There was a time back in that hell they called the House, a time when I wondered what it would be like to be dead.

Would it be better than the life I was living? Would I go to heaven or to hell? I did bad things, very bad things. Some I was forced to do, some I'd like to think I did to stay sane or to keep the most important person in my life safe.

If I was dead, then I probably went to heaven. I highly doubt sleep in hell would be this comfortable.

I was warm. Not the suffocating warmth you felt on a warm summer night in a room without air conditioning. But the pleasant warmth you'd feel when it was raining outside and you were tucked in a blanket with hot chocolate near a crackling fireplace.

Not that I had ever been in the latter situation. I just supposed it would feel pleasant.

A soft surface under my body, a velvety feel under my palms and a squishy pillow under my head. And the smell...God, the smell. It was the cleanest thing I had ever smelt in my life, which, to be honest, wasn't saying much considering the kind of soiled life I had led up to that point.

I blinked my eyes open, an odd haze blanketing my mind.

A ceiling.

I hadn't seen one in a while.

Slowly, I turned my head to look around. The throbbing in my cheek and neck was faint, distanced by the cloud dulling my senses.

Was I drugged? I thought with a strange sense of calmness. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should be panicking, but when my eyes took in the room, I was too starstruck to be alarmed.

My first thought was: Daaamn...

It was a bedroom. An actual bedroom with four cream-colored walls, a ceiling, a very large bed with dark brown satin sheets that slid like water against my body as I shifted, bedside wooden tables and lamps. There was even a seating area with two brown leather armchairs angled sideways to face a fireplace.

An actual fireplace. It was my first time seeing one outside TV or magazines. It looked even more impressive in real life. Was I dreaming? I must be dreaming.

On the left of the fireplace were two doors. It was early morning considering the muted sunlight filtering in through the large window. The aches in my body made themselves known as my head cleared up. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was... it had been night. We were attacked. We lost everything and Mark and I were wandering the streets-

Mark!

I sprang up in bed. The room span. Closing my eyes tightly, I held my head in my hands and focused on my oxygen intake until I felt less dizzy. Gliding out of the silken bed, I rose to my feet. They sank into a lush beige carpet. I flexed my toes.

Pink pajama pants and a soft white t-shirt, both of which did not belong to me. I checked under the clothes. At least they hadn't taken off my underwear or my tank top. Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious. I didn't let the panic of that thought settle in. I needed to find Mark first.

My pocket knife was also missing. I looked under the pillow and the sheets, rummaged through the drawers of the bedside tables, but my knife was nowhere to be seen and there was nothing I could use as a weapon. Damn it.

Keeping my steps light, I made my way to the large double doors. I leaned my ear against the dark wood. There was a distant sound of conversation. Soft voices. Nothing that rang alarm bells in my head. The metallic knob was cold under my palm. I cracked the door open and peeked out. A hallway with light colored walls, a white marbled flour and soft artificial lighting.

I sneaked out, my footsteps quiet and hesitant over the floor. It was white veined with gray, polished and glimmering under the light. I glanced back, afraid I'd left brown footprints in my trail.

Following the voices, I walked by several closed doors until I was at the end of the hallway. An archway led to a vast living room and an open kitchen. A cursory glance revealed luxurious furniture, from Persian rugs and black leather couches to the stainless white kitchen and a large wooden dining table.

But my sight soon fixed on the two individuals sitting across each other on two armchairs in the living room. A small round table held an ongoing game of chess between them.

On one side of the chessboard was Mark. The knot of panic in my chest unraveled. He was unharmed. He looked so small in the large chair, staring at the board with a faint smile as he waited for the other party to make his move.

On the other side was a man. A memory flickered at the edge of my mind but flitted away before I could catch it. I'd seen him before, but where? He was a big man, the chair that swallowed Mark looked too small for him. He sat there, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a hand rubbing his stubbled jaw, his dark brows furrowed in deep thought.

Dishes clattered. A woman was in the kitchen, cooking by the stove, her back to me. Perched on the counter near her was a little girl around six years old or so. Her cheeks bloated and a half eaten banana in her hand. The smell of food tickled my nose and my stomach twisted in hunger.

No one looked my way, probably because of my muted footsteps, a habit back in the House. Staying invisible saved me from a lot of suffering sometimes.

I blinked, trying to make sense of where I was or who those people were. How did we end up here? The events of the night before didn't add up. I must have blacked out.

At least Mark was okay. More than okay; he was smiling. Chess always made him happy.

"Oh, you're up!"

It was the woman in the kitchen who spoke. She faced me, her pink lips stretched into a warm smile that lined the corners of her eyes. Mark was off his seat and running towards me before I could reply.

"Daphie," he said in a small voice, wrapping his arms around my waist. Putting my hand on his brown hair, I kept my eyes on the strangers.

I was on foreign territory with unknown people. My guard was up. But the presence of the little girl calmed me down some, because I knew that out in the real world, children weren't treated as they were back in the House.

"Are you okay?" I asked Mark in a whisper, my eyes flickering from his to the man, who was staring.

Mark nodded, a smile lighting up his blue eyes. "There's a chessboard."

My heart melted a little. I bent down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

The man slowly stood to his full height, and it was intimidating. I wanted to take a step back. No. Men are predators. If they smell weakness they pounce. I dug my feet in and watched his every move. He wasn't close, but his long legs could eat the distance between us in a few steps.

As I focused on his face, it finally clicked, when and where I'd seen him. He was the same man who had saved Mark and I from that raging motorcycle the day before.

Coincidence? Unease gnawed at my guts.

Unlike yesterday, he was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but that didn't make him look any less impressive. The man put his hands in his pockets. "How are you feeling?"

His voice was deep with a natural huskiness. It screamed male. Not something of which I was fond.

"Good, thank you." My voice came out a bit scratchy. I kept my tone polite, because while I was still wary of their intentions, they obviously took care of Mark and I for the night. No one had bothered to teach me good manners, but that didn't mean I didn't know them.

"Right," the woman said, walking from the kitchen with the little girl's hand encased in hers. They stood next to the man. The woman must be older, and there was something of the man's features in her and the child. They must be related.

"Mark told us your name's Daphne," the woman said with a smile. I gave Mark a sharp look. He hid his face in my stomach. The woman continued. "I'm Claire, and this is my daughter, Cecile."

"I'm five!" the little girl announced, going on her tiptoes to make herself appear bigger. The woman shook her head with a fond smile before clearing her throat and looking at the man. He was still staring. He blinked, shaking his head, then smiled a little.

"I'm Nathaniel. Claire is my older sister."

"You could've skipped the older part," Claire grumbled, though her eyes laughed. The faint crow's feet in the corners of her eyes hinted at a constant good humor. "You must be hungry after the long night. I made some breakfast. How about some, Daphne?"

I clenched my jaw, not liking the fact that they knew our real names. In hindsight, I should've made sure Mark knew not to tell anyone our names. That was a mistake on my part.

Back at the House, I had always been careful to keep that information from being overly shared. The names my brother and I used for ourselves, Mark and Daphne, were only known by a select few whom I trusted with my life.

"Daphne?"

"Thank you," I said, looking between the two adults, "but I'd like to know what happened, if you don't mind me asking."

"Why don't we chat over breakfast," the man, Nathaniel, suggested with a smile. When I hesitated, he added, "I'm sure Mark would love some pancakes"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from cursing him. I did not appreciate the way he used Mark to make me bend my decisions. I had to leave this place, sooner rather than later.

I missed my knife. I didn't like being in a position where I couldn't defend myself or Mark. But seeing the hopeful sparkle in Mark's eyes, I blew a breath through my nose. He could at least enjoy a proper meal before we left. "Okay."

"Great! Nathaniel, help me set the table," Claire said. Walking back to the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder at Mark and me. "You two just take a seat."

I arched a brow at Nathaniel when he just stood there, looking at me. He blinked, his lips twitching up a little in a way I didn't like. I had only spent minutes with the man and he was already grating on my nerves.

"Nathaniel!" Claire called, taking out plates from a cupboard.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered, turning to make his way to the kitchen.

With Nathaniel moving away, my body lost some of its tension. He was the bigger threat in the room.

"How old are you?"

Wrenching my gaze from the adults in the kitchen, I looked down at the little girl who had approached us. Mark clutched the back of my shirt and peeked at Cecile through curious eyes.

I crouched down to her level and gave her a smile, aware of the adults' attention on us even though they looked busy setting the table.

Cecile's dark hair was smooth as silk. With bangs that almost reached her dark eyes and pale skin, she looked like a little angel.

"I'm twenty."

Her eyes went wide. She looked at her palms. "How many hands is that?" she asked, holding up one hand with outstretched fingers. "I'm only one hand."

I bit my lip and held up both of my palms between us. "That's both your hands and mine."

She giggled. "That's a lot!" she then looked at Mark beside me. "What about you, Mark?"

Mark looked at me then at her before looking down. "I'm nine. I'm eleven years younger than Daphne and four years older than you. You're fifteen years younger than Daphne."

Cecile scrunched up her nose. "Huh?"

Cute.

"Come on guys. The table is set," Claire called, taking a seat at the dining table situated between the living room and the kitchen island.

Cecile ran towards her mother, who picked her up and sat her on a chair higher than the rest to accommodate her height. Claire sat next to her while Nathaniel took the chair at the head of the table with his sister and her daughter on one side, leaving the other for us.

I wanted to sit as far away from him as possible. But the table was set, so I took the chair closest to Nathaniel, putting myself between him and Mark.

The table was filled with all sorts of food, some I had only ever seen on TV.

"Mark? Milk or juice?" Claire asked, looking at Mark expectantly.

"Juice," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Mark, what do we say?" I told him quietly. He shut his eyes tightly for two seconds then shook his head. Putting one of his palms on the table, he tapped the surface with his fingers.

Sighing, I looked at Claire apologetically. "Please."

She nodded with an understanding smile, pouring juice from a jug into a glass then setting it in front of Mark.

"Thank you," I said. Plating some warm pancakes for Mark, I drizzled some chocolate syrup on top.

"You're welcome," Claire said. "I poured you black coffee, and there's sugar and cream. But if you want, there's the juice and some tea."

"Coffee is good," I said, adding cream and a spoonful of sugar to my coffee cup. It was hot in my palms. I took a sip, welcoming the burning sensation. Warmth traveled down my throat and spread in my chest. I gulped down the knot in my throat. How long had it been since we had a warm drink?

A sigh escaped my lips when I set the cup down. I felt someone's eyes on me, and I had a good guess who it was. I plated some eggs for myself and a hash brown, checking Mark who was cutting his pancake into an even number of equal-sized bites. He liked patterns.

"Mark is very good at Chess," Nathaniel said, putting his coffee down. "He must have learned early."

I nodded after swallowing a bite of crispy hash browns. They tasted much better than the ones we used to have back in the House. Or maybe I'd spent too much time eating cold, stale food.

"How old is he?" Claire asked.

"He's turning nine soon."

"And you are..?" Nathaniel asked, his eyes never leaving me. I didn't like it.

"Twenty."

"That's ... young," Claire said, exchanging a look I couldn't decipher with her brother, then looked between Mark and I. "So, Mark is your...um?"

"My little brother," I said, amused. They must have thought he was my son.

"Right." Claire chuckled lightly. "Of course, he is."

"I have two big brothers," Cecile said, looking at Mark's neatly cut pancakes. "But they're mean because they don't like playing with me. Mommy, can I have a little brother?"

Claire chuckled. "I'm not sure that's a good idea sweetheart. I can barely keep up with your brothers and you." She then looked at me. "Twelve years old twin boys."

I nodded, sipping on my coffee.

"We live just a few floors down, actually, so they might drop by later," Claire said.

I paused with the cup halfway to my lips. "So this is not your house?"

"No, it's Nathaniel's," she replied, wiping her daughter's mouth with a napkin.

"I see." My shoulders tensed under the weight of Nathaniel's gaze. The news that we were in his place made it even harder to relax.

"Why do you do that?" Cecile asked, pointing at Mark's plate. "Mommy, why does he cut it like that?"

Mark froze. He dropped his fork and knife with a clatter, and started banging on the table with one of his hands. The dishes rattled.

"Mark," I said. My heart raced. I turned in my seat to face him. "Mark, sweetie, don't do that, please."

He stopped banging on the table, but switched instead to his head, hitting the sides of his head with his eyes clenched shut. I took hold of his head and held it to my chest, making shushing sounds.

"It's okay, Mark," I said, not letting go of his head even when his hands scratched at mine to let go. "Shh, it's okay. It's going to be okay."

"No. No, no, no," he said, repeatedly, struggling more against me. I could hear Cecile asking questions and her mother responding, but I was focused on keeping my brother from hurting himself. Nathaniel moved to crouched next to us. I tensed, keeping my eyes on him.

"Why don't you take him to the room, see if he'll relax there?" he suggested with a small smile as Mark's voice got louder and he started crying. Shifting my eyes from him to Mark, I hesitantly nodded. "Okay."

"Do you want me to carry him?"

"No!" I said more sharply than I intended. "No, he's... no, I got it."

Nathaniel's dark eyes saw too much. He stood up. "Alright, then. Come on."

I gathered Mark in my arms even as he flailed his arms and arched his body away, then followed Nathaniel to the room I had been sleeping in. I sat down on bed and hugged Mark to stop him from hurting himself. I rocked him back and forth, humming under my breath. It was something I did when he was younger or when he had one of his episodes.

He calmed down after a few minutes. Nathaniel had gone into one of the doors inside the bedroom. The sound of water running reached my ears. He came out to find me rocking Mark on my lap.

"There's a bath running if you want," Nathaniel said in a quiet voice. His dark brown eyes were soft and caring, not something I expected of such an intimidating man. "Maybe it'll help him calm down?"

He was being kind, and I was finding it difficult to keep my guard up around him. That was a bad sign. However, there was no need to be mean. I forced a smile on my face. "Thank you."

His eyes seemed to light up. He nodded and left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

"Mark, do you want to take a bath?"

He was quiet for a few minutes until I thought he was asleep, then he replied.

"A bath," he said, pulling away to look up at me with a tear-stained face that pinched my heart. "A bath. A bath."

The attached bathroom was a work of art, hardly surprising considering the whole apartment. Black tiles, a double sink and a large bubbling bath waited for us.

Mark and I stared at the bathtub. We'd never seen one before. The House didn't have baths, only communal showers.

Mark smiled widely. Glancing at me, he whispered. "Bubbles."

I chuckled, running my hand through the fluffy bubbles and the hot water beneath. It was an odd sensation. Mark's eyes never left the bath as I urged him to take his clothes off by himself, helping once in a while when he got stuck. I winced when I caught my reflection in the mirror. A blue bruise blossomed on my cheekbone, a faint one on my neck. I touched a finger to my neck, it felt sore. I knew from experience it would stay that way for a couple of days. Oh, well. At least nothing was broken.

Mark held on tightly when I helped him into the bathtub. A giggle escaped him when he lowered his body inside the water.

He moved his hands around. I squeezed a small amount of shower gel into a loofah. The bottle said it was coconut scented. It smelled nice.

"Mark, where did you spend the night?" I asked.

"Next to you," he replied, playing with the bubbles.

His words pulled a sigh of relief out of me. Nathaniel and Claire looked like good people, but that didn't mean squat. I didn't know them, and the fact that I was unconscious for a whole night, leaving Mark alone with strangers, didn't sit well with me.

"Did they do something to you?" I asked again, keeping my voice low and tentative. "Did they give you something to eat or drink?"

"They gave me a sandwich," Mark said with a smile. "It was sweet."

I hummed, giving him the loofah and urging him to scrub. He ran it up and down his arm. "How did you feel after eating that sandwich? Did you feel weird?"

"I felt full," Mark said. "And this morning I wanted to wake you up but they said to let you rest because you were sick, so Nathaniel played chess with me. He said I'm good at chess. He said I'm good."

He grinned, the loofah stopping. I gently nudged him until he picked up the movement again. He moved to his other arm.

I smiled back, relieved. If anyone was listening, my questions might sound too suspicious, too paranoid. But the way I viewed the world was colored by my own experiences and the environment in which I had grown up.

I helped Mark clean up and washed his hair. His brown curls felt silky and smelled nice, and his skin was a shade paler when the layer of grime washed away. The water was almost brown.

The last time we took an actual shower was... I didn't even remember. We only cleaned up in sinks with cold water. With winter in full bloom, Mark rarely wanted cold water anywhere near him.

There was a knock on the door as I wrapped a black towel around Mark. His eyes drooped. He could barely stand on his own.

"Come in."

Claire came inside with a stack of clothes. "I thought Mark would need something fresh to wear, I also got you some clothes if you want to shower?"

I hugged Mark to me, tightening the towel around him. Claire set the clothes down on the counter and smiled at me. "If there's something you need, just call me, okay?"

"Thank you, Claire."

"You're welcome." She gave Mark a genuine smile. "Did you like your breakfast, Mark?"

"Yes," he mumbled sleepily. "It was warm."

Claire went quiet, looking surprised. She cleared her throat, her eyes looking a little moist and her voice teary when she spoke. "That's good to know. There's more if you want. Excuse me, I'll go check on Cecile, she tends to drive her uncle crazy."

She rushed out of the bathroom. Mark was half asleep, so I dressed him in a sweatshirt and pants. They were a few sizes too big on him, but they were clean and warm.

Mark's reply to her question must have taken her by surprise. A warm meal was something many people took for granted.

*** **** ***

"Nathaniel and I had dinner out with some friends. We were out of the restaurant when Nathaniel noticed you guys," Claire said as Nathaniel put a cup of coffee in front of her.

"With cream and one sugar," he said, putting one in front of me as well.

I blinked, muttering a thank you. He paid attention. The warm drink felt nice going down my throat, especially after the shower I had taken. I had made Mark wait for me in the bathroom while I took a quick shower. He was fast asleep by the time he dropped his head on the pillow.

After I settled him down, I left the room to find Cecile with a coloring book on the couch, and Nathaniel and Claire waiting for me at the dining table.

"It wasn't hard to notice since Mark was making quite a fuss," he said, sitting at the head of the table with a black coffee. "The area was really empty because it was late at night."

Nodding, I sipped on my coffee then set it down, wrapping my palms around it. "And you just decided to bring us home? I mean, I'm thankful but, it's not exactly what anyone else would have done..."

"We wanted to take you to a hospital at first," Nathaniel said with a small frown. "But Mark was very opposed to the idea. He kept saying something about how you can't go to the hospital..."

He trailed off, waiting for me to clarify. His gaze was so intense that I had to look away. I shrugged.

"Besides, we're not really strangers, are we?" Nathaniel added. When I looked at him, he had a playful smile on his lips.

I shook my head. "I don't think that first meeting should make us more than strangers."

"Um...what am I missing here?" Claire asked, looking between the two of us.

"A motorcycle almost ran us over yesterday morning. Nathaniel got us out of its way."

Claire narrowed her eyes pointedly at her brother. "Is that so? I didn't know."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing." I sighed, looking at the brown creamy liquid in my cup. "You saved us, twice. I don't even want to think what would've happened if you hadn't brought us here..."

Being passed out on the streets was the worst thing that could have happened. If the police had stumbled upon us, it would've been a disaster.

"So thank you." I smiled genuinely, looking straight at Nathaniel's dark eyes. "If there's anything I could do to pay you back-"

"Don't be silly, it's nothing." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Right." I drained my cup. "As soon as Mark wakes up, we'll get out of your hair. Thank you again."

Nathaniel looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he nodded. "It's your choice. You're welcome to stay as long as you want."

It's your choice.

He had no idea what those words meant to me. I swallowed. "Thank you. It's better if we go."

"Whatever makes you comfortable," Claire said. Her eyes flickered to the hallway, unsure. "Is Mark... is he autistic?"

"I think so?" I said. "I only ever read about it in books-"

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying more. I was letting my guard down.

"Books? You didn't take him to a doctor or a specialist?" Claire asked.

I shrugged. A doctor visited the House once in a while. But there was no way in hell Mark was getting anywhere near him. Looking at Claire's eyes, so wise yet so naive in a way I would never be, I doubted she would understand.

"Daphne," Claire began hesitantly, keeping her voice quiet. "When we asked Mark about your home, he said you guys left... he also said that you can't go to the hospital because they would find you..."

I stiffened, my grip on the cup turned deadly. I didn't take my eyes off my cup. I couldn't. I didn't want them to see the fear in my eyes.

"Are you- are you running away from someone?" Claire asked quietly. "Are they the ones who hit you? your face and neck..."

How could I tell her that I'd rather go through this a thousand times than go back there? That if they found me, a bruised face would be the last of my worries?

I couldn't tell her. And I didn't have to. I was leaving anyway. No use in involving them in my mess. Steeling my nerves, I looked up at Claire.

"No. Yesterday a couple of junkies followed us and took what we had, that's all. This happened because I resisted," I said, waving my hand to my bruised face.

"What were you doing outside in the middle of the night?" Nathaniel asked, with a glint that looked like anger in his eyes. "It's dangerous. There are a lot of places you can go to."

He was probably referring to institutions like homeless shelters. There was no way I would set foot in one. Not while I was still in this state, at least.

"Look, I really appreciate everything you've done. I literally owe you my life," I said. "Trust me, I wouldn't put Mark through any of this if I didn't think it was necessary. I know you don't understand, but... this is the way it is."

I looked at the two siblings. They looked like they had more to say but were biting their tongues. After a couple of minutes of silence, Claire smiled at me and pointed to the French doors covered by a sheer curtain. "Did you take a look outside?"

I frowned and stood, moving to the French doors. I pulled the curtain back enough to peek through and almost groaned. The balcony was covered by a thin layer of snow. The white flurries were still falling from the gray sky. I had thought we would be long gone from the state before winter got worse.

"It snowed last night and it's going to snow tonight, too... Why don't you spend another night here? I'm sure Mark would like to play more chess."

Snow meant the temperatures were dropping more quickly. I cursed my luck. If we left this house, we might actually freeze to death. Indecision warred in my gut. I didn't like deviating from my original plan. But life never gave a crap about plans.

I wrapped my arms around myself, flexing my toes in the fuzzy slippers. Another night in a warm bed and a proper meal? Mark would appreciate that, and so would I.

"Okay. We'll stay the night, if we're not imposing." 

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And chapter 3! I hope you're enjoying this, so far. 

Vote and comment. 

I'll see you tomorrow with more chapters of Homeless and a HMM update! 

Much love <3 <3 <3

M.B.