Home is Not a Place

Chapter Two

Mitch wished she was born with enough wit to get her by. It was difficult being an i***t in a situation where one needed to be smart enough to survive. Zian once told her that she had the wits of a camel, and even now, she had no idea what it was. Zian always knew the things that she didn't.

The man she met in the dark had cold eyes. They reminded Mitch of the tutor; whose round spectacles gleamed sharp in the afternoon light whenever he came over for lessons. The only difference, perhaps, was that the man, Vincent, didn't have a rod.

"Tell me your age," Vincent spoke, he had a gentler tone than the tutor.

Mitch knew Zian's age, but she didn't know her own. Zian was older, bigger, and nobody bothered about Mitch to care about her moon age. So, it usually didn't matter. The landscape outside the carriage only had smooth hills, and Mitch shrugged uncomfortably into her seat.

"I-I don't know," she whispered, afraid of the fit that would come before she finished, "twelve moons, perhaps?"

Mitch felt the nerves on her shoulders tighten. It was reflex at this point to brace for the pain. Gritting her teeth, she gripped the edge of her seat and waited. Some things still hurt, even if you were used to it.

"I see."

Mitch waited for a beat. Another. But nothing came. Not a blow or scream. Mitch opened her eyes to see Vincent looking out coolly into the evening view. She watched him quietly, a new kind of dread rising in her chest.

Why aren't you screaming?