To Be Free by Marie-Ange Langlois

uncomfortable with her,
either.
    "Then I
met her when I
was thirteen, and things went to hell."
    He stops there, going no
further, and I don't prompt any more information. I just wipe the
sweat from his face and let him relax; something I'm sure he hasn't
done in a long, long time.
    "We should probably get
moving," he remarks after some time, the words slurred slightly. I
realize then that he was on the verge of falling asleep, and for
some reason the thought makes me smile. "We need to get further
from the facility before they sanction off the nearest hundred
miles."
    "We can't go
anywhere while you're like this," I counter, and he looks up at me,
ready to protest; but I manage to meet his gaze and not flinch, for
once. "You have a fever and I'm sure you're well aware that it's
a bad idea to
leave a safe place until you at least break that ."
    "That could
take weeks! " he
protests, and I press the towel over his eyes, scowling.
    "Not if you take the medication
I can scrounge up and you rest. This isn't the optimal location to
treat any sickness of any sort, but it'll have to do." The man
sighs in defeat, relaxing against me and frowning. I laugh at his
childish demeanour. "Get your ass in the shower and I'll get us
something to eat, alright?"
    Nodding, he carefully pulls
himself up to his feet, swaying slightly before shaking his head to
clear it. Without a word the man slips into the bathroom and shuts
the door quietly, and for a moment I watch the wooden door without
really doing anything. Not thinking or anything; just looking.
    With a sigh I stand as well,
leaving the room behind and exploring beyond the reaches we've been
through already. As this is a lodge (however small) there should be
a kitchen or a dining hall, and after skirting past a staircase
that leads up to a second floor of bedrooms I find what I'm looking
for: the entrance to a cafe-like dining hall that still somehow has
that distinct woodland feel to it. The circular tables and chairs
are made of wood and gas lamps hang from the ceiling the way
they've been doing in every room thus far - keeping with the theme,
no doubt - and three empty buffet tables sit close to a little bar
and the door leading to the kitchen.
    I slip into the kitchen, the
setting heavily modern compared to the rest of the lodge: gas
ranges, electric lights hanging from the ceiling, and large metal
doors leading to a walk-in freezer, fridge and cupboard.
    I slip into the freezer,
swearing a little at the cold, and glance around while I hug my
arms - I forgot to take my cloak back when he got up.
    There are boxes and buckets
stacked, each labelled with the item currently within its confines,
and I find exactly what I'm looking for when I walk a little more
into the freezing depths. All it takes afterwards is a quick trip
to the cupboard for a few more items and a few minutes to hunt down
a pot I place over one of the ranges so the water can boil, and
prepare the other ingredients while it boils.
    Sebastian finds me after I pull
out a pan to cook the meat, grilling it in small chunks to be put
in the broth afterwards. The smell of spices is thick in the air
and making my stomach growl, reminding me that I haven't had a
decent meal in twenty-four hours at the very least - it feels
longer than that, though.
    "Hey, quick question," I shoot
at him as he pulls himself up onto the stainless steel counter
behind me. He makes a sound that prompts me to continue, towelling
his hair dry with vigour. "Do you have a nickname of some sort?
Your name's a bit of a mouthful."
    He pauses, blinking at me while
his brain makes the connection between my words and their meaning,
and in that time I finish sautéing the chicken and slip it into the
broth of noodles and spices. The familiar smell gives me a feeling
of homesickness, remembering when I'd be sick as a kid and my
mother made me this very meal so I could feel better - and later,
when Annie would get sick she'd show me how to make it.
    "Seb," he says