be alright. I’m just right here.”  

Smiling, I removed my gloves and put them inside the basket. 

Staring at the dog, he didn't show any tail-wagging behavior. His one unblinking eye gazed into my eyes as if telling me I was completely insane for a person to communicate with an animal. With a sigh, I proceeded to my daily routine. 

The dog started shaking. I immediately got down on my knees and wrapped a nice, warm blanket around his quivering body. “It's okay, honey. Mommy's here," I crooned, stroking his cheek. I discovered him in the cabin last week. He seemed to be almost dead which made me almost cry. His eyes were bloodshot. Fur covered in blood. And it appeared that his bones had been gravely broken.

Ever since then, I've been making daily trips here to see his injuries. I think his condition has not improved yet. Honestly, my worries are growing as each day passes.

‘You’re always worried about things that are not even yours to worry about,’ my own thoughts warred against me but I set it aside.

After spending an hour tending to his wounds, I decided to venture outside and see if the blizzard had subsided. For my grandma, I selected only the freshest pears left that weren't yet destroyed by the storm. My grandma is the only living relative I have, and I cherish our time together very much. She’s been having colds lately, and I was told by her that pears are enough for her.

Luckily, I managed to return at exactly four in the afternoon. Hence, I didn’t earn another set of scolding from her. We spent our night, like yesterday, eating hazelnut soup for dinner. 

***

I returned to the cabin the following day in a state of shock and fear.

In a puzzled voice, I voiced to the room. "W-Where... where did he go?" My eyes darted around the deserted cabin as I questioned. The dog is missing. 

The injured dog is gone.

“Hey, don’t hide from me please!” my voice croaked, anxiously beckoning him to come out wherever the hell he’s hiding. Is it possible that… he passed away? Oh. God.

No. “No!” I cried.

But if he’s really dead, where’s the corpse?

 I set down my basket on the wooden table as my eyes began to water. Then, before I could stop it, trepidation crept in my bones as I beheld what lay there. Who lied there.

It was a man. Lying on it calmly. And it caught me off guard.

“Ah!” I shrieked, slamming my basket right onto his face.

The man's lack of clothing prompted me to shout at the top of my lungs. Nothing covered his naked body. Although I’m already eighteen-years-old, I haven’t seen a raw member in real life.

 "Who are you?” I willed my voice to remain unbothered. “What are you doing here?!”

“Stop,” his voice was weak when he uttered a word. He was a large man, yes. His deep-set eyes were a forest-like ember green. His thick lips are lined thinly; his long, curly hair is untidy. And his nose is long and sharp. To be frank, he looks like he could crush me any minute now if he wasn’t wounded. 

“Wait a minute…why are you wounded?” It was as if I forgot everything I had seen in front of me and just went straight to let a finger rest on his shoulders.

He’s warm, and muscular. Yet weak. 

I took a deep breath and grabbed the needle, thread, and scissors. The man is in critical condition. I just couldn't let him perish even though I don’t freaking know who this is. 

“W-What are you… doing… “ he whispered and pushed my arms away, causing the scissor I was holding to fall to the hard wooden floor. I jumped in shock and shot the odd man an angry stare. 

“An open wound is on your chest. It must be stitched immediately!”

“I don't give a damn,” the man said firmly. “Just go away!” 

“But—”

“I said leave, child! Get out of here!”

“You will die!”

He barked a thunderous laugh that made the hair on my skin rise. “My pleasure, then.” He said before winking unabashedly at me.

Still kneeling in front of him, my mouth hung wide; I was prepared to tie him up in order to treat his wounds. There's a staring competition between us. My breathing becomes labored, and he looks ready to murder me even in this condition from the look of his eyes.

I beseech him with a hushed, "Please... let me just..." and looked straight into his eyes worriedly. And fiercely.

Putting out my arms, I made contact with him. This time, he stood firm. However, my instant reaction upon brushing against his hands was to recoil in horror at the prospect of being electrocuted.

We exchanged unblinking looks at one other. I was sure he felt the same way, but his outward demeanor belied his emotions. “Simply leave those there," he gestured toward the first aid kit next to me. 

I shook my head with absolute conviction in my tone. “No, you can’t even raise your arms.”

“Not your concern.”

“Well, yes, it’s mine!” I crossed my arms. “You’re living in my jurisdiction!” 

He sneered, smiling mirthlessly towards me. “How old are you? Sixteen?” Then, with a snarl, he cast his gaze to my breasts. Facing the reality that my breasts are underdeveloped, I felt a heat crawl to my cheeks. 

I can't believe he dared to say that. Both times he's insulted me today! 

When I answered, I felt like I was on the verge of tears. "I just turned eighteen, you idiot!"

“Still young enough to do it.” His jaw shifted, and his gaze averted from me. “And this idiot commands you to leave.” His finger pointed at the door with strength unmatched even in his weak state.

“You don't think I can heal those wounds, do you?”

He nodded his head but didn't meet my gaze. “If we don't give it a go, how will you know?”

He looked at me again. “Leave, kid.” 

He emphasized the last word. 

“Do not address me as such.” I pointed a finger at his face at the top of my lungs. “I am not a fucking kid!”

My curse made him blink and he bursted into a chuckle. Once, twice. Until he’s laughing his heart out on the wooden surface of the table.