But something soundless woke me from a deep sleep on this night, which was strange —Why would that wake me but not the rain that moved through, or the echo of horses’ hooves on the sidewalk beneath my window? It had been the door to our room opening soundlessly that woke me. No sound, only intuition.
I was afraid to move, even held my breath for a long time, worried that the rising and falling of my shoulder as I lay on my side facing the wall might give me away. The rustling of Petra’s knit blanket moving against her bed was faint; the sound of breath getting heavier, followed by little whimpers and panting noises that made me uneasy. But it was the sound of someone spitting—I was certain that’s what it was—that left me bewildered. And then Petra let out a noise as if she’d just stumped her toe. Is he hurting Petra? If so, what can I do to stop it?
“Fucking be still,” the green-eyed soldier whispered.
My eyes grew wide. A slapping noise ensued, and the sound of Petra’s whimpers intensified. But she never cried out, and she never said “no”, or “get off of me”, or “please don’t”, and for that I remained facing the wall on the other side of the room, barely breathing, not moving a single muscle in my body.
The slapping sound got louder and I could swear that the floor was shaking my cot beneath me. And Petra’s cries became more unrestrained with every thrust to her backside, eventually to the point of threatening to wake the Overseer in the room across the hall. But instead of quieting down, Petra and the green-eyed soldier went on and on with shameless abandon, slaves to lust who, in the heat of the moment, did not care about consequences.
Petra’s moans of pain were reduced to moans of pleasure, and her sobbing voice sounded muffled as though a hand was in her mouth.
The green-eyed soldier grunted, and pushed a moan up from his lungs, and the rapid slapping sound became much slower and more concentrated, and Petra’s cries subsided, replaced by heavy, spent breathing.
Seconds later, the light from the candles in the hallway blinked on and off as the door to the room opened and closed again without making a sound.
I lay in the darkness, my bones locked stiffly—desperately I wanted to move. Will it seem unnatural if I pretend to shuffle in my sleep? Finally, I couldn’t hold the position any longer and I let out my breath, felt my muscles soften. But I continued to face the wall; after what I’d just heard, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look Petra in the face again.
I heard Petra’s voice:
“I know you’re awake.”
Her footsteps padded against the tile as she moved across the dark room. My cot shifted beneath me as she laid down, the front of her body pressed to my back. I shook, but I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t afraid of Petra, and didn’t think I had any reason to be, but I shook, nonetheless.
A tingling sensation traveled down the back of my neck when her fingers brushed through my hair. I swallowed hard and stiffened again.
“He hurt me, Thais,” she whispered near my ear; the heat of her breath warmed the side of my cheek; she continued to run her fingers through my hair.
I tensed; I was getting mixed messages, strangely mixed feelings from Petra, and I was too afraid to say the wrong thing. I just wanted her to go back to her own cot.
“If he had been a little smaller,” Petra said, still combing through my hair as if she were petting a cat, “it might not’ve hurt so bad—but I can’t say I didn’t like it. Only done it back there a few times.” Her hand stopped moving in my hair, and the heat from her breath spread closer to my lips. “When was the last time you were with a man, Thais?”
The discomfort I felt was unbearable. I didn’t like how Petra touched me, or how close she was pressing her pelvic bone against my bottom; I didn’t like the things she was saying or how she said them.
“It was…”—I struggled with the lie—“…it’s been a long time.”
Petra’s soft fingers grazed my neck as she moved the hair away.
“Look,” she whispered, “I know you’re afraid of the men here; I know you’ll probably never want any of them for comfort or pleasure, but I consider you my friend, and I’m willing to help you any way I can—you know that, right?”
I wasn’t sure I liked what she was getting at—I wasn’t sure if I even understood it.
Petra’s hand slid down my body, over my hip and underneath my gown to find the warmth between my legs. I couldn’t move, I was panicked and confused; sweat that had nothing to do with the summer heat beaded in my hairline.
“All you ever have to do is ask, Thais, and I’ll touch you and, well, I’ll help you feel better,” she said as her fingers inched closer. “Because I’m your friend and we owe it to each other to make sure we’re happy and comfortable. We should look out for each other.”
I shook my head, reached down and took hold of Petra’s hand, pushing it away.
“N-No,” I said. “I-I’ll be okay on my own—please just let me go back to sleep.”
I tried to move away, but then the air was cut off from my lungs as Petra’s hand clamped violently around my throat. I choked and gasped for air, my mouth wide open as if I could suck the air from the room back into my starved lungs. Both of my hands came up, clawing at Petra’s wrist, trying desperately to pry her vise-grip-like fingers from my throat. Petra’s eyes were feral and ferocious as she glared down into my face. Her teeth were pressed together and bared, her lips curled, snarling. I hadn’t even noticed how or when Petra climbed on top of me, her legs straddling my waist, holding me down; and I hadn’t noticed how long the tip of the pencil beside my cot had been pressed against my jugular by Petra’s other hand. I dared not move.
We are all animals, and animals are by nature, killers.
“If you ever say a fucking word to anyone,” Petra spit the words through her tightly locked teeth, “I’ll fucking kill you.”
My eyes opened and closed from exhaustion; the room faded in and out through a blurry haze. I felt my face changing colors—red and purple and probably even blue—and my head felt like a balloon filled with cement.
I’m going to die…
Petra let go at the last second and slowly stood.
I coughed in a violent fit; tears burned my eyes and nostrils. My fingers probed my throat where Petra’s hawk-like claw had been. And before I could pull myself together enough to form a coherent thought, Petra had already walked away and went back to her own bed.
Shaken by my brush with death, I could only lay there and stare at the wall, unable to close my eyes. Quietly I sobbed. We have to get out of here, Sosie. We have to get out of here…
Six days. It had been only six days and Petra wasn’t the same kind girl with motherly instincts she was when I’d met her. She’d already lost herself. She’d already forgotten who she was and the things she stood for and believed in, to become someone else, someone dark and hateful and dangerous. All in the name of survival.