Carlos walked toward me, his footsteps slow and deliberate. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest, but I forced myself to stay still. No sudden movements. No signs of fear. If he saw even a flicker of hesitation in my eyes, I had no idea what he might do.
He stopped just a step away, close enough that I could see the sharp edge of the knife glint under the dim light. I swallowed hard, keeping my expression blank, as if the sight of that blade didn't shake me to my core.
Carlos looked down at me, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. Then, in a voice far too casual for the situation, he said,
"I know you're hungry."
My body tensed, but I didn't react.
"Just acting like a big guy and refusing it won't work on me." He chuckled, shaking his head as if I were a stubborn child refusing medicine. "I've seen it before. Kids like you are trying to act tough, pretending you don't need anything."
His grip on the knife shifted slightly, and I had to fight the urge to move back.
Carlos leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. "Come on, let's go and cut some meat."
I couldn't tell if it was a question or a command.
He gestured toward the kitchen with the blade, as if it were just an extension of his hand. "Let's cook something to make you feel better."
He was smiling.
But something in his eyes told me I should be afraid.
Carlos's arm was heavy around my shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting like he was leading me toward something inevitable. I forced my legs to move, one step at a time, though every nerve in my body screamed at me to run.
As we reached the kitchen, I kept my head slightly down, pretending to be lost in thought while my eyes darted around, searching for an escape. The door was locked, I already knew that. The windows? Maybe. But would I have enough time?
Carlos stopped in front of the refrigerator and let go of my shoulder, reaching for the handle.
That's when I saw it.
A pair of eyes staring at me through the window.
A kid.
He was small, maybe younger than me. His face was partially hidden in the shadows, but I could see his wide, curious eyes fixed on me.
Who was he?
Did he know Carlos?
Did he know me?
My heartbeat, which had finally started to steady, spiked again. If that kid was watching, did that mean help was near? Or was he just another helpless bystander, frozen like I was?
Carlos didn't seem to notice. He was too focused on the refrigerator, his fingers gripping the handle.
The door creaked open.
I braced myself.
Carlos spoke casually, his voice steady, almost friendly, but there was something unsettling about the way he said it.
"Sorry for the mess around here," he muttered, pulling a chair for me like a host entertaining a guest. "This morning, some kid broke into the house. When he saw me, he panicked and ran. Knocked over the refrigerator on his way out."
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"So, yeah. Now it's broken. Had to lock it up. I just remembered that on my way back, so I rushed here, didn't want you eating anything spoiled, you know?"
Carlos looked at me, expecting some kind of reaction.
I nodded slowly, my throat dry.
A kid? Someone else had been here?
Was it the same kid I saw outside the window just moments ago?
I tried not to let my expression change, but my mind was racing.
Carlos was lying.
The refrigerator wasn't knocked over. It was standing perfectly fine when I tried to open it earlier. And if a kid had really broken in, why wasn't there any sign of struggle?
The blood…
My stomach twisted. Was it his? Was Carlos lying about that too?
I needed to get out of here.
Carlos clapped his hands together, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Anyway, no big deal," he said, turning towards the counter. "I've got something else we can cook."
Then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he reached into a bag and pulled out a large knife.
I froze.
The blade gleamed under the dim kitchen light.
And in that moment, I felt it, pure, undeniable fear.
I was staring at death itself.
Carlos pulled open the door with a slight grunt. The sound of the hinges creaking sent a shiver down my spine. I clenched my fists, squeezing my eyes shut. I was too afraid to look.
But curiosity… it had its own power over me.
Slowly, cautiously, I peeked. Just a little.
Then I opened my eyes fully.
And what I saw surprised me.
It was just a normal refrigerator.
It looked a little old, its door slightly misaligned, and the freezer compartment was leaking. A small puddle of reddish liquid had formed beneath it.
My breath hitched as realization dawned on me.
Meat water.
That's what it was.
The blood I had feared so much, the thing that had sent my mind spiraling into dark thoughts, it was just thawed meat juice leaking from a broken freezer.
I felt my chest tighten with embarrassment. Had I really let my imagination run wild like that?
Carlos sighed, shaking his head. "See what I mean? This thing's a mess," he muttered, reaching inside to pull out a slab of frozen meat. "I need to get it fixed. But for now, we eat."
He turned back toward the counter, whistling a soft tune.
I let out a breath, feeling a strange mixture of relief and confusion.
Had I really misjudged him? Or was I just trying too hard to believe that everything was okay?
I felt like I was alive again. The weight that had been crushing my chest, the fear that had made my heart pound like a drum, suddenly felt lighter. My body, which had been stiff with tension, finally relaxed. I looked at Carlos, and for the first time since he brought me here, I managed to smile.
He noticed.
Carlos smirked slightly, his sharp eyes softening just a bit. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "So," he said, tilting his head, "are you feeling a little hungry now?"
His voice was calm, casual, like he knew I had been starving all along but had been waiting for me to admit it.
I hesitated for a second, but then my stomach answered before I could. A quiet growl rumbled from deep inside me, betraying my stubbornness. My face heated up in embarrassment.
Carlos chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes," he said.
I lowered my head for a moment, then looked up at him. There was no point in pretending anymore.
"Yes," I said.
In truth, I wasn't sure if I could trust him. There was still something unsettling about him, something I couldn't quite place. But at the same time, refusing his kindness for too long didn't seem like an option. If I kept rejecting his gestures, he might start asking questions. And questions could lead to trouble.