The Afflicted Hearts (The Unwanted Bride Series: Book Two)

Apple of His Eye

     "What a freak." A woman whispers to her husband. I keep my eyes on my worn shoes; specifically the long nail of my toes with crusted dirt packed under it. "Oh she smells awful!"

     "I think I threw up a little bit." The man's voice is a whisper, but it booms in my small chest. My long nails dig into the little sack I carry, no doubt making small holes in it. Their voices grow quieter as I walk farther away. 

     My head itches so badly that I scratch at it until it screams with raw pain. The bugs scurrying around on my scalp only make the desire to scratch more intense. I press my naisl deep into the meat of my scalp and scrap until the itch subsides. I look at my nails. Sticky blood curves around the sharp edges of my nails. Careful to avoid more eyes, I duck into an alleyway, the one that has the best quality of thrown out food. I approach a large black box that stinks with rotting food. I push over a sturdy box and climb on top to peer into the box. 

     Burnt bread. Browning greens. Peels of potatoes. I grab as much food as I can, shoving it into my bag. My hands become slick with juice, or maybe rot. I don't try to figure it out their in fear of someone seeing me and not having food for another few days. I am already a walkling skeleton. Even at my young age of 6 I know that without this, I will surely die in the coming week.

     A crash from behind sends my heart lurching into my chest. I do not try to look at who or what it is. Like a rat, I scurry away and use the adrenaline to carry me from the town and towards my little house hidden away from the people of the town. I do not slow until I hit the bottom of the hill that the house sits on. My heart hammers against my chest so hard that it practically rattles my bones. As I trudge up the hill, I feel my body wanting to collapse, but I push through until I crumble in front of the door. With weary eyes, I did out something front the sack and take a bite. It is not pleasant. It is mushy and has earthy yet sour notes of flavor. As my eyes slowly adjust, I realize that it is in fact a very rotten tomato. Though my tongue screams for me to stop, my stomach rumbles happily. I shove in more scraps of food. I taste a potato peel, a little bit of burnt bread, soggy lettuce, and somethign crunchy I cannot entirely place.

      "Please! Wait!" A voice calls from somewhere down the hill. My body freezes for a split second before I abandon my precious food sack to hide inside. I carefully look through a crack in the wall of the cottage the rasping pants from the intruder grow closer. As the person reaches the top, I watch as they look around and their eyes settle on my sack of food. As they get closer, their features grow more distinctive. It is a man; a very wrinkly man. His lips are pointed downward, as if he were extremely unhappy with something. In a heartbeat, his piercing blue eyes are looking through the crack, straight at me. I pull my head away and make myself as small as possible. "Poor thing." His gruff voice says as I hear shuffles and the shaking of a bag. My bag. I slowly peek back through the crack. He stands looking at the door, his jaw ticking. Finally, he turns away; my sack of food in his hands. 

     My survival. He is taking it away. 

     Without thinking, I stand and rip open the door. 

     "Mine!" I scream as I run and throw all of my weight into his arm to rip my food free from his grasp. "Give!" My throat is already raw in pain as I scratch at the bag. Then, in the midst of the anger, the food tumbles from the bag. I throw my body on top and glare up at him. The gutteral scream dies in my throat as I am greeted with a very soft look from the large man. Slowly, he squats and I stumble back. 

     "It's okay." He says softly as he raises up his hands. "I do not want to hurt you. I want to help." His eyes are kind, but he isn't smiling. He is acting like he wants to show me how much he means what he says.