Whispers of a Former Life: Episode 31

Charity didn’t realize how cold she was until Alejandra’s hand pulled away. 

In the suffocating closeness of the backpack, in the folds of that battered hoodie, she’d had warmth, even if it was stale and tinged with the earthy smell of weed. But here, in the open air of Alejandra’s tiny living room, the reality seeped in like an icy tide against bare skin: she was trembling. Trembling so hard her teeth might have rattled if she weren’t clenching her jaw tight enough to ache. 

A day ago, she would have called this room stuffy, maybe cracked a window, snapped her fingers at Alejandra to “air it out, it’s too warm in here.” Now her new skin prickled with a cold that seemed to settle straight into her bones, a chill that her little body could not fight off. The hoodie had been her makeshift nest, holding what little heat she could produce close to her tiny body. Now it was gone. or rather, now she was gone from it. 

What heat she had left came from Alejandra’s palm alone: a patch of living warmth radiating up through her back and shoulders, wrapping her in a fragile illusion of safety. Without it, she would be shivering on the coarse fabric of Alejandra’s sweatpants, no larger than a child’s doll left forgotten on its owner’s lap. 

She forced her gaze upward, following the line of Alejandra’s throat  that powerful, living column that flexed as she murmured soft curses around her joint. Charity’s eyes met Alejandra’s for a heartbeat. She found she couldn’t hold that gaze. It was too much. Too humiliating. This girl  this maid, this quiet, invisible shadow in her house  was now a towering keeper of her heat, her breath, her fragile life. 

Then sound split the silence: a harsh, tinny wail, sharp as a knife against Charity’s tender eardrums. She flinched instinctively, small hands flying up to press against her ears. But the phone’s ringtone was relentless, a monstrous squeal that filled her entire shrunken world. 

Through her fingers she watched Alejandra sigh, a plume of smoke rolling lazily from her parted lips. Her other hand dug deep into the same plaid bag that had once hidden Charity like a smuggled insect. Keys jingled somewhere deep in the clutter; a halfempty water bottle shifted and thudded; a faded hairbrush tumbled free, nearly rolling toward Charity’s bare feet before Alejandra’s massive knee rose just enough to stop it. 

Then, with a casual flick of her thumb that made Charity flinch again, Alejandra tapped the old, cracked phone’s screen. Her voice changed instantly no longer the quiet, almost tender rumble for the tiny girl in her palm, but a bright, brisk rhythm rolling out in rapid Spanish, her accent fluid and warm in the room’s stale air. 

Charity strained to follow. Nothing. The words spilled over her like a waterfall she could not even wade into. She caught only scraps  sí, mañana, no te preocupes  the same useless vocabulary she’d half learned from a freshman Spanish class, back when her only concern had been passing with a B so she wouldn’t lose Friday privileges. 

She hated it. Hated the way the voice that had once jumped to answer her orders now switched languages at will. Alejandra had always answered in perfect English before polite, subdued, not wanting trouble. Now she chose Spanish like a private armor, a fence Charity could not climb no matter how hard she strained to listen. 

Then, in the middle of a stream of lyrical syllables, Alejandra paused. She turned her mouth away from the phone, took a measured drag on the joint, and exhaled the fragrant smoke in a practiced gust pointed carefully away from Charity, a gesture so tiny yet so stinging in its quiet authority. 

When she spoke, it was half Spanish, half English, that teasing borderland Alejandra owned so easily: 

“Hey, siéntete comfy, huh?” 

Her voice  so calm, so hers now  made Charity’s stomach twist into a cold knot. Siéntete… Sit. Relax. She remembered the conjugation from a test she’d cheated on, back when life was nothing but parties and gossip and whose father owned the bigger lake house. 

She hated the reminder of her own ignorance. She hated, even more, that Alejandra didn’t even bother to stick to English for her anymore. I’m not worth the effort, her mind spat at her. I’m not even worth a sentence you can fully understand. 

Alejandra’s hand shifted under her not lifting her, but adjusting her, a simple, gentle repositioning so that Charity lay more squarely in the broad curve of her palm. The movement made her heart stutter: how easily her entire body turned at Alejandra’s whim, like a kitten nudged into place. 

The phone conversation carried on, a warm cascade of Spanish that rose and fell like music Charity could never dance to. Laughter here, a quick sigh there, the faint edge of frustration when Alejandra switched to English for half a word before slipping back. 

Meanwhile, Charity lay still, shivering lightly despite the heat of the giant palm beneath her spine. Her mind gnawed at the impossible question: What do I do now? 

She couldn’t stay like this forever  perched in the lap of a girl who had once barely registered to her as a human being. She needed safety, she needed warmth, she needed food she couldn’t gather for herself. But most of all, she needed a guardian who wouldn’t humiliate her further  a guardian who wouldn’t keep her like a pet. 

Kira’s face flashed in her mind’s eye  Kira, who had always been a friend but never an equal. Kira would keep her safe, yes, but at what price? The thought of her old circle seeing her like this  a giggling plaything passed from palm to palm  made her stomach tighten so hard she nearly whimpered aloud. 

The phone clicked off with a soft tone. Alejandra blew the last swirl of smoke toward the ceiling, then flicked the stub of the joint into an old tin on the coffee table. Her eyes fell back to the little thing trembling in her palm. 

She lifted her other hand again those warm fingers, so huge, hovering above Charity’s head like a moving sky. 

Charity’s lips parted on a dry, broken whisper. “Please…” she croaked. The rest of the words  call Kira, help me, don’t leave me here  died in her throat. 

Alejandra didn’t answer right away. Her thumb stroked a stray hair off Charity’s forehead an act so soft it almost made Charity sob with shame. 

Then the giant girl’s voice rumbled again, this time slow, deliberate English: 
“You be calm now. I take care. But we talk later, patroncita. You and me.” 

Charity closed her eyes as the giant’s words settled over her like a heavy blanket the final, undeniable truth that she would not decide her own fate tonight. 

Alejandra would. 

And so, she lay still, listening to the faint thrum of Alejandra’s pulse beneath her back, letting its warmth soak into her bones as her mind fluttered at the edge of exhaustion, fear, and reluctant, humbling trust. 

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