Tiny Raven

By the time I trudged up the stairs to my apartment it was well after midnight. I leaned against the door as I knocked, soft but firm.

I just wanted to sleep.

I listened for any response before pulling my hand back. Readying to knock again.

The lock clicked and I stopped mid-swing, shifting back half a step. I didn’t want to fall on top of Sans when he opened the door.

“Thanks,” I mumbled as I walked by him, not caring that I was being kind of rude. I kicked off my shoes and wandered to the fridge.

I was beyond hungry. Starving.

Nothing I could think of sounded edible. My stomach clenched in response to everything I considered. Everything that sounded like I could keep it down was expensive or too much time and effort.

I grumbled as I got to the fridge door. I knew once I pushed away the nausea and started eating I would be fine. This was just me being picky for no reason.

Still, I was considering skipping dinner altogether and going straight to bed. I thought I could hear my blankets and mattress calling to me from deeper in the apartment.

“Long day?” Sans asked. He’d come over to the island, leaning on it as he watched me.

I grunted in reply as I opened the fridge, blinking in surprise at the leftovers that weren’t mine.

Right at eye-level was a paper plate covered in plastic wrap. I pulled it out and looked at the sticky note stuck to it.

Angel –

Take care of yourself.

– Abby

“Your sister came over to check on you,” I half-heard Sans say as I read the note again. “Brought leftovers.”

I took off the sticky note and plastic wrap before shoving the plate into the microwave to heat.

Roast beef with gravy. Mashed potatoes with a little butter. The sweetcorn she made that I loved.

It was the same dinner our mom used to make when things were good.

“I’ll need to text her a thanks,” I said, distracted by bittersweet thoughts.

I knew, to Abby, the meal was a reminder of good things, of warmth and family. It was one of her favorite traditions after she and Xander got together. Making a big, traditional family dinner at least once a month.

The microwaved beeping pulled me from my thoughts, and I reached in to test the food. The potatoes would probably need to be stirred to heat more evenly.

When I turned back around Sans was staring at me over the kitchen island. The bone of his brow barely wrinkled in concern.

“You okay?”

I shrugged as I stirred the potatoes around and put the food back in the microwave. ” ‘m exhausted. Headache. Starving,” I turned toward the microwave, watching the plate spin. “I’m fine. Just need t’eat and get to sleep.”

“Starving?” Sans asked as he frowned at me. A strange expression, given his permanent rictus grin.

I shrugged again and opened the microwave at just the right second, clearing the timer. “Haven’t had more than a granola bar since my first shift.”

I pulled out the plate and put it on the island, opting to eat standing.

If I sat down I was pretty sure I would pass out.

“That was over twelve hours ago, and I’ve been on my feet running the warehouse.”

I stirred at my food, desperately trying to push at the nausea in my stomach and willing myself to just take a bite.

Sans watched me for a few minutes. Staring as I stirred the entrees together without eating. Before it became awkward he shrugged, wandering deeper into the apartment.

I started shoveling food into my mouth when I heard his door latch. Brain switching off.

I ate and cleaned up after myself on autopilot, catching myself about to throw away my fork. I tossed the utensil in the sink and hurried down the hallway, pausing outside Sans’ room.

“G’night Sans,” I called out. “Thanks for letting me in.”

As I changed my clothes I began to worry that Sans had misunderstood me. That he thought I was upset with him.

I had been terse, short. Annoyed and a little panicked. Rude.

He hadn’t said anything, but he was so hard to read. I couldn’t trust him to actually tell me if something was wrong.

I’d need to apologize in the morning. Even if he wasn’t upset, I wanted to make sure he understood that I wasn’t upset with him. I didn’t blame him for my condition.

While it was true that I hadn’t eaten because our change of plans to get him clothes, that was on me. I should have planned better. I could have figured out a way to at least stop at a convenience store or something. Spent money on the stale snacks in the break room vending machines.

I’d have to apologize in the morning.

I fell into my bed with a grateful whine.

There were three hours before my alarm.

I pulled my blankets over myself with a groan.

Five days and I’d have a break.

I didn’t dream.

I got up. I went to work. I worked three jobs, crossing the city on foot and public transit. I came home. I slept for too few hours before it started again.

Sans spent the mornings with me, but I made sure to give him my keys and a new “hall pass” every day. He went home before my warehouse job, taking everything I had but my ID, bus pass, and fifty bucks.

I felt safer walking at night without my bag. I was less of a target. It helped knowing I wouldn’t lose anything troublesome if something happened.

I wanted to look for ways to give Sans more freedom, but I was already stretched thin. I had been balancing on a knife edge before, and now I had to look out for someone else.

I had no time, no energy.

I didn’t have anything to spend on navigating the intricacies of “owning” someone to my overtaxed mind.

It was easier to write down the same information every day.

Wednesday night, while I waited for my dinner to heat in the microwave, he leaned against the island.

“How far away is your sister’s cafe?” he asked. I glanced at him, surprised to find him looking away, like it was just an idle question. Pure curiosity.

I considered. I usually drove, but Sans would have to walk. “It’s a long walk – an hour and a half, maybe two, from here at normal-human-walking speed – but it’s doable. Pretty sure I’ve done it before.”

“Normal human?” Sans asked.

“Also known as the ‘Not-Terra’,” I said, my tone academic. “A totally real value of measuring speed.” I smiled at a distant memory. “My brother used to hate going on walks with me because I walked so fast. He’d be sprinting while I took a leisure stroll.” I muttered to myself, deep in thought and memory. “If I remember correctly, one Not-Terra is equal to two kilometers an hour, give or take.”

The microwave beeped and I turned around to get out my food. When I turned back toward Sans his face was neutral.

“Could you add it to the list of places I can go?” Sans asked. “Well Roasted?”

I straightened up a little, surprised. “Of course,” I said with a nod. “I’ll add it to my notes. Anywhere else?”

I pulled out my phone, adding “Well Roasted” to the list I transcribed every day. I’d need to look up the address, but I could do that later.

Sans’ answer was immediate.

“That park you stop at before housecleaning.”

I nodded and added the park name to my list.

The park made sense, it was a relaxing space. Big enough you could be somewhat anonymous … although maybe not so much if you were a skeleton.

My sister’s cafe, while also relaxing, was small and intimate. The anonymity didn’t exist. I loved it there, but Sans had to reason to prefer it over a closer venue.

“I’m surprised you want to go to Well Roasted,” I said before my tired brain could catch up to my tongue. Annoyed at the feeling that I was undermining him somehow. Questioning his choices.

But if he thought he didn’t have other options …

“I like the pastries,” Sans said with a shrug.

“I know some places closer that sell Spider Pastries,” I said as I looked down at my food.

“There’s a Rainbow operated cafe somewhere near Solar’s. They almost certainly have them,” I continued. “You don’t have to go to my sister’s place, if you don’t want to.”

I shoved some of my dinner into my mouth, preventing myself from blurting anything else for a few minutes.

Sans didn’t say anything in response as I chewed as swallowed.

“I get wanting to go somewhere familiar. You’ll probably get stuff for free there,” I said with a shrug. “Let me know if you think of anywhere else.”

I wasn’t positive that my sister had instructed her workers to give Sans free food, like she had with me.

But she had a candid photo of me up in the back room. Her employees knew I didn’t pay for anything. They’d note it down and Abby would cover costs from her own paycheck.

I wouldn’t be surprised if as soon as she knew about Sans, she had added “Skeleton monster” to the board next to my photo. Probably other identifying information, depending on what Jamie and his coworkers said.

“Yeah,” I repeated after I finished eating. The silence awkward and stretched. “I’ll write down Well Roasted.”

Sans wasn’t there when I turned around from rinsing my plate and fork.

I went to bed with a shrug and a gentle, “Hope you sleep well, Sans,” as I passed his door.

If I ranked all the jobs I had ever had, my current night-shift warehouse job was the worst. Even below mucking out stables.

The gigantic building was both too hot and too cold. I had to run from end to end looking for items based on cryptic codes. Every second counted, a timer ticking down as I struggled to meet a quota.

I was faster at it than a lot of other employees, because I ran all the time anyway, but it was still grueling.

I always felt like I was running behind, a tightness in my chest. And sellers kept giving their products paragraph-long names.

I was looking for a garden gnome. I had the warehouse code and the first 20 letters of its name. I was having trouble finding it.

“Hey, chica,” a voice said behind me, an overly-saccharine lilt to his tone. “I’m Jason.”

“What do you want?” I asked, not hiding or pushing down my annoyance. I didn’t turn toward him, my focus centered on finding the item on my list. It had to be here somewhere.

“I noticed you don’t have your ‘bodyguard’ in the break room anymore,” he said. He leaned on the shelving next to me, trying to look cool next to a pile of rubber ducks. He wasn’t unattractive, if you were into white frat bros.

When I didn’t respond to him he tilted his head. “What happened? Someone dust his ass?”

He laughed, like it was a joke, and my skin crawled.

But no sign of my quarry. Maybe it was creeped out by this guy too and had fled the premises.

Sucks for me, but godspeed little dude. May you find greener lawns out there somewhere.

“No,” I said.

“Not a very good bodyguard if he lets his owner go off on her own,” he pressed. I leaned away from him, uncomfortable with him looming over me as I crouched to look on a lower shelf.

I shrugged, trying to look busy as I sifted through a box of identical cellphone cases. Hoping that if I didn’t respond to him he’d get bored, leave.

“Hey so … ” he said in a low, conspiratorial whisper, bending further over me. “I’ve heard some girls get wet for monster dong. You one of them?”

I froze at the question, my thoughts catching on the edges of it. The implications.

“No,” I said as I took a breath and kept looking, comparing aisle and bin number to what I had written down. I was definitely in the right place.

“Leave me alone,” I said, trying to ignore my pulse. “I have work to do.”

“Aw, chica, you don’t gotta be like that,” he said, tone right back into the playful lilt.

Was the garden gnome a cryptid? Where the hell was it.

“Not everybody would, but I believe you,” he said, a little closer to me as I stood up. He held his hands near my stomach, not touching me, but very close.

I held very still as his eyes rolled over my body.

“Body like that? You don’t need to stoop to fuckin’ a monster,” he said before he backed up half a step. Letting me breathe again, and letting me see the garden gnome on the shelf by his head. I reached past him for it, hoping I could cut off the conversation here.

“I’m not interested and here’s what I’m looking for,” I said. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Jason wasn’t finished, yet. He grabbed my wrist, stopping me from grasping the lawn ornament. With an almost-gentle twist he pulled me off balance. I half-stumbled against him, and he pulled me to his chest.

I took him in, unable to ignore him any longer.

He was a good foot taller than me, broad shouldered and solid. He definitely did something athletic. American football (he looked like a line backer) or weight lifting or something.

I felt very, very small with his hand on my wrist and his arm around my waist.

I couldn’t move.

“Let’s go out for dinner, Saturday night. My treat,” he said. “I’ll pick you up around … how does seven sound?”

He spoke as though everything were going to plan. Like everything was happening in his favor.

Like no wasn’t an answer he would accept.

My brain sparked at the irony. Had he led with the offer of food, I probably would have agreed. Dating for a free meal wasn’t beneath me. Even if I knew it wouldn’t (couldn’t) go anywhere.

Instead, he had ambushed me. Talked about Sans’ hypothetical death like it was nothing. Implied that I was abusing the skeleton monster.

Touched me without consent.

Unfortunately, my rage drowned, overtaken by a much more primal instinct.

Fear.

My skin burned where he touched. I desperately fought to focus on my rational mind as my lizard brain reacted with panic. My options were fight, flight, or freeze. I was already freezing, and it wasn’t helping, and I couldn’t flee.

I was like a cornered animal. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I wondered if anyone would help if I called out. The warehouse was massive, and I often didn’t see my coworkers. I didn’t have a radio, either. There weren’t enough to go around.

“C’mon, chica,” he said, the unwanted pet name feeling like a threat. “Give me a chance.”

His cologne was overpowering, cloying. It filled up my nostrils and mouth, over-sweet and nauseating.

I tried to pull away from him again, but he pulled me closer as I stiffened further.

“Dinner and dessert,” he said, mouth so close to my ear I felt his breath on my ear. It made my spine prickle.

Like a horror movie.

“If you don’t like what you see, we can go our separate ways.”

“No.”

Straight and to the point. I didn’t trust my voice with any more syllables than that.

I was drowning.

It was too much.

Everywhere his body pressed felt like it was on fire. My wrist was going to have blisters from his heat against my bare skin.

His voice wasn’t right. Smooth, silky, edged in a dangerous threat.

My nerves were raw, my mind repeating a single phrase.

A mantra.

Get away.

“No,” I repeated as I shifted my stance. “Let me go.”

He twisted my wrist, too tight and in the wrong direction. I flinched at the jolt of pain.

“Am I not good enough for you?” he demanded, voice raised. He looked at my face and laughed. “What, was I actually right about the monster cock?”

I pulled away from him, disgust, anger, and anxiety warring inside me.

“I was! You prefer fucking a skeleton that a real man!” he laughed. “Is it because you know he can’t do anything? You like to be in control, chica?”

I felt sick but finally found something to focus on.

“You haven’t been with me,” he said, although I barely heard him. “I could change your mind.”

The way he spoke about Sans was derisive, his tone haughty.

He talked like humans were better than monsters.

Humans. Who weren’t literally made of magic and hope.

Monsters. Who were compassion incarnate.

It was so small.

But it broke me out of flight, and dropped me right into the middle of fight.

“Let me go,” I hissed, my voice low in warning. I dropped my hand from his chest, letting him pull me closer.

I pulled the utility knife off of my belt. “Unless you want to see how your intestines look as a necktie.”

He scoffed, about to say something else, twisting my wrist until it felt like it might break.

Until he felt the tip of my utility knife pressed against his stomach, my threat becoming a little more real.

“Let. Me. The Fuck. Go.” I repeated, each word enunciated . I emphasized the last word with a push of the knife. I didn’t think it was enough to break skin, but I wasn’t quite in the mindset to care.

He released me and danced back a good two meters.

Still too close, but better.

“What the fuck, bitch?”

I snorted. Such bravery when he was out of arms reach.

“I said no. Didn’t anyone ever fucking teach you that ‘no’ means fucking no?” I demanded, trying to keep my emotions in check. I felt like I was about to cry, or laugh, or scream.

“I don’t know you! Why the fuck would I want to go out with you?” I snapped as the reins on my emotions began to slip. “You think you’re such a fucking catch that you can degrade me? My friend? That I’ll go out with you after you threaten me?!”

I laughed, adrenaline making me feel manic and wild. “Come near me again and I will gut you and stuff you like a fucking piñata.”

I waved my box cutter, emphasizing my words. “Fuck you, fuck your entitled masculinity bullshit, and fuck your fucked up idea of seduction.”

I turned around and grabbed the garden gnome off the shelf.

I stormed to the front of the warehouse, away from Jason the Asshole.

Fuck this shit.

I went to my manager to report the incident immediately. She advised that if I “didn’t want that kind of attention” then “maybe I should button up my work polo.”

As if my work polo – worn over a high collared, long sleeved shirt – was somehow scandalous with two buttons undone.

Like hers was.

I took my legally mandated break.

I wanted to break something.

I wanted to smoke.

I wanted to stop shaking.

I sat in the break room, regretting giving my phone to Sans. I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off of the tension taut in my chest. Over and over, I read the notices on the wall. Motivational posters, instructions on workplace safety, a flyer for an employee gift-exchange. Anything to calm my racing heart and thoughts.

It didn’t help.

I was on edge, angry and volatile.

I worked the rest of my shift with an anxious anger in my gut, snapping and growling at anyone who looked at me funny.

I didn’t see Jason the Asshole for the rest of my shift.

Good riddance.

I clocked out early, unable to stay in the building any longer. I spent the bus ride fuming, distracting myself with the adverts. Trying to think of anything but how I felt. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ignore the stinging, angry tears in my eyes. Trying not to let them fall.

I wanted to talk to someone.

As the bus drove away, I almost turned toward Solar’s.

Last call had been over an hour ago. The bar would be long closed. But I kept thinking about how perfect Grillby was to vent to. He was quiet, calm, nonjudgemental. What words he did speak were well-thought out. His presence was warm. Calming.

I wondered if I knocked on the restaurant door, would he open shop for me?

Invite me into the little apartment above the bar to talk?

What even were we?

I sighed, turning toward my apartment.

Whatever we were, it wasn’t friends.

Grillby worked hard. He deserved his evenings to himself.

He didn’t need to spend his time babysitting a stupid human having a panic attack.

I didn’t want to bother him. Didn’t want to be a nuisance.

I turned toward home, my footsteps slowing as the adrenaline finally faded.

I was sad.

Lonely.

Exhausted.

By the time I got to my door all I could manage was a weak knock.

I heard the deadbolt slide with a click and waited for the door to open like it had every previous night.

It didn’t, and I blinked at the handle. I hadn’t heard footsteps walking away from the door.

Did I mishear?

Am I so tired I’m hallucinating?!

I reached for the knob and pushed, blinking when the door opened.

So I wasn’t going insane, yet.

Sans was on the couch, watching a sci-fi looking show. It was familiar, but not enough that I had seen it before. A reboot or something popular, I guessed, but I didn’t look too close. I didn’t have time for TV.

I slipped out of my shoes, trying to keep my breathing steady and calm. The anxiety bubbled up, and I straightened I glared at Sans’ back. Resenting his intrusion into my apartment when I wanted to be alone.

The feeling faded as I reminded myself that it wasn’t exactly his choice.

He said nothing in greeting, but he did pause whatever was watching. He was alert, tracking my movement through the living areas without looking at me. Aware of where I was.

“You eaten?” I asked as I headed into the kitchen. My usual greeting, even though his answer was always the same.

“Yup,” he said, and he pointed at a pile of coins on the coffee table. “There’s the change.”

“Thanks,” I said as I put together a plate of leftovers, most of my attention elsewhere.

“Why don’t y’give me the exact amount?”

I shrugged as I put my plate into the microwave and started shifting leftovers back into the fridge.

“Coins are annoying to deal with,” I said. “I usually drop them into tip jars. What makes it back here gets collected for those counting machines.”

I thought about it for a moment longer as I opened the door of microwave, leaving the timer at 0:01.

I hissed softly as I burned my hand on the plate, moving it to the island so I could eat.

“My spare cash was, until recently, a bunch of larger bills. Twenties, mostly. Some fifties.”

This was better, talking about something that didn’t mean anything. Something concrete I could focus on. A distraction from the exhausted emotions that battled in my chest.

“So that’s what’s easiest to give you. But … I also want to give you enough that you can change it up sometimes. Get a drink, or a milkshake. Get two burgers. Whatever. Go wild.”

He sank deeper into the couch somehow, shrugging in response.

“Sounds like work,” he said with an exaggerated huff. “Speaking of, how was it?”

I stilled, just for a heartbeat, as the anxiety flared up in my chest again.

Am I acting weird? Did he notice something?

I shifted into a shrug, hoping he hadn’t seen the tension.

It was a normal question. Act normal.

“Fine,” I said in a practiced calm. For all the years it had been since I’d used that tone, I fell back into it easily. Like wearing your favorite t-shirt when you were sinking in of a swamp.

It was comforting.

It was suffocating.

“Lots of … running and finding random shit. People buy the weirdest things. People sell the weirdest things. You know garden gnomes?” I asked.

Sans nodded, looking at me with a brow raised.

“How about Godzilla? Kaiju?” I asked. “Giant, city destroying, radioactive, lizard monsters?”

Sans looked at me, confusion obvious. “What kinda monsters?”

“Fictional,” I clarified. “It’s a whole genre.”

“Never heard of it,” Sans said. “Guess it wasn’t popular in the Underground.”

“Not surprising,” I said with a shrug. “No big deal. It was just something I had to find tonight. Silly.”

I dropped my plate in the sink to wash, not quite ready to go to bed.

Behind me, Sans started whatever he was watching. I listened to the cadence of the dialogue, tuning out the actual words.

The noise was exactly what I needed. Sound. Unobtrusive but there.

By the time I finished washing dishes, I was done.

“Night, then,” I said as I left the living room with a wave and a yawn. “See you in the morning.”

Sans made a noise somewhere between an acknowledgement and a snore. I didn’t turn around to see if he was asleep or not. My exhaustion was overwhelming, and my hold on my emotions was weak.

I just wanted to be alone and sleep and forget.

I closed the door to my bedroom behind me, locking out the world.

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