Charity’s body tensed as the creak of shifting bedsprings cut through the quiet. The rhythmic breathing that had filled the room like a low, steady tide faltered, then caught. A grunt. A rustle of fabric. Then a long, rasping yawn that seemed to stretch across the walls of the apartment.
She didn’t need to see Alejandra to know she’d just sat up.
The sounds were so much louder from inside the bag, muffled, but cavernous. Every groan of the mattress, every socked foot thumping to the linoleum floor sent faint vibrations through the desk and into the backpack itself. It was like being inside a tent during a windstorm, only the wind was Alejandra’s footsteps and the storm was her waking body.
Charity didn’t move. She lay still, buried beneath the draped sleeve of the hoodie she’d used as a blanket, her breath held like a secret.
The zipper had been left slightly open, just a crack. From where she lay, she could see slivers of the room through the narrow mesh airhole in the front of the bag: light leaking through the bent blinds, the sagging edge of the mattress, the legs of the chair Alejandra had tossed her jacket over last night.
There was a moment of silence. Then: a phone buzzed.
Not hers anymore. Charity’s stomach twisted.
She heard Alejandra mutter something in Spanish, low and slurred from sleep. A pause. The buzz again, followed by a soft thud as her phone was picked up off the nightstand. The familiar rhythm of taps and swipes filled the air, Alejandra scrolling through messages, maybe checking the location ping from the little tracking app that was probably set as her homescreen now.
Charity’s face flushed hot. Her chip would be sending signals even now, little digital breadcrumbs that told her exact position, her temperature, her activity. A blinking beacon that said: Yours. Always.
The bed creaked again. Footsteps padded toward the kitchenette. A cupboard opened, slammed shut. Water rushed into the kettle. Another pause. A sigh.
Charity edged forward inside the bag, careful not to shift the whole fabric landscape with her movement. She clung to one of the thick seams like a handrail, peering out the tiny mesh window.
From her low vantage point, Alejandra looked like a moving building. Her long curls were tangled, unbrushed, cascading down her back like dark ivy. She wore an oversized t-shirt, twisted almost off one shoulder, and a pair of rumpled shorts.
She scratched her stomach absently as she waited for the kettle to boil, then reached up and tied her hair into a messy bun using one of the same scrunchies Charity had seen thrown into the backpack just days ago.
It was such a normal act. So human. And yet, from inside the backpack, it looked like something performed by a goddess in her temple.
The kettle hissed. A mug was pulled down. Instant coffee mix spooned in. Water poured with a loud splash. Steam bloomed into the room like a cloud.
Charity’s nose twitched involuntarily. She could smell it even from here, the cheap instant coffee, bitter and sharp, but warm and real. It filled her with a strange yearning. Not for the drink itself, but for the normalcy it represented. The autonomy. The routine.
Alejandra turned. Her bare feet slapped lightly against the tile as she walked toward the desk, the ground trembled faintly with each step.
Charity ducked back into the shadows of the hoodie sleeve, her heart hammering. A zipper hissed.
Warm light spilled into the backpack like sunrise breaking through a cave.
“Buenos días, Patrona,” Alejandra said softly, her voice syrupy with sleep and smug amusement. “Sleep well?”
Charity didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Alejandra’s fingers reached in, brushing aside the hoodie like peeling back a curtain. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, careful, even, but it still made Charity flinch.
“Come on,” she murmured, slipping her fingers beneath Charity’s arms. “Let’s get you ready. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
Charity didn’t resist. Resistance didn’t matter anymore.
As she was lifted into the air, she cast one last glance down at her makeshift bed, the rumpled hoodie, the warped floor of the old backpack, the frayed seams that now defined her sleeping space. Then her eyes turned upward, toward the world of giants she no longer belonged to… but could never escape.
man they have a lot to do today too? guess that means shes going to work lol
She can’t go to work chirty and her family are now slaves no one will pay her ?
I think she works multiple jobs outside of just at charity’s. Probably all under the table for shit pay since she’s an illegal immigrant though
You are correct she does a few different jobs that all pay cash like the stevens did. She does look for a job to replace the stevens job it just hasn’t been mentioned yet in the story. Its also kind of just part of the miniutia you can pull up job listing son your phone and scroll through and apply to whatever on your phone as you watch tv. So it comes down to partly things that happen but arent always mentioned. LIke you assume shes drinking water, going to bathroom, there is probably messaging or calls between friends and family but not every moment and minor detail is depicted.
The jobs kind fall into that. She works mulitple jobs but they arne’t all relevant to the story and there is pacing considerations the story is already 100+ chapters if i wrote it each detail this is probably a 200+ chapter story.
Alenjandra looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping.
yeah, Madison is like that too but when she is. awake not nearly as peaceful
I also love the tie-dye underwear she’s wearing.
she is becoming peaceful with being more physical with her dad and I hope bond with her mom. I think she would be more at ease being the guardian of her little parents with more of a physical relationship so she can feel them not just see them need her.
1) “She didn’t need to see Alejandra to know she’d just sat up.” that’s an impressive level of perception for someone who’s only just shrunk
2) “maybe checking the location ping from the little tracking app that was probably set as her homescreen now.” you’re important to Ale, but probably not that important.
3) “It filled her with a strange yearning. Not for the drink itself, but for the normalcy it represented. The autonomy. The routine” I’m sure Ale will develop a routine with her over time.
4) “Come on, Let’s get you ready. We’ve got a lot to do today.” Can’t wait to find out what they’re doing
5) “Charity didn’t resist. Resistance didn’t matter anymore.” she’s learning
1) Well its not like Alejandra has a memory foam bed or anything. She is just on a traditional bed so she could tell from the springs. You wouldn’t need to be a little to tell between the springs and listening to how a person shfits their weight im sure you could figure it out.
2) I doubt its her homescreen. She probably has litlte reason to check actually unless charity is missing but she cant get herself out of the bag.
3)Most guardians/littles do for better or worse.
4) im sure charity wont like it.
5) it only took almost 70 episodes.
now i want to see how she dresses and does her hair as a good Mexican doll lol
Charties clothes and dress arent really mentioned till sometime in the 80s i want to say.
you know I am into the physical relationship between humans and littles because its more important and helps the mental part of littles and humans so I hope some is on the way with Sara lol. I enjoyed in the earlier chapters she was thinking of Saras giant hand. Body parts she interacts with being a service Little would be so interesting because I am sure she knows creams and makeup.