“That’s too cold!” said a shriek from within the porcelain bowl.
Niabi stepped back from the stream of water cascading to the cool ceramic floor beneath her feet. A dark-skinned hand stretched across the opening above, dimly visible through the covering of a thin green cloth. It grasped a decorative plastic knob and turned it. Shivering, Niabi stepped back towards the water and reached out her hand. The water felt warmer. But hold on – she thought – that might have been too much.
Sure enough, she was right. In a couple seconds, the water went from gentle lukewarm to stinging hot. Niabi pulled her hand and backed away, turning to the opening above.
“Now it’s way too hot! A little less!” she shouted.
She heard steps approaching, and a dark-skinned, curly-haired woman soon loomed over the sink, dressed in a blue buttoned shirt. The woman turned the knob just so slightly in the opposite direction.
Niabi approached the stream again, and slowly dipped her hand. Mild and tepid – finally, just right. She stepped fully under the stream, letting it run down her body.
The woman’s voice called from above - “Sorry about that. Next time we’ll fill a bowl instead.”
Niabi stepped over to the tightly-shut drain and picked up a tiny bit of soap resting on top. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony - this tiny piece, probably no larger than a tic-tac, was just the right size for her. She wasted no time washing up. Hastily, she scrubbed over her legs, arms and chest, freeing herself from the muck, the grime, all the horridness she’d been exposed and subverted to over the last forty-eight hours. She shuddered to even think of it. However absurd it seemed, part of her hoped she could wash away the aftermath of all that malice and cruelty.
Hoped.
She took care when washing over her upper arm, which was swollen red and stained with dried blood. The moment the soap touched her bloodied skin, a stinging burn shot across her shoulder. Niabi gave an anguished groan.
“You okay in there?” the woman called out again.
Niabi shouted back that she was. Gritting her teeth, she took the bit of soap and brushed it over the wound. The torturous stinging resumed. She lifted her head to the stream, trying to push herself through the pain. This would also pass…she was safe now…
Right?
Minutes later, Niabi stood on the bathroom counter, drying herself with a small microfiber cloth. Not more than a month ago, she’d have used one just like it to clean her glasses – now, it served as a full-size towel. She wrapped the cloth over her body as the vigorous, spirited woman she knew as Castielle re-entered the bathroom. Pulling up a chair by the counter, Castielle took a small thin bottle and set it next to Niabi. The miniature girl could make out the beginning of the word wrapping around the label: Merthiolate.
Niabi knew well what was coming.
Castielle took an ear swab and dipped it in the bottle. She approached it cautiously towards Niabi’s pale left arm. “Just a light tap, okay?” she said.
Niabi took a deep breath, her gaze meeting Castielle’s. Her body tensed, anticipating the stinging on her arm. It’s always a hit or miss, she thought, sometimes you think it’ll sting like hell and it’s not too bad, and others you think it’ll just be a pinch and godfuckingdammit thereitgoes…. The touch of the cotton was followed by fervent burning at her arm, a feeling like needles pressing into her flesh. Niabi clenched her fists but stayed still, fighting through it. Glimmers of light faded in and out of her vision.
“Damn! That’s not just a graze,” said Castielle, holding up a small mirror to Niabi. “Looks like it actually did cut in. Who the hell did that to you?”
Niabi froze. The question forced her, for an instant, to think back to… that room. Enclosed in darkness in her captor’s bedroom, the feel of scissors’ cold metal blades clasping onto her arm. That menacing female voice, twistingly amused - “You think if I press hard enough, it’ll cut her arm off?”
“I… I don’t know her name”, she said, fighting to drone out the memory. “But her boyfriend’s in the football team. I learned that much.”
Castielle darted through the items in a first-aid kit, taking out a round Band-Aid patch. Even the smallest of them was large enough to cover part of Niabi’s upper back and onto her shoulder.
“Thank you. You’re… actually the first person to take this much care with me”, said Niabi.
Castielle smiled, delicately applying the patch over Niabi’s arm. “I mean, it’s just common decency,” she replied. “Sadly, decency is less and less common these days.”
It was a godsend, running into Castielle, even if by sheer luck. She had happened to walk into the bathroom at the Library at just the right moment, just as one of the many college jerks she had been traded through was about to flush her down the toilet. Half of her hair cut off, her clothes torn, her skin filthy with dirt, grime, and dried fluids, half-starved. The nerve of some people - as Castielle vented - taking advantage of others who couldn’t fight back for themselves. Castielle had taken the time to help her bathe, treated her wounds, even found her clothes to wear – a light orange shirt and a pair of gray slacks - taken from collectible figurines.
It had been the talk of the campus and caused a media circus – Niabi Paciello, the tiny barista, the dwindling millennial – and half a dozen other nicknames. An unintended mishap of the university’s experimenting in Particle Physics, and one they were all too happy to capitalize on. Of course, the university wanted to make a big show for inclusivity, to show they were making every accommodation available to help her - and of course not to get hit with a massive lawsuit. But all that did was fuel the fire and turn Niabi into an attraction. Half of the campus was apprehensive to see her, to take pictures of her, to hold her, never measuring the level of risk that she was in. In all their wonder and awe, many of her peers failed to grasp that things that were harmless to them posed a greater danger to Niabi, at only one-sixteenth their size.
“Once in the coffee house, during lunch rush, ” recalled Niabi, sitting over the edge of the table in Castielle’s dining room. “I fell into the sink, and my coworker didn’t notice. He dumped a drink over me and I almost fell down the drain.”
Castielle listened as she poured chamomile tea into a shot glass. Niabi made her way over and scooped some up on a tiny plastic cup. If she didn’t know any better, it was like they were literally playing dolls.
“Now, I won’t even pretend that I’m as good a brewer as you”, joked Castielle, “so, don’t expect a whole lot.”
Niabi smiled. “It’ll do just fine.”
The “accident” had really screwed things up. Niabi was slowly going from being the lead barista at the Brewed Awakening Coffee House, proudly self-sufficient, mastering espresso shots, putting herself through medical school in the state’s most prominent university. And her shrinking was a gradual tumbling of cards… an inescapable collapse that was slowly eliminating everything she held dear. She refused to let it stop her at first - still trying to work and make her classes, despite the whispers and the pointing and the laughter as everyone commented on the “midget” roaming through the hallways. But it quickly got to the point she couldn’t get around anymore – yards had turned into miles for her. That contrast of being so small, of being so easily overpowered felt...demeaning. And she couldn’t help feeling that, somehow…she was to blame.
Maybe if she hadn’t tried to pretend like nothing happened. If she’d stopped going to work, drawing all the crowds. Maybe she wouldn’t have made it easier to get… captured. To be passed around the dorms like a plaything. She was still haunted by the maltreatment, the oily hands from college punks and sorority girls touching her, squeezing and pressing her, snapping photos, testing what places they could fit her into. Battling her thoughts, Niabi didn’t hear Castielle ask how she was feeling. Or notice her drawing closer. Niabi was startled to suddenly see a pair of giant hands stretch out towards her.
Niabi tumbled back, dropping the cup onto the table. “No! NO! Stop!” she shouted frenziedly. “Don’t grab me!”
Castielle froze, seeing the sheer panic in Niabi’s face. She was in no way prepared to being perceived as a threat. She drew her hands back immediately.
Shaken, Niabi dropped to her knees. She hated being in this state, and could see no way to escape from it. She felt….broken. Tears began to form at her eyes. The sight of the Castielle’s hands reaching for her, it paralyzed her. It brought back the feeling from that dorm room. The voices. Look at her, she's so frickin’ small. She's like a living doll. Feel her skin, it's like super soft. Hey, was that a grin? I think she likes it!
“I’m… sorry, I didn’t mean to startle…” said Castielle, her voice softening. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust… anyone, much less now. I’m… not trying to hurt you in any way. I want to help.”
“I hate… feeling so powerless. So… useless” said Niabi, collapsing.
Castielle kneeled down and leaned towards her, being careful not to draw too close again.
“You’re not useless. And you’re definitely not powerless. We’re gonna make the school and everyone responsible own up to all of it.”
Niabi struggled to collect herself. She had held back the anguish and frustration for too long, and it seemed to be bursting out now.
“Listen to me… Niabi,” said Castielle, almost whispering. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Tomorrow we are marching into that damn Physics lab and we’re not leaving till they’ve restored you back to normal. We’ll bring down the whole damn school if we have to.”
Niabi looked up, meeting the gaze from Castielle’s brooding, hazel-colored eyes. There was a look of sternness, like this was almost personal for her. Niabi approached the edge of the table and placed her hands over her giant fingers.
“Thank you, miss.”
Within the hour, Niabi was settling into a make-shift miniature bed on Castielle’s bedside table. It was made up of a sponge as a mattress, and cotton pads as pillows. Next to the warm, cozy light of a jar candle, and the tantalizing scent of apple, Niabi rested her head. So many questions circled her mind, so much uncertainty. But it seemed, at least for the night, that she could put some of her worries to rest thanks to Castielle. She’d found an ally. After all of her ordeals, here was someone willing to help. And treating her as a human being.
Her eyes grew weary, the tea starting to kick in. The fears and anxiety still tried to overcome her, although they were losing out to the drowsiness. Castielle circled the bedroom in her nightgown, her phone at her ear. Niabi could make out the faint ringing over the speaker. Two rings. Three. A familiar voice over the speaker. Her best friend Tess - hip and preppy, a bit too much for her own good. “Hi! This is Tess! I can’t get to my phone right now…”
I’ll get through this, she thought. She could trust Castielle… she would be able to help her, one step closer to getting her life back. There was no reason for Castielle to lie, to keep her hidden…
And she wouldn’t anyway, would she?
Would she?