Star Crossed Enemies

Chapter 5

Mark opened his eyes to the soft movements he heard in the room to see Hazel in front of the mirror. He watched her reflection and noticed the tears glistening on her cheeks. As she hurriedly wiped her eyes with the handkerchief, he closed his eyes again pretending to be asleep. Her light footsteps came closer to him, making his heart pound in his throat ready to defend himself. She stopped next to the nightstand. He opened his left eye against the pillow ever so slightly to see what she was doing. She reached out to pick up the bowl of soup before stopping in midair. He watched her turn around and leave silently, leaving the food where it sat.

Mark opened his eyes as he heard her footsteps travel down the hallway and felt his stomach turn painfully from hunger. He glanced at the bowl before quickly turning away from it.

I'm not eating after a Jew.

He stared at the ceiling, irritated with his hunger that continued to grow with every passing minute.

Mark looked at the bowl again and propped himself up on one elbow, cursing under his breath from the pain. He glanced at the bedroom door and saw that it was still open. He stayed as quiet as possible as he positioned himself towards the bowl with gritted teeth. Every small movement was excruciating. He wondered if the Jew lied and didn't give him anything for his agony.

She probably enjoys watching me suffer.

Mark grabbed the bowl and stopped for a moment taking in its glorious smell. It was indeed German potato soup that made him feel at home. Before he could think on it any longer, he devoured it as swiftly as he could. It was just as good as it smelled, which ignited his anger even more. He didn't want to like anything about his stay. Mark set the empty bowl on the nightstand and laid down again, shutting his eyes wishing for this to go away.

Just as he was drifting off to sleep again, he heard the Jews mention his name. He strained his ears to listen.

"What happened?" asked Helen.

"Papa wanted me to get rid of Mark. Aunt Karoline, well, you know how she is."

"What did she say this time?" asked Helen.

Mark listened to Hazel recount what happened between her and her family. When she spoke about what her Aunt had said to her, he could hear Helen growling with rage.

"The nerve of her," huffed Helen.

Mark scowled trying to make sense of her defending him. He didn't think at this moment Hazel was too smart. She was a Jew, and he was a Nazi. None of this made sense. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, letting his exhaustion take over.

Mark woke up from someone patting his shoulder. He opened his eyes, seeing Hazel standing over him.

"I need to give you some pain medicine," said Hazel.

"Is it pain medicine or something to kill me?"

"It's pain medicine. I gave it to you when you were asleep those two days."

"How do I know that you're not lying and just want me dead, so your father will be happy."

Hazel froze. She stared at him with wide eyes.

"What?" she whispered.

"Your papa wants you to get rid of me."

Hazel closed her eyes briefly before looking at the open door putting the pieces together.

"I didn't want you to hear that," said Hazel dropping her head in defeat.

Mark watched as she took a deep breath recollecting herself. She didn't make any eye contact as she pulled his arm closer. He didn't fight her as she administered the pain medication. He was in a great deal of pain. The sweat droplets that had formed over his skin was proof of that. Hazel looked at the nightstand and eyed the empty bowl.

"I knew you would eventually eat."

Hazel picked up the empty bowl and asked, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Nothing," he said stubbornly.

"I'll get you some porridge. Do you drink coffee? It's a substitute, but it's not bad."

Mark didn't say a word, but he was sure his eye twitch deceived him.

"Let me get you a shirt to wear," said Hazel.

Hazel walked out of the room with a men's brown shirt in hand.

"Where's my other shirt?" asked Mark with a raised eyebrow.

"It's ruined from the blood and holes. This will keep you warm."

Mark frowned before snatching the shirt from her. Hazel turned to look away as he threw the blankets off him. Mark struggled to get the shirt on; his muscles flexed with irritation and pain. He noticed her eyes lingered on the dark blonde curls that covered his chest. Her cheeks flared in embarrassment as his eyes met hers.

"Do you need help?" asked Hazel shyly.

"No," he grunted through gritted teeth.

Hazel grimaced as she watched him struggle. He finally pulled the shirt on and fell back on the pillows continuing to pant slightly from the exertion.

"Where is my other shirt?"

Hazel walked to her closet and pulled out his bloody shirt.

"I had to take it off for surgery. Do you want me to patch it up and clean it for you?"

"No. I didn't want any Jew to touch my uniform, but it doesn't seem I had a choice, did I?"

Mark sat up and searched the room swiftly with sharp eyes.

"Where are my boots?"

"Beside the bed."

Mark leaned over and saw the black boots up against the wooden frame.

"You better not have scuffed them up," he snarled.

Hazel spun around, her cheeks hot with anger.

"What are you going to do about it if I did? I didn't scuff your damn boots. I didn't even pop off a button on your uniform when I worked desperately to save your life. My family is angry at me for saving your life. What was the point since you don't even care?"

"You're going to wish you never saved me after I report you and your family. Just wait, you will be sent to a concentration camp or executed right here."

Hazel stormed up to him as he held a smug expression. In a blink of an eye, he heard her hand make contact with his face throwing it to one side. He looked back at her in shock seeing the tears streaming across her blazed cheeks. Mark put his hand on his cheek, feeling the sting crawl across his skin. Unbridled fury started to build in him.

"You filthy Jew," he said coldly.

"I've lost family and friends from Nazis. I lost my older sister, an uncle, best friends, grandparents, and only God knows who else. I've had to quit school and hide in fear. I've had to hear my little sister, who was only four at the time, ask why Nazis were dragging her friend away from their home. I've had to see things that would make most people run screaming. But I saved you anyway."

Mark sifted through what Hazel said as he stared at her molten copper eyes. He felt his heart drop to his surprise. For a split second, empathy took the place of uncontrollable anger. It was something he hadn't experienced for years, not since his time before the Nazi Regime. He swallowed down these feelings and reminded himself not to show anything.

Don't be soft to a Jew. They deserved everything that the Reich has enforced.

"I watched my sister..." she stopped as she closed her eyes for a moment. She opened her eyes again and said, "Why am I even wasting my breath? You don't care. All you care about is your damn uniform."

Hazel threw his bloody shirt at him and ran out of the room with her face buried in her hands, stifling the cries. She made her way into the living room, almost running into Gertrude.

"Hazel?"

Mark didn't recognize the young woman's voice that had now entered the house. Hazel left the door open again, so he found himself struggling to listen to every word.

"I–I didn't hear you co–come in, Gertrude," stuttered Hazel.

"What happened?"

"All I wanted to do is save a man's life, and everyone is treating me like I'm the devil's helper."

"But he's a Nazi."

"I don't care who he is. He still breaths and his heart beats like ours, doesn't it? Maybe this was a mistake, but I was just trying to do the right thing. Why can't anyone see that?"

Hazel started to sob again.

"Your parents want you to eat dinner with them again tonight."

"I rather not," Hazel said with a sigh.

"If you don't, they will suspect something."

"Tell them I'm feeling ill. I can't face them like this."

There was a long pause as Hazel tried to regain her breath and calm her sobs.

"What are you doing here so early in the morning?" asked Hazel with a shaky breath.

"I couldn't sleep. Maybe because I knew he was still here," responded Gertrude.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I've made such a mess of all this."

"I just want to be sure you are okay. You are the one living with him. I'm not."

"But you are worried he's going to say something about us being here."

"I think everyone feels that way," said Gertrude quietly.

"It's not like I can kick him out. He's still healing," said Hazel.

"I still don't understand why you did it."

Hazel sighed and didn't respond. The house grew quiet as Mark continued to strain to hear their every word.

"I have always loved your compassion, Hazel. I think you have more compassion than all of us put together. But you are risking your life."

"I know," whispered Hazel.

They grew quiet again before Hazel said quietly, "I don't want to think of the consequences of my actions at this moment. If Mark didn't see my Star of David, maybe this would have never happened. I know I did the right thing even with all this going on."

She paused for a moment before continuing, "Don't tell my parents I feel ill. That may cause some panic. I'll go tonight to dinner."

Mark listened to the girls say their goodbyes before Gertrude left. Hazel's soft footsteps started to pace in the other room as she tried to muffle her fearful cries. Mark closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the weeping.

I don't care. I still hate Jews.

His eyebrows came together in frustration as he turned over in the bed, trying to block everything out. All he could think about was a way to escape to get back to the life he knew. He stared at the ceiling, memorizing every crack and crevice as his mind raced with ideas. Footsteps down the hallway halted all his thoughts as he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Mark listened to Hazel gingerly set a plate on the nightstand before tiptoeing out of the room. The smell was magnificent. He turned his body away from the temptation as his stomach grumbled painfully. He didn't dare look at the plate, knowing he would succumb to his hunger. Instead, he stared at the wall for hours drifting in and out of sleep. He would hear Hazel open the door periodically, to check on him he presumed. He made sure his eyes were closed, and his breath calm each time as if he was asleep.

The food sat there for hours until Mark couldn't hold back the ache of hunger anymore. He devoured the food quickly before laying back down and continuing to stare at the ceiling above him. By now, he had memorized every inch of the room. As he heard footsteps coming toward the bedroom door, he shut his eyes and calmed his breathing. This time, Hazel lingered longer at the door.

He heard her slowly walk in and stop a few feet from the bed. It took everything he had not to jump in fright when her soft hand gently touched his forehead. He had been pretending to be asleep all day, so it was only a matter of time until she grew concerned with his health. He heard her sigh a small breath of relief. This was his chance.

Hazel shrieked as he grabbed her wrist with an iron grip and his eyes shot open to meet hers.

"What do you think you are doing?" roared Mark.

"Please let go of me. You are hurting me," Hazel cried as his large hand crushed around her wrist.

Mark saw her face flicker with surprise as he unconsciously loosened his grip.

"I was checking to see if you had a fever," said Hazel in a shaky voice.

Mark continued to stare at her enjoying the fear. Her eyes looked like molten aged copper as tears started to form blurring the browns and greens. Her ivory face trembled in panic. As he continued to watch her, the gratification of his intimidation started to fade. He let go of her wrist and watched her almost fall back against the wall.

"Don't touch me when I'm sleeping. I wasn't expecting it."

Hazel nodded quietly and stumbled out of the room.