Frost

Neighbors Help Neighbors

He did not speak, and the seconds that ticked by seemed to last for hours. The silence in the opulent kitchen was heavy, pressing against my eardrums until it was almost deafening. I could feel the heat from the stove radiating toward me, yet a deep, internal chill remained. My knees grew heavier, weaker, threatening to give out on me at any given time now, and I had to lock them into place just to remain standing before him.

"Look," he arose his hands as if I were a police officer pointing a Glock to his head. "I don't know what's going on in that brain of yours, but that's not even close to what happened."

My eyes narrowed into menacing little slits,

"Are you calling me crazy? I'm not the one kidnapping girls at night under -15 degree weather."

"What?" he laughed at me with derision heavy in his voice. "You, my friend, have lost your mind."

"Then tell me," I stated sharply, "tell me exactly what happened."

For just a moment, his deer-in-headlights stare returned. His pupils dilated, and his posture stiffened, as if I had just backed him into a corner he hadn't anticipated. It was only a fleeting moment in his calm exterior. He, however, quickly recovered, clearing his throat to steady his voice. When he began to speak, the hesitation was gone, replaced by a smooth, rehearsed cadence. He told the story with such fluid precision and confidence that it was as if he knew the details better than the back of his hand, every word polished and ready for delivery, "I was outside checking my mail because I hadn't been home all day, and I saw you there. . ." He paused for a brief moment to analyze my expression. "And you were shivering, crying even. It was almost a reflex to ask if you needed help, like breathing. You were nearly frozen to death so I'm almost sure your thoughts weren't clear, so you allowed me to take you in and give you a place to stay. I let you sleep in my bed and I slept down here on the couch to be polite."

What?

I gazed at him in complete disbelief. His voice was so sincere and he sounded as if he were reading an old nursery rhyme. It was as if he knew it so well, and it was hard to not believe every syllable that rolled off his tongue. Either this boy was very, very cunning, or I was losing my mind. I knew what happened. I'd slipped on the black ice and cracked my dang skull. I didn't allow some stranger to take me into his house.

Did I?

But if my story were correct, why'd my head feel perfectly fine? I foolishly lifted my hand, running my fingers across the back of my head.

Nothing.

I racked through my brain for any other logical explanation. He, of course, could be telling the truth and the previous night could've all been a nightmare. But no nightmare could be so lucid, so real. It was impossible. He had to have been lying, because I knew. I knew.

"You're lying," I inched backward slightly, my fists clenching.

"What?!" he threw his hands up, irritation painting every aspect of his face. "You seriously need help. I try to help you and you accuse me of kidnapping you? Wow." He was beginning to redden, the biceps beneath his shirt flexing and appearing more menacing than before.

Quickly, he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples as he did so. "You know what? This is exactly what I get for trying to help people. I should've known better."

I blinked, dazed and stunned by his sudden outburst.

"If you honestly in your mind think I kidnapped you," he sighed, reopening his eyes. "You and I can take a trip to the police station and you can explain to them what happened."

Although his eyes were opened, I could not see them. He kept them away from me, toward the floor. His face was sunken and stressed, but his words were sincere.

"No," I stated, my voice hoarse. I was defeated - I felt guilty. "I can't let any police see me."

I fiddled with my index fingers, staring down at them as I twirled them about one another.

After what seemed like forever, he lifted his eyes to gaze intently at me. Curiosity and confusion sprang upon his face. "You're running from the police? Why? You look like you wouldn't hurt a fly."

I ran away. My mother's lost every bit of her former identity to the biting addiction of hallucinogens and alcohol. And I don't have the slightest idea who my father is. Any other f*****g questions, sir?

I pushed my rude thoughts to the back of my mind abruptly and swapped it for a single sentence. "Why should I tell you my life story, when I don't even know your name?"

He rolled his eyes at me, exhaling deeply as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "You sure are stubborn."

I simply awaited on him to continue speaking.

He noticed that I wasn't going to speak, so he started up once more, "my name is J; call me J."

"J?" My eyebrows arose in suspicion. "Like the letter, J? Seriously?"

"Yeah," he narrowed his eyes sarcastically, c*****g his head. "J. Like the alphabet."

After a brief moment, he continued.

"What about you?" he pressed, his eyes burning with curiosity.

"Elena," I stated. "People call me Elena."

"Is that a shortened version if your real name?" genuine interest was decorating his entire face.

I was hesitant to give him my full name, so I merely muttered a quiet 'yeah.'

"I like it," he murmured softly, nodding his head. "So do you want pancakes or do you want to go back to running away as before?"

"I'd like some," the words that came out of my mouth surprised me, although I said it without hesitation.

"Alright," a child-like smile spread across his face, as if he adored visitors. "Sit down, I've got a few questions for you."