A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

III

"Say a word and I'll blow your head off," the sound is deep and rough, masculine. "Which, consequentially, will alert the other men I'm with, who will then kill your parents." I feel the muzzle of a handgun press against the nape of my neck, the metal ice cold, and I whimper. "So, I want you to tell your Mother everything is fine."

"Everything-"

"Louder!"

"Everything's fine!" I wail, hoping she'll hear the desperation and alert the guards patrolling the city.

"Are you sure? I heard an awful crash," she was getting closer, both hope and fear course through me.

"You were trying to kill a spider, it was a book," he hisses.

"I was trying to kill a spider, I threw a book and it knocked some things off the table." I suddenly realise that if my Mother comes in, the brute holding me captive won't hesitate to shoot her, and that will mean my Father will die too. "I...I'm getting changed, don't come in!"

"Okay, love. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes," I hear the thud of her feet retreating and tears of defeat run down my cheeks. The presence that had be hovering over me disappeared, along with the gun, and I froze, fearing what would happen next.

"Get up," I hesitate uncertainly, and with a growl he hauls me to my feet. "Do as I say or your entire family will die!" I stumble, before regaining my footing and turning slowly. Before me stood the man – no, boy – from the oval, the one that shot Pumpkin, whose real name was Edmund Dinkman. His eyes were still breath-taking, but not nauseating. Not that that really mattered, considering he was standing in my room, wearing what was obviously Outsider garb.

"Wha – what do you want?" I stammer, twisting my fingers nervously around one another.

"I want you to get changed, and pack." Startled, I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

"What?" I am too surprised in that moment to feel much fear.

"I said, get changed, and pack. Lightly," he growls, taking a threatening step towards me. I shy away, before turning and grabbing the first item of clothing my hands come across. "Something you can travel in," he snaps as I hold up a Summer dress. I pull out pants, and a long sleeve simple sweater. It was nearing Autumn, so it was getting colder. "That'll do, get changed." I stare at him, and he stares back, he strange eyes cold and distant. I feel my face heat up, and look away.

"Um, could you...turn away while I change?" I'd never had a boy in my room, and having one in here while I changed was certainly a new, awkward experience, ignoring the fact that he had a loaded gun directed at me. He continued to stare, and I shivered, "Please?"

He sighs and turns towards the opposite wall. "Don't do anything stupid." With trembling hands I unbutton my dress and pull it off slowly, checking over my shoulder every two seconds to make sure he doesn't peek. As fast as I can I yank on my pants and top, but before I turn back I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face, once pale and dull, was flushed with colour. My hair, pale gold my Mother said, it looks so soft. And my eyes, green, like grass. Similar to the strangers, but more yellow than mine. I touch my lips, wincing as my finger brushes over the split caused by our tussle. Scarlet blood stains my chin, but underneath my lips are a similar colour, but not as vibrant...what did Mother always describe it as?

"Pink." I spin back suddenly, a blush spreading across my face as he stares blankly at me.

"I – Pardon?"

"Your lips, they're pink."

I cringe, "I don't know what that is," I reply quickly, to which he huffs and crosses his arms. Not bothering to reply, I just stare at him as his gaze wanders out the window. He was wearing dark, soft leather pants and a t-shirt that showed off his muscled arms. His skin was dark from spending many hours out in the sun, and was covered in a film of red dust, indicating he'd been Outside recently. Faded, dirty yellow swirls ran down his arms, and I can imagine there'd be more on the rest of him. His dark hair glinted with threads of scarlet and what I presumed was gold. His jaw was strong and blunt, his nose straight and sharp. He had what many would call desirable attributes, good inheritable genetics, unfortunately his class meant that no one would ever speak to him, let alone bear his children. Though it's rumoured some women go to Outsider men for a wild, rough thrill once in a while. "Pack your things," he speaks so suddenly that I jump, before scampering over to my closet to pull out a large duffle bag. I grab several pairs of bra and underwear, unsure how long I would need them. I pack a few pairs of socks, before pulling together three travel-worthy outfits, the whole time wondering how I could get out of this mess. As I pack toiletries, my eyes dart, desperately searching for a worthy weapon. My eyes fall on a carved wooden shape in the back of my closet. It was the carving of an archer, standing with the bow strung, ready to fire. I'd won it when I competed against children from other towns at the age of eleven. I snatch it up, hiding it in the folds of my bag as I stand and turn back to the intruder. He's watching me again, and sweat causes me to almost lose my grasp on the figure.