I wake up late in the middle of the night, a cold sweat on my skin, with only a thin blanket to keep me warm.
I am in one of the individual temporary tents that was set up in the middle of the field yesterday, halfway done with our trek to the Hallie base, and the ground is hard as I lay there thinking of nothing.
Where are the bathrooms? I want to ask someone, but there is no one awake around me.
I cringe at the thought that since we are in the middle of traveling, I'll probably have to relieve myself in the woods if there isn't an outhouse.
Groaning softly as I roll off the thin covers below me, I put on my shoes and head outside. Beyond my small tent, nothing can be heard except the chirping of crickets.
Everyone else is asleep.
By the darkness of the sky, it seems that I have awoken around two o'clock in the morning.
I take a deep breath in and out.
It's kind of creepy, the long shadows of stripped birch trees looming over me and the stacks of jagged rocks scattered around the floor of the area. The air itself seems to whisper in my ear as it brushes past my face, so I shiver.
Sometimes, in Woodson, after Andres grew old enough to not be afraid of the dark, I used to go walking through my backyard garden in the middle of the night for some peace and quiet when my brother and father were sleeping. It was a relief to let go of all my expectations, the responsibilities I would be holding every time the sun came up. And in the dark, I would touch the sweet autumn clematis that smelled like vanilla and jasmine, letting the moonlight wash over me like a blessing.
What ever happened to that feeling?
I will never feel that free again.
I sigh with a heavy weight on my heart. Wandering around the quiet camp for a few minutes barefoot, I search for an outhouse not wanting to go to the bathroom in the open.
Nimbly, I tip toe around the women's tents, then past the men's. I've probably walked over a mile already, still searching for a bathroom. My feet crunch on the grassy carpet below me, and in the distance I think I hear people talking.
Should I approach them?
Deciding it's best not to get lost, I follow the sounds of laughter. About fifty feet to my left there is an orange light spitting ash into the air deeper into the edge of the woods. A bonfire, I realize as I creep up cautiously behind bushes, foolishly afraid of being in the dark wilderness on my own.
I don't alert them of my presence right away as I peek out over the brush. Three men are gathered around a fire, talking secretively.
Isn't it too late to be outside, talking?
"... Hallie. They are almost here."
"Okay, but are you sure about this?"
"Yes, tomorrow."
Before confronting them, I study their manner and catch bits of their conversation. They don't seem to be doing anything alarming - they're probably just some soldiers who wanted to stay up to talk.
The only thing that concerns me though is that they look like they've been drinking, and some of the things they say -
"Hey!"
My body stills behind the covering of twigs, hoping that the man isn't talking to me.
"You! There's a girl out there. What are you doing here?" Shouts the mustached man of the three.
He gets up from his sitting position, pointing right at me.
I wince at being discovered, trying to appear as innocent as possible as I walk out of my hiding place. Head held high, I step into the middle of the clearing next to the fire so that they can see me clearly.
I hold my hands up, signaling that I am not a threat to Nation soldiers.
I'm completely harmless, see?
"Hello," I start. "Do you happen to know where -"
"Well look at you," drawls one of the men.
He is leaner and more muscular than the one who caught me, and the way that he looks at my body up and down gives me the shivers.
These men may not think that I am a spy, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous to me. I have had enough experience in Woodson to know that not all men respect women, so I have to be careful here.
I take a step back, away from the three men who flank each other intimidatingly.
The man from before is grinning ridiculously, most likely from the effects of the alcohol they've been drinking.
The same man continues. "What's a pretty young thing like you doing here?"
My heart pounds, and my mind races.
How do I get out of this situation?
I've only ever encountered a situation like this once before, but at least I was able to run away then.
If I ran now, I have no doubt these people will easily catch me.
I am not a trained soldier or runner.
Without waiting for my answer, the arrogant man walks over to me too close for my liking, and I take another step away with a bad feeling building in my stomach. He has some sort of tattoo covering his bicep, the black ink embedded into his skin.
"I'm looking for -"
My voice is cut off my the man laughing, right in front of my face.
And I stand there like a fool, in total confusion.
I can smell the stale vodka and liquor of his breath.
And cigarettes.
I feel dizzy.
What is he doing?
"Excuse me," I spit out, but he is not listening to me.
Instead, the man eyes the skin on my body not covered by my lightweight nightgown like a piece of meat. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling vulnerable, but it does nothing to cover me.
My eyes skitter around for the nearest escape route.
"Hey, David!" Exclaims the older mustached man to the tattooed one in front of me, his words slurred. "You've caught a pretty one!"
This is not good.
Nervous, I tuck a black strand of my hair behind my ear.
Will they be bold enough to attack me? Why are they cornering me?
In my peripheral vision, I notice there is a gap between the trees leading back to camp. In a split decision, I try to make a run for it, even knowing that they may be faster than me. Maybe this act will deter them from following me, make them consider I'm not worth chasing.
But as soon as my heels dig into the dirt and propel me forward, my momentum is used against me. The tattooed man grabs onto my wrists from behind, making me almost trip face forward as he swings me around to face him. I kick at him blindly, but he grabs me by the hair and covers my mouth to cut off my scream, trying to get a hold of my flailing limbs.
"Please, I -"
"Shut up!" He barks in my face, pushing me up against a tree.
My dirtied nightgown hitches up my waist so that my legs are exposed. The man's hands roam over me, pinning my hands to the tree so I can't move.
I scream and he slaps me, hard.
My back digs into the tree as the man puts a hand over my mouth to prevent me from screaming so tightly that I gasp for breath. This whole ordeal is escalating way too fast, any I hardly have any time to breathe before I feel fingers move to the straps of my clothing, the two other men just watching me struggle under his grip less than ten feet away.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
Help me! I want to cry, but the man's friends seem to be amused rather than concerned for me.
All I can is shoot them pleading looks, hoping that someone intervenes.
Do these people seriously have no decency?
Desperate, I do the only thing that I can think of in the moment. The man on top of my is a heavy weight, yet close enough to bite his hand that is wandering over my collarbone, my hips, my body.
Lunging my head out as far as I can, I snap my jaw open and closed to feel flesh drag beneath my front two teeth. The taste of blood blossoms in my mouth, and I spit it out on the ground. My attacker's face immediately twists in pain, yet he maintains his iron grip on me.
Thankfully, he still hasn't been able to get my clothes off due to my violent seizing. But I can see the man is getting frustrated, his actions are more hurried.
I hear a thwack in the distance, but pay no attention to it. The only thing I can focus on at the moment is self preservation.
But then something happens.
One minute I'm swinging my fists at someone's face, and the next I'm on the floor.
In a freeing moment, the brutish man who was on top of me is off of me, pulled back forcefully by an unknown source. Feeling nauseous, I let my back slide down to the base of the tree.
The tattooed man's blood is still lingering in my mouth, so I vomit the blood into the grass violently next to me, the sounds of a brawl distant from my heavy breathing and buzzing ears. Although the night is cold, I am sweating.
I need to get out of here.
Using the ground to support me, I manage to get into a standing position and stumble away from the scene.
I am weak from fending off someone seven inches taller than me, so I only make it a couple of feet before I collapse again, a bed of leaves greeting me.
My mind is screaming at me to run further away, but I simply do not have enough energy. In hindsight, I feel absolutely pathetic.
Why couldn't I run away faster?
Why couldn't I stay in my tent tonight?
Why me?
I am lost in my dangerous thoughts when I hear someone stumbling through the brush towards me, and my terror sparks again wildly.
"Get away from me!" I shriek, scooting away from the shadow of a man that comes near me.
I put my hands up in front of me, defeated. I can barely stand or defend myself now, and once again I hate myself for being put in this situation.
But instead of cursing at me or hitting me, nothing comes.
I open my eyes, only to see an unfamiliar face. The ginger haired man looks at me with wide eyes, not saying anything.
Who is he? Where did he come from? Will he hurt me?
The rational part of me knows that I should get up and run away, yet I don't think he was one of the men who were trying to touch me. All the different possibilities of what could have happened scramble in my frazzled brain.
Did this man hear my scream, and come to save me? Or does he want me for himself?
The threat of being alone out here is too real, driving me incoherent and insane.
The ginger takes a step closer to me, and I cry out again loudly, trying to gain the attention of someone, anyone -
"Hey! I'm not going to hurt you," the man says slowly.
He tries to reach out a large hand to me, but I flash him a glare so fiery that he pulls back.
"Okay, fine. Just - calm down for me, alright?" He says cautiously, as if he is afraid of me rather than the other way around.
I scoff, not believing his ability to leave me alone. If this man seriously thinks that I could take on someone as enormous as him on my own, he's most definitely crazy. His figure is extremely well built, and from his overly tanned skin, he appears to be from the south.
The only sound for a few minutes is my heavy breathing as I begin to calm down. The ginger isn't making any move to approach me, which I take as a good sign. However, I am startled once again when another voice interrupts the silence.
Is the tattooed man coming back to get me?
"Kade, whats the matter?" The voice says, coming out from behind a thick wall of trees. I yelp in surprise, scooting backwards on my bottom further away from them.
But this face is new, too. A bit of relief floods my body, and I clasp my hands together to hide their shaking. There is no need to show these men how scared I am, no matter how I may look. Maybe they really did come to help me.
The new man's creamy brown gaze flickers over to me, as if he didn't notice me sitting there before. His eyebrows scrunch together as he takes in my form on the ground, and his friend standing over me.
"Kade, what is going on?"
The redhead, Kade, sighs and bites his lip uneasily.
His friend gives me a once-over and asks me, "Are you okay?"
My eyes dart up to his, but I am too shell shocked to respond. It may be better to stay silent. I am still terrified, but now at least I know that these men aren't here to bother me. And it may be wise to keep them lingering, in case the drunken men by the bonfire decide to come back and haunt me.
I still haven't given either of the men staring intensely at me an answer, and so Kade shoots his friend a look and shakes his head.
"She hasn't said a word to me," Kade tells him.
But ignoring the warning of his redhead friend, the tall man leans down to face me. His proximity puts me on edge, but in his eyes is nothing but curiosity, solicitousness, and worry. His scent of pine mingles with the air.
He takes a finger to lift up my tucked chin and I flinch as he scrutinizes the quickly forming bruise on my cheek.
"What happened?" He demands, narrowing his eyes at his friend.
Holding his hands up in defense, the ginger says, "It wasn't me. I found her in the clearing where there were some other guys, and..." he trails off, peering at me awkwardly.
As if I was going to finish that story. I bury my head into my knees, not even realizing that I have been crying.
It takes the brunette a second to process his friend's words, but when he finally understands what Kade is implying, he isn't very happy.
"Those bastards," He growls, turning to me.
I look up and meet his eyes, nervous at the aggressiveness displayed so clearly in his low voice. It is very dark outside, but peering at him more closely, I can see that his face is handsome and his features are well defined.
"How - How did you find me?" I sniff, embarrassed by my crying.
Trying to act like I'm fine, I get up from my place on the ground while wobbling. Enough of the crying - I never like people seeing me cry.
"My tent is pretty much at the edge of the camp, and I thought I heard someone scream," says Kade. "What are you doing out here?"
The question catches me off guard, and I curse myself for having a silly answer. It was so stupid of me to walk outside of my tent this late at night just to use the bathroom and not think anything would happen.
But why am I making excuses for these men's behavior?
I scold myself for blaming myself for this, rather than the actual attackers.
In a world where men are always supposed to be right, they sure as hell act wrongly.
"I needed to... to use the bathroom." I mutter, even though the urge to go has officially left me now, and I put a delicate hand on my swollen back.
The skin there is pulsating from being thrown against the trees too roughly, and I know there will be bruises there in the morning.
Frowning, the brunette takes my other hand and speaks gently. "Well, let's get you back to your room, then. Okay?"
"Okay," I whisper into the night.
My thoughts are reeling with guilt and paranoia as we walk through the forest again with no lights, my feet stumbling over twigs and pebbles.
"What is your name?" Kade's friend inquires, a hint of mystery in his eyes.
"Adeline," I say, carefully. "What is yours?"
"Adeline," He repeats, the name coming smoothly off his tongue. He has a slight southern accent, which makes it sound like honey pouring out of his mouth.
"I'm Camillo, Camillo Sancelle." His chocolate eyes seep into my baby blue ones, illuminated by the moonlight.
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine."