I hate that I don't hate you (Boschlow fanfic)

★oneshot 2★

"No!"

       Boscha kicked and screamed for them to let her go, yet the voices of the poor roared louder. They battered her body up until it was nothing but bruises, and more and more stones were thrown at her. One eventually got a good shot upon her temple until blood and sweat blurred her vision. Her skull was pounding and all she could do was lie limp as they dragged her body through the rat-ridden streets. It all hurt, there seemed to be no end to it. At some point she was blindfolded along with the others who were captured. Until finally the sweet relief of unconsciousness fell upon her with darkness flooding all around.

       All of it had been a rush of events so far, and now it all seemed to end so quickly. All this aching made the bright-eyed and enthusiastic fighter of herself seem like a distant memory. Wasn't it just moments before that she was a proud soldier with her head held high? All of that had gone as quickly as it had happened. She took comfort in the painless dark of her sleep.

       It was already well past evening and Boscha, along with other guards who couldn't escape were tied up to posts outside a plaza in town. By noon they'll be executed by the national razor. Boscha's comrads were too busy regrouping to come bother and save their ranks, they knew when to cut their losses. 

        Eventually the sound of scuffling boots beside her awoke the soldier up, yet pretending to stay unconscious she awaited for the strangers next move. If she played her cards right then just maybe she could make a run for it once she was unbounded. Sure enough, she felt movement near the rope that held her wrists together. The cold edge of a knife grazed her hand causing Boscha to flinch out of response. The stranger stopped suddenly, hesitating on wether or not to go on freeing her.

They spoke suddenly but in a quiet yet urgent tone, "I'm going to release you now, but you shall not draw attention or run away suddenly or else you are to be caught once more immediately by the citizen patrolmen. Once I cut you loose, wait a few minutes before following me from behind at a safe distance."

       Boscha knew not if this person was someone she could trust, but whatever option does she have left? She was in no condition to run, and has no idea if she can even stand. Without another word, she felt the rope loosen and a coat draped over her. The boots shuffled away the next moment. Hurriedly, Boscha tore of the blindfold and took in her surroundings. She saw her fellow men separated and beaten up, but she had no time to save them. It was survival of the fittest and with this strand of luck she intended to live to see another day. She watched as a cloaked figure turned a corner, most likely it was her aid, and so she set off after them.

       Boscha didn't know where she was being led to but she hoped they'd arrive there soon, for every step she took a jolt of pain corsed through her body. Staggering after the person who was only a good stone throw away step after agonizing step. Maybe it was best if she had been left there to die without any futher turmoil. No, she had come too far already and she wasn't going to waste the kindness of this sympathizer for helping her.

But she felt her legs grow weak and her vision go blurry once more so she cried out, "Wait... I can't- my body is..." Before Boscha could even finish her sentence she felt herself lurch over and collapse.

       Another wave of exhaustion had her out like a light. And before she knew it, Boscha was lying upon a wooden table unconscious once more. The stranger who had helped her before had pulled her along into their house with much difficulty. Luckily, the soldier had fainted just a  few meters from the stranger's house. Removing her cloak and putting it off to the side, the stranger turned out to be the young lady from before... 

       The dark-haired and green-eyed girl's gaze raked over Boscha's injuries with sadness clouding her gaze. Wringing out a wet cloth, she quickly got to work on tending to her wounds. Gently washing off the blood from her skin, the woman remained silent and careful to not wake her. Subconsciously Boscha flinched and groaned in her sleep causing the girl to step back nervously. She didn't want to hurt her more then she already had been hurt. Yet the more she pressed the more the soldier stirred. All that was left was to disinfect the wounds.