Chapter Text
A pull, a harsh tongue, a slap, and then a hit. The sound echoed in the girl's mind, clasping her senses. She stood for a moment, dumbfounded as she was pulled again, the knot of rope digging harshly against her neck. She winced, before moving her feet. She was fragile, her body heavy as she felt it move on its own accord. She just wanted to lay down. Laying down meant she didn’t have to do anything. There was no fault in laying down. Really, the quicker her body succumbed from exhaustion, the quicker her misery would come to an end.
The harsh sun beat at the back of her head. She smelled. Flies flew around her unwashed hair as she kept her head down, focusing on her dirty feet against the wooden bridge. She hadn't had a bath in weeks. Maybe months. The only known water was the broken well in which she witnessed her mother drown two of her siblings. She never went near it, her body rejecting it. Some part of her thought she too wouldn’t come out of the well if she ever dared touch it. The air around her swooshed. Her tattered clothing swayed around her bony frame, her spiked hair scrunching along. She felt as if she could feel her heartbeat race against the wind. The wind. It was pleasant on her skin. There were no pleasantries allowed in her life. She was trapped, confined by the rope of her restraints.
She felt her toe catch on an uneven piece of wood, her body falling forward. Her ragged clothing, ripped in places, mostly by her legs and arms, buried in on herself. She couldn't get up, didn't have the strength to. A good time to lay down, rest for a while. She closed her eyes for a quick moment, before she felt the chunky rope around her neck tighten, her throat locking. She let out a couple airs of breath, as the sudden force let up, and placed her hands against the wooden platform below her.
“Get the fuck up, girl.”
Another tug, her neck rough as the knot rubbed against her sore skin. She placed her knees beneath her, slowly moving. The man above her was unamused, convinced she wasn't moving as fast as she could. The man pulled her rope again, picking her up in a smooth motion off the floor. She winced again, her hair falling behind her in tangled knots.
Hours ago, she had been sleeping on the floor, outside of the small home that “housed” her and her eleven other siblings. None of them had a name. Not that she knew of, at least. They were all called “boy” or “girl”.
It was only a few hours ago, she remembered the events roughly. Her short term memory wasn't all that great. Sometimes she struggles with remembering the smallest of things she's done. Not that it mattered.
A man came to her home. She was sitting on the floor, her feet tucked under her. She remembered staring out into the sky, watching as the clouds moved along, the sun slowly ticking its way down the sky. Sometimes the clouds would block the sun, passing over and shading her for a couple of seconds.
She blinked. She didn't know how long she'do been sitting for. Maybe a few hours. The sun was low in the sky, setting down into the horizon line. The sun was always beautiful at that moment of the day. She found little joy in her life, but she always had fond memories of the sun. It was warm, warmer than she ever felt. She felt cold, all the time.
A shadow appeared in front of her. She looked up, a bald man smiling down at her. Her father or mother was nowhere to be seen.
“Get up.”
The bald man commanded, his voice raspy and rough. Sandy around the edges. She blinked, unsure if she should follow the command. When she made no movement, the man bent down, reaching a hand forward. She felt a small tug at her hair, before she was pulled upward, off her feet and standing. She wasn't scared. She prepared for the hit, closing her eyes because of her disobedience. A sharp sting pierced her cheek, but no tears fell.
“C'mon girl. I won you in a bet. Fair and square, and I always cash in on my winnings.”
She made no obvious point of response. She was confused. What did he mean by that? Was… was he going to save her from this mess? Was he the hope she wished for in the beginning?
“I can't wait to get you home. You seem old enough to handle it. Are you a bleeder yet?”
The man questioned, grabbing a hold of her shoulder as he reached for something in his pants. She didn't know what he meant by that. Bleeder? She bled sometimes, when her mother scratched her, when her father threw a bottle at her face. The glass or nail usually cuts a piece of her skin, her clothing.
“I bet you're a pretty girl too, under all that disgusting mess. You smell like a pig though.”
The man kept talking, but paused when he found what he was looking for. A brown coil of rope rested in his hand. She watched as he unraveled it, forming a small knot. He wrapped the rope around her neck, finishing the final knots as he tied it tightly. He pulled it, testing its give.
“Perfect. You won't be running off any time soon.”
She didn't dare to breathe. How could she, the rope was already digging into her skin. It threatened to pull every time she took a sneak of air through her lungs. She was scared. But her face remained blank.
Everything else was a blur. The bald man kept talking as they walked through the night. He mentioned how they were nowhere near their location. But he couldn't wait to get her home, clean her up and put her to work. She didn't know what he meant. She never wanted to know what he meant.
And she didn't have to.
The next day, they were walking along the bridge. Moments after she had fallen. Nobody around them pointed out the obvious, the rope wrapped tightly around the malnourished, dirty girl's neck. Nobody said a thing as they walked. They hadn't taken a break yet. She was hurting, her feet hurt, her head stung, the heat radiated on her back. Every few minutes, her feet gave out, stopping. The man kept pulling her along. It wasn't soon where she felt nothing, but just let it happen. This was never going to end. She lost all hope on her escape, her savior.
Until she felt the rush of wind. She looked up from her feet, shivering from the sudden breeze. The bald man stopped in front of her, and she bumped into his back. She was ready for a slap, tightening her body as she felt the rope tighten around her neck. She looked towards the man's hands. They shook as he held the rope tighter.
Huh?
She raised her head. They were stopped by a boy. He couldn't have been older than the man. Younger, maybe in his teens. She was confused. He wore a white jacket, cropped at the middle, a dark uniform opened, revealing his broad chest. His skin was littered with scars. All types. Deep, slim, long, short. They curled around his body. He looked scary.
The guy had white hair, matching scars along his hands and face. Something was sticking out of his pants, looped between his belt, a long black thing. She wasn't sure what it was.
He unsheathed it, a long blade emerging from the black carrier. A sword? Was this guy a murderer? It could explain the scars. Maybe he was going to kill both of them. Or maybe just her. It would do her good. She was useless.
The boy then crouched down in front of her, his face looking directly in front of hers. He matched her eye contact. He had small, purple pupils. Red lines shown throughout the whites of his eyes. Her eyes remained blank, yet widened. She was scared, but stood without breaking contact.
“Is she your daughter?”
The guy asked, questioning the bald man. She didn't know what to do, how to react. Was she going to die?
The bald man laughed in return.
“None of your business, kid. Besides. If she was my daughter, I couldn't fuck her.”
She didn't know what that meant. How could she?
The white haired boy scowled, disgust permanent on his features. He raised the sword, and slashed it through the air, creating a whirl of wind. Her eyes widened further, and she took a gulp of air. She let out a soft gasp, the tiniest feeling of fear enveloping her senses.
“Ah, thanks man. She hasn't shown that much emotion since I’ve met her. I was scared I got a dud.”
The bald man laughed again, moving his hand over to the boy's shoulder. An attempt of gratitude, maybe.
The scarred boy had none of it. He instantly slapped the man's hand away, barking out a yell.
“Don't fucking touch me, you sick motherfucker. People like you should rot in hell.” Pointing an accusatory finger at the man, with the veins in his arm popping out, and threatening to burst.
Without warning, the boy raised his leg, the thick material of his pants flapping. In a split second, a loud scream sounded, before a thud fell against the girl's feet. She looked down. Blood trickled against the floor, the bald man's eyes closed. He was knocked out cold.
The remaining people on the bridge turned at the sound. Confusion broke out, muttering and screams. It was a blur. In the next moment, she felt herself getting lifted, thrown over the boy's shoulder. Her rope was ripped off her, she barely felt the tug from her neck. It was gentle. Her eyes were widened as she was placed on the boy's back. Her head faced the floor, but she lifted it, eyeing the bald man who laid on the floor, her now previous captor, blood pooling around his shiny head; Almost gushing out of his ear. She didn't know what to feel.
She closed her eyes, resting her eyes against the white jacket, with something she assumes to be words scattered across the middle, what words? She didn’t know; She pressed her cheek against the soft fabric as she nodded off to sleep.
It was the best sleep she's had in a long time.