Dream Lover

FIFTEEN

“She promised we’d survive.” She said sounding resolved.

“Who promised?”

“A girl, she was with us washing in the river. I didn’t know her name. She said we were going to survive, then she hit him gave me that sword. Only a little while ago she said we would only have to wait a little longer.”

“Then what”

“I didn’t see where she went, but I felt sure she was-” The woman trailed off as she was talking her gaze had shifted upward. Alton and Byron followed her gaze. “Oh” the woman gasped. “Oh no”

Elle was there straddling the lowest branch with her back resting against the tree. She was absolutely still. Her hair hung limply behind her catching the occasional breeze. It was the only movement Byron could detect. Her face was smeared with dry blood and moss. Her eyes were open and staring at nothing. The front of the tunic she wore was soaked in blood and clung to her breasts. Her feet were bare, ragged, and smeared with mud. And the leggings she wore had little tears and rips all down the length of the fronts and sides of her legs. When the holes in the leggings were large enough, they revealed flesh that had been scraped and ripped just as many times as the leggings had been. She made a terrible picture; it was hard to imagine that anyone who looked as she did could be alive.

Byron moved closer to the tree and reached up to touch her foot then hesitated for a moment. Her feet were small, all of her was small she hadn’t even reached his shoulder. Feeling cheated, he let the dainty foot rest in his hand. He ran a thumb over her big toe to reveal the bright red polish. He sighed a little, then said her name, half to himself. Her foot twitched.

“I lost all your shirts.” Her voice was dull and distant. Just as dull and distant as the first woman he’d encountered had been.

“I don’t care.” He told her, more relieved than he could say.

“And I ruined this one.”

“I don’t care about that either.”

“I killed a man today,” she said. Finally, she turned her head so she could look down into his eyes. “I killed four men and two rapists,” she told him. “I didn’t make sure about the rapists. I need to know about the rapists”

“Tell me where they are, I’ll make sure.”

“They should be on the river, dead with their pants down.” Byron let go of her foot, walked to the tree line and looked across the river. The army had covered the area, there was a solider standing near the bodies and one of them had indeed died with his pants down.

“They’re dead.” She rolled her head to the other side of the tree where he was standing now. She seemed to be waiting for a confirmation of everything she described. “With their pants down.” he added. She nodded and went back to staring into nothing. “It’s okay to come down, those men are all gone.”

“I can’t get down.”

“Why not”

“My arms are numb.”

“You just let go I’ll catch you.” Elle rolled her head toward him again, “I’ll catch you.” He promised. Slowly Elle balanced herself, scooted away from the trunk. Byron watched her closely; he saw her arms tremble as she worked her leg over the thick limb. She leaned over and studied him for a long moment then without a word she shoved herself off and fell.

Elle fell neatly into his arms. Once there she expected to be put down so she could walk on her tiny, ruined feet. She tried to argue but he won easily. Alton had passed off the woman Elle saved to two other soldiers who would take her to the village doctor. With Elle safe in his arms, Byron found a place away from all the gore to sit and wait for Alton who would want to hear about everything that happened. 

"Could we go to the river?" Elle asked softly in his ear. When he sat with her, she’d found a spot under his chin and buried her face there. She mentioned that he smelled good, casually wondered about scented soaps, and dosed for a few moments. She sounded exhausted; Byron doubted she'd remember being there if they went. 

"What for?"

"I don't want to be covered in blood anymore," Byron couldn't say no to that. He carried her to the river and waded in up to his waist. The current in the river was steady but not very fast. Still in his arms, Elle let the cool water wash the grime from her feet. When it was done, she tried to move from his arms, but he kept a tight hold on her. Rather than let her go he shifted her in his arms so he could keep hold of her and let her dip below the surface. Elle complied by wrapping her legs around his waist. She leaned back holding herself under the cold rush of water then she relaxed and let herself float to the surface again until only the back of her head was underwater. She kept her eyes closed for a long time. When she opened them a good deal of the blood was gone already, and the rest was fading quickly whisked off by the current. The sight of the blood leaving the shirt only reminded her of how it had gotten there. The cold she’d felt before was creeping its way back into her belly and then her eyes shifted, met Byron’s, and held there then the cold was gone.

"I killed people today." And as she said it, Elle was positive, without any question that she had done it. This wasn’t some dream world. The men she’d killed had real pulses, real lives, and she had caused real deaths. “Somehow, I went from just wanting to stay alive and avoid getting r***d to wanting to kill them all. I cried over a pig yesterday." Elle took a moment to be honest, it seemed to be the only thing possible in the cold current. When she was in this world she had been picking and choosing which things she was going to accept as real and which she wasn’t. She wanted Byron to be real. She wanted to have a man that looked like him worry over her. She wanted what she thought might be a mutual attraction to be blooming between them. She wanted all of that to be real but nearly everything else from the men she’d watched eaten to the strange tree house he lived in and everything that had happened in the last few hours, she needed that to be a figment of her imagination, some weird metaphorical thing her brain was working out. She knew now that good or bad it was all real. She had really found herself in an alternate world where gorgeous men lived in tree houses that had indoor plumbing and suspiciously fast-lighting fireplaces. She had killed six people and watched another three die. "I'm never going to be the person I was this morning again."

"You were a pain this morning."

Elle's jaw dropped. The current immediately filled her mouth with water and she sputtered. Her legs came from around his waist. The hand he'd had on her back was the only thing that kept her from getting washed down river. 

"I was tired!” She choked after she gained her feet. "I cleaned your filthy, filthy house, and I didn't even accuse you of feeling me up while I slept which was a concern since you looked up my skirt." She searched his face then splashed water in his face with three quick jabs against the current. "You felt me up." she accused disgusted, "worst day ever." was her summation of the events. Then she moved toward the riverbank. 

When she was out, she started walking, limping actually, toward the area where soldiers were rounding up abandoned horses, and gathering dead. 

Elle knew it was a touch dramatic to storm off, but it was better than staying there and letting him make her cry. She was surprised and a little concerned that she hadn’t cried her eyes out already. She was dead tired, thoroughly traumatized, and now her feelings were hurt.