​​Parasite

Seeing the opened vent window behind the teenage boy, I immediately understood he had crawled into the basement from that entry point.

Finally, I was no longer alone. I didn't care who showed up—even a thief or a robber—as long as I didn't have to spend two days in the dark alone.

"I'm not calling the cops!" Tugging his sleeve, I stopped him from leaving. "Don't go!"

"What are you doing, telling a thief to stay?" He tried to remove his sleeve from my grasp, and it slowly slid away as I had a weaker grip than him.

"I-I don't care if you're a thief or not. Just don't go. It's too scary down here. P-Please stay by my side," I stammered, "I-I have 46 dollars here. They're all yours. Don't go…"

I pulled out a crumpled bill and handed it to him. He frowned at me for a while before snatching it away. "Tsk! Fine. I'll stay with you since you're buying me fried chicken. How long do you want me here for?"

"Two days."

"I can make a few hundred dollars in two days. 46 dollars for two days to stay by your side? That's a bad deal," he grumbled.

Pursing my lips, I meekly promised, "I'll give you more money later. This is all I've got on me."

"I'll need 400 dollars."

Where would I even collect 400 dollars? Despite feeling troubled, I agreed to the deal. I would go to any lengths as long as I didn't have to be alone.

Once I overcame the fear, what followed was a feeling of shame. I must've been filthy and smelly after wetting my pants and spending a long time on the ground.

I stayed away from him, but not too far—about two feet away. I stared at him in silence.

The boy didn't look at me. "Why are you pulling away from me? I'm not gonna steal from you."

Waving my hands with a flushed face, I clarified, "No, I'm staying away from you because I'm dirty." I didn't want him to turn his nose up at me.

His tone lightened. "Oh, don't worry about that. There are times I get filthier than you. I won't look down on you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's hard being a thief, especially when you're caught. They beat you into a pulp, sometimes so badly, until you wet and soil yourself. By the way, what's your name? I'm Eason Stone."

"I'm Alessa Lieblich."

"Alexa? That's a cool name."

I shook my head. "No. It's Alessa."

Seeing his confusion, I grinned and motioned at him to extend his hand. Then, I spelled out my name by tracing the letters on his left palm.

His eyes focused on my fingers that traced his palm. Finally, he admitted, "I've never seen this name before, but it sounds way cooler than mine."

Lips tightened into a line, I lowered my head. "I don't like my name."

Just like my destiny, my name was an apprehensive curse.

"I've been wanting to ask you about it. You look like a well-behaved girl. Why are you locked up in the basement?"

In my silence, he attempted to joke. "Was it because you secretly ate fried chicken?"

"Exactly." I forced a smile.

His smile waned. Silence filled the space between us again.

"Why, though? Looking at your house, you must be from a well-to-do family. Your parents had no reason to punish you for the 50 dollars spent on fried chicken." His voice echoed in the cramped and dusty basement.

Although Eason was a stranger and a thief who wanted to burglarize our home, I immediately trusted him the moment he sneaked into the basement, bringing me light.