CHAPTER SEVEN
SEBASTIAN
"There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies."
―Martin Luther King, Jr.
"There's water and bread, if you want some," The girl in the green scarf says.
It takes me a second to realize she is talking to me. I lift my eyebrows at her, but she can't see them as she stands up with her back to me.
Hours have passed since I was thrown back into this room and I was out of it for a couple of those. During those, whenever I lift my head to look at her, she was on the floor, doing some kind of voodoo magic thing which involved getting covered up with sand and mumbling gibberish, along with standing and prostrating a lot.
I don't ask her what she's doing; she said to stay out of each other's hair - or hair and scarf- and it's not like I care anyways. All I care about at the moment is how to get out of this wretched place and make those bastards pay for what they have done to me.
"I'm not hungry," I say.
This is a lie but I'm not about to accept anything from her. I turn over to my other side; this makes the wound on my arm sting.
She walks to her cot, which is on the opposite wall from mine, and sits, hugging her legs to her chest. Her eyes remain focused on the mattress in front of her.
"Suit yourself."
She rests her head on the wall behind her and closes her eyes. I notice she has a bandage on her forehead that wasn't there when I saw her by the river. This gets me wondering, how was she caught anyway? She wasn't even close to the woods when I was knocked out.
I remember turning around when I heard the rustles to see a man holding a leather belt in his hand. He strangled me until I sank into nothingness, choking for air. I push away the memory as my hand flies to my neck, feeling the bruise there under my fingers.
When they took me away earlier, they didn't ask for a way to reach my father or how to negotiate a ransom. I could tell they weren't after money.
They wanted information, asking about the work stations and posts of the soldiers; where the weapons were kept, when my father left for his meetings. But no matter how much they beat me, or threatened me, I just wouldn't tell them a thing.
Not because of my undying love for my father or this land, but because I enjoyed the frustration on their faces. It would have to be a cold day in hell before I give them the satisfaction of victory.
They want information? They'll have to work harder for that, and maybe get it somewhere else.
I sit up and look across the room. The girl has fallen asleep in her sitting position, and I am tempted to go get some of that bread she mentioned, my stomach is growling with hunger. I throw my legs over the side of the cot and stand up. She mumbles something incoherent and her breath hitches but I can see she is still asleep. I make my way to her bedside; there's a tray with a bread loaf and the shells of a boiled egg; she obviously ate that which is okay, since I don't like eggs anyway.
I kneel to pick up the tray and notice a half full tin cup and my throat collapses with thirst. I take the cup in my other hand inspecting it; she drank from this, but left a part for me. That is actually considerate.
"Don't worry; being a Muslim is not contagious." Her voice startles me and I drop the cup, the water spilling all over the dirt. I groan and shoot her a dirty look, now there goes my chance to please my throat.
"Jumpy much?" she says raising her eyebrows.
"What the hell woman." I shout with frustration. "I was going to drink that."
"Well you still can, kneel fast before the ground absorbs it all." Her voice drips with sarcasm and that annoys me. I ignore her carrying the tray back to my cot and munch on the bread hungrily. Alex would be proud of me, eating like a pig and all. The thought of Alex triggers something inside of me and I shove it away. I am not about to go all sentimental and bawl in the corner like a girl. Especially not in front of an actual girl, and a Muslim nonetheless.
I cross my legs and place the tray on the floor. I finish up the bread and brush the crumbles off the mattress and my pants. Then I pull my shirt over my head and hang it on one of the posts. It's not warm inside the room, in fact it's cold, but I am used to sleeping shirtless.
"Whoa, whoa there!" The girl shouts covering her eyes, a disgusted look on her face. I must admit I never got this sort of reaction from women before, I turn heads towards me, not the other way.
"What?" I demand, lying back on the bed. My feet hang over the edge and I have to bend them.
"Put... your shirt back on." She stutters, still covering her eyes.
"You said we'll stay out of each other's business." I say smirking. I have to admit, I am enjoying this; a chance to annoy her.
"Well this is my business. You're polluting my sight!"
That's a first too, being called a pollutant.
I sit up on my elbows and take a look at her, she's wearing the head scarf and black cloak she had on by the river. I don't know how she can take it, having so many layers on. I guess Muslims are weird like that.
"You can keep your eyes covered then; I'll put it back on when I wake up." I say and she throws her head into her lap, with an exasperated groan.
"Jerk." She mutters, not so under her breath, and I roll my eyes.
"You can take off those things you have on," I say gesturing at her. "It's not like I'll look or anything." The scene by the river flashes in my mind and I dismiss it.
"I'll pass."
"Whatever." I sigh and then I close my eyes drifting away.
*
I open my eyes to someone shaking me awake.
The girl towers over me; her face looks twisted and deformed, like it is going to melt off any second. Her mouth is opened in an O form, and I think she is going to swallow me whole.
"Get away from me." I shout hysterically, my own voice seems different and far away. I stumble backwards, falling over on the ground and crawl away from her. My heart thunders loudly; I feel the room boiling and I gasp for oxygen.
"Leave me alone!"
But she doesn't, she moves around the cot and kneels in front of me. Her green eyes look hollow and dark and when she extends her hand towards me, something shines in it. My eyes go wide as I realize it's a knife; she brings it down slashing at my injured arm and I roar with pain.
I try to push her, I try to get away, but she keeps coming at me.
"Snap out of it!" She shouts, slapping my face twice and suddenly her face looks normal and her eyes panic stricken. I breathe heavily, bringing my hand to my forehead, it's damp and clammy. I stare at the girl, looking her up and down; she doesn't have the knife any longer and I relax falling back on my heals.
"You were hallucinating." She says, in a whisper.
"I'm fine." I snap, getting to my feet and away from her. I hate seeing the pity in her eyes; I'm not some kind of charity work she can handle.
My head feels heavy, the room wobbles and I collapse on the floor. The girl is by my side in an instance, helping me rest my back against the wall. I shove her hand away and ignore the hurt look that flashes on her face.
"I can take care of myself." I say, my voice is throaty and I can hardly speak or keep my eyes open.
"You obviously can't," she says sternly. "You're dehydrated and spiking a fever, you need water."
"Well, somebody made me spill the -" my sentence is cut by a fit of coughing. My throat is dry and this only makes it worse.
"Your wound," the girl starts reaching for my arm; her face look even more creased with worry. "It's inflamed."
I glance at my arm, it's swollen and reddened. This explains the throbbing pain that is getting worse by the minute. She is inspecting it, her eyebrows furrowed. Why does she care about me anyway?
She has a thoughtful look before she's on her feet rushing to her cot, she fishes something from under the mattress and brings it back. It's a tiny black bag that she opens as she kneels back in front of me. She places some of its contents - mossy green crumbled leaves or something - on her palm, and offers it to me.
"I don't do drugs, I thought you Muslims knew better." I say cringing away. She rolls her eyes at me and ignores my mockery.
"It's an herb; it'll help with the pain and the infection." She says, offering it again. "Take it."
"I don't trust you, it could be a poison." I state the obvious locking my eyes with hers.
"I don't trust you either, in case you didn't notice, but if I want you dead, I'll just have to leave that infection take over your body, no need to waste my poison on you." She says matter of factually.
I inspect the substance in her hand, and then looking at my wound I think I have no choice; she's right it's getting worse. I extend my palm and she empties the mosses in it.
"Just swallow it, and ignore the taste."
I grimace but swallow like she said. The taste isn't as bad as I thought it would be, and I relax back. She ties the bag again and shoves it in her pocket; then she stands up, helping me to my bed.
I let her, just because I don't want to collapse again, I got enough falls for one day. Once I'm in my cot, she picks up my shirt that fell on the floor earlier, and tears it up.
"Hey, I need that!" I exclaim.
"Didn't seem like it earlier." She mutters and then uses the sleeve she just tore as an impromptu bandage for my arm. I wince as she warps it around the wound but the pain is already fading. That mossy thing she gave me is working.
"There, it'll prevent further infection."
I keep staring at her, as she ties the shirt expertly. Why is she doing this?
"You know I hate you. Don't you?" I ask looking at her stupid green scarf and then away at the ceiling, the stairwell anywhere but at her.
"Yes I do." She nods once and stands up walking to her cot. At its edge is another blanket which she brings over to me. That's when I realize how hard I'm shivering.
"Then why do you care if I die or not?"
She scoffs and I raise my eyebrows; what's funny about my question?
"Don't take it personally, pretty boy" she says walking away again, this time to sit on the blanket that is still laid on the ground. "It's what a good Muslim would do; we're not all monsters you know."
I give her my back and cover up with the blanket. I don't thank her, or so anything after that. But her last words still hang heavy in the room. We're not all monsters you know.