Fate Project

Phase 4 | Dying regular

RHINE

Her gaze seems to burn me, making everything else catch fire. And I don't know why I can't take my eyes off her. Perhaps, it is something to do with her looks, that flowing brown hair stopping just before her shoulder, that pale rosy skin akin to a doll covering her lean but slender body, and that face that looks so beautiful and so terrifying at the same time.

Or perhaps, it's because of the wound in her right leg, a gash gaping and dripping with her blood, and that wound on her left abdomen, a stab that pierced her flesh deep and grave, stains her clothes, red blood spilling to the ground.

How is she still alive?

She raises her sword to direct us away from the lattice of the barn, our only possible escape ripped away. But we can't move. We are frozen. Stunned, our breath stuck in our throat, and sweat running down our foreheads.

I am so lost in the impossibility of what's happening because I know this isn't right, it can't be right. A regular. A true, genuine, not-just-my-imagination, regular is here.

This can't be happening.

It can't. It just can't.

And just like that, the girl suddenly points her sword at us and I brace myself for an attack. This is it. She's going to kill us. We're going to die. I'm going to die.

But she's wounded. In the back of my mind, I have a hope that maybe if we escape, we can outrun her, outrun her sword that can rip us in halves with just a single s***h, a single second. But I am no fool. So as Alice. Our hopes will get us killed. So we stand there and finally do as she said. No movements ripple in our body and no words left our mouth. We stand immobile, trying to calm our fears, trying to savor our probably last breath we breathe.

Then, slowly she slumps on the ground, her attention back to her wounds. I hear her say something, and that's when the sword in her hand disappears with a sudden silver light just to be replaced by a gun. And I know this time, her eyes changes from blue to sharp black.

My eyes aren't playing tricks on me.

Her eyes reflects a color for her weapons.

Alice flinches at the sight of the gun and I should be like that, cringing and frightened to my wits, except that I'm not. I can't. I can't let fear devour me. I cannot let stupidity to get us killed. If I don't do something, we die. So instead of thinking about dying, of my last wish, of praying, of begging for my life, I lower myself and surprisingly manage to reach out to the girl.

Alice gasps and I don't know how the girl manages to not be surprised when I, myself is surprised by my actions.

But this is the only way.

The only choice.

"T-that wound," I say, borderline to a whisper. I swallow and speak again, louder this time. "We need to take you to Matron Lind. You will die if that's not treated quickly."

Silence. I am answered with a darting look coming from the girl. Being this close to her, I see how wrong I was, because the beauty of her eyes is beyond the definition of beauty itself. Beyond everything else. Like mine. I guess this is how the others feel when they look to my eyes.

"Er—," I say, secretly thankful for managing to break the eye contact. "Look, if you cannot walk" — I inch closer and take her arm, surprisingly swift because of my trembling, then pulling her left arm around my shoulders — "Here" — I turn to Alice, passing the message to her — "Some help here, Alice?" — and she scrambles to aid me and the girl. But before she can even take a step, the girl raises her gun and I'm so shocked, suspended in the moment.

I blink and stop to breathe. I feel the gun moves, feel the barrel of it in my chest, and hear Alice's sharp intake of breath, gasps and whimpers that shocks me back to reality.

Shit.

"I don't know what you're both trying to pull here," claims the girl. I almost flinch at the coldness of her voice. I press my eyes shut and try not to think of the gun pressed just over my heart. Of my death decided if she presses the trigger, rather I think of my next move. To remain still is death. I need to convince her.

"But if you two—"

"I was trying to help," I cut across her and then, swiftly, I wave her gun aside, almost dismissively. It fires, without any sound, but the bullet misses my shoulders a millimeter.

I tell myself to appear calm, bored, even, because any hint of fear and my plan will have no hope of working. Easier said than done. The sight of the gun itself scared the hell out of me, and its proximity reminds me of my impeding death that I force myself to screw up all my courage.

The girl looks at me, appalled but she recovers quickly and glares at me.

"Lies—"

"Yeah, whatever," I say, hiding the quiver in my voice and ignoring her word. Then in one swift motion, I lift her in my arms, "sorry, but I'm not watching you bleed to death here."

I don't know who's more surprised—Alice, who eyes me with confusion and terror or the girl who seems too stunned, too shocked to even speak.

It's hard to know if my actions actually whisk us away from danger or just hasten our inevitable death. I am certain that the girl's condition is much worse than I initially thought. Maybe, I can count on her dying before she can take us down but such thinking is never worth the risk. It will result to more than our body count, it can result to total annihilation. She's a regular, after all.

Her bleeding seems to be getting worse by the slick feel of blood in my arms, I can almost smell the reek of blood—a combination of iron and salt or something much metallic—if it wasn't for the minty smell coming off the girl. Peppermints. The smell is so fresh and pristine it's intoxicating.

Great, I really am going crazy, aren't I?

I turn to Alice and say, "Fetch old lady, and I'll take her to Matron Lind."

"Put me d—" says the girl but I cut across her managing to speak a bit firmly.

"Save it," I say, a bit harshly than I intended to, surprising myself, "you will worsen the bleeding."

I expected her to recoil instead, she doesn't back down and glares at me. I swallow. Because that is no ordinary death stare. I feel cold sweat breaking out of my skin and feel the raising of my hair. I'm familiar to fear but I have never felt so terrified in my life. How can she make a single gaze feels like a thousand knives writhing to maim me? Just great, I am definitely going crazy, all right.

"Alright," hisses the girl. Her voice feels like a death sentence that a shiver runs down my spine. "But bear in mind, one wrong move and you're both dead."

I swallow hard and Alice seems to have the same hesitation that I have but I urge her. Go get old lady. Please. And when she turns to her heel, speeding like a f*****g devil, I start to run too.

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If I am not crazy enough to lock a regular in a storage, then how crazy I am to offer the same regular help. But there's a clear difference between acting hero—trying to save some stranger's life—and saving my own hide. I know I am not given many good options to choose from but choosing this option would definitely rank highest to my screw ups. It is the best bad option I'd ever chose. But then again, it is the best option with the highest survival rate of me and Alice. So if I'm given the chance to decide again, I'll make the same decision. Even if it involves saving a regular, risking the chance to get tangled with the rebels, or die a miserable death from the hands of the same regular I am trying to save.

I just wish that if I were to suffer the consequences, let it be mine alone to suffer.

I cannot endanger Alice, old lady or anyone else. I cannot put my village to any risk as long as I can help it. I cannot lose everything again.

I try to focus on the task at hand. Getting to Lind's cabin. Turns out, it's not that easy. Not when you have a dying girl in your arms. I have decided to go directly at her cabin instead of bringing a dying regular in her clinic. Who knows what might happen if other residents see this girl. But choosing to go at Lind's cabin is taking a risk. Besides the fact that I will be dragging Lind in this problem, I'm risking the chance this girl's life to be saved and the chance that Lind will not be there at all. Fat chance, I tell myself, the clinic is not open during weekends so she will be at her cabin, resting. But then again, my luck hasn't been dependable today.

I go to the trouble of using the remote alleys and desolated backstreets not frequented by people just to make sure I can go to Lind's cabin as unnoticeable as I can manage. The strings gathering presence guides me to avoid unwanted attention from the crowds. I mentally curse why Lind had to live so far away from the town market. The more seconds I spend, the more I get wary and conscious of the wet slick blood drenching not only her and her clothes but mine too.

To my great expense, the girl hasn't said anything at all. Even when I nearly trip that causes her to almost fly off my arms. But I know even if she doesn't complain, the pain must be extreme. I just don't know how she's managing to hide it, like she's not having any trouble breathing or not wincing against the torture of it all. As a matter of fact, she looks impassive and calm—bored, even—for a dying person.

But she's not fooling anyone, add the suggestive ragged breathing of hers, she is hurt. Hurt than I can even imagine. And that's when I caught myself staring again. Alright, I was staring, and still staring at her now. Which I know I shouldn't, couldn't be doing not in this case. And I don't know why I can't help it. I've never seen a regular or a being more beautiful than her. If beautiful can define her, that is.

She has the most terrifying but beautiful face—eyes, nose, cheeks, brows, lips, everything in perfection—and the most beautiful skin—rosy and pale, smooth than any other perfect doll. Flowing hair just before her shoulders in the color of hazel brown. And her eyes. Her eyes are back from pitch-black to being glass-like now. Those glimmering glassy eyes with the thickest and longest eyelashes I've ever seen.

"You're staring," I hear her say and our eyes lock together again. Now I wish I can look away.

"We're here," I say and break the eye contact, changing the topic to momentarily divert myself from the embarrassment. Great, I was staring and she caught me. I should deny it, prove her wrong, and blame her instead.

But I know I have no defense or say for myself.