Divided

chapter two

Work was the usual- chopping through stalks of the sugar cane under the watchful eyes of the overseers. She sometimes tried to close her eyes and imagine the sound of birds and not the buzz of flies. The smell of a rose and not the musk of others. Lizette would close her eyes to imagine these things but in vain.

Reality was far too strong to be won over by the delusions of her mind.

It was a relief when the sky started growing dimmer until finally it was pitch dark.

"Ya'lls can stop and go an' get on back in your quarters."

It was the orange haired overseer who she hated most. Hot tempered and foul, he was on top of her hate list along with Alice.

Speaking of which, Alice was at Timothy's' side in the distance, walking back towards the shacks at the back of the big house, in the outskirts of the field. Lizette shook her head at the sight of Alice.

A slave child at her side demanded , "What you shakin' yo head at ?"

Lizette shrugged , trudging back "home." "Home" was a dirt floor she slept on next to Alice. Timothy slept on the other side of the shithole. There were no windows , and cracks appeared in the roof , splinters sticking out. It smelled of funk and that got her blood boiling here and there.

She couldn't breathe and Lizette wished she could step outside to let fresh air into her lungs. But she couldn't.

Orangehead was sometimes out there hunting or whatever. He drank a lot, and she had the misfortune of fighting – well trying to- him off. Her body dropped a few temperatures still thinking about it. She was around 13 summers. She wasn't sure. Slaves didn't really have birthdays.

Alice had decided to be funny and put worms on her head while she slept. The result was not at all pleasant. Alice ended up with a fist connecting to her jaw , spitting out the salty taste of blood. She cried out and had stirred Timothy from his sleep who scolded Lizette in turn.

Lizette stared, mouth agape.

Alice had put worms on her, Alice..

She watched as he held his sister close to his body, embracing her. Lizette's stomach grew sick and she left the shack , brow furrowed in anger. She ignored the calls for her to come back inside and looked around. It was dark, the moon the only source of light. She enjoyed the cool breeze against her skin. She closed her eyes , enjoying being alone in peace for once.

There was space to stretch, to move around. She would've extended her arms to get the cricks out if someone hadn't suddenly clamped their fingers over her wrist.

Panic rushed through her at the sudden intruder and she turned to see Orangehead. His eyes weren't angry at all- which puzzled her. She was used to seeing him furious , snarling at her. She smelled strong beer on his person , and was surprised that he was not in a drunken stupor like most men would have been. Timothy had told her he'd seen the boy chug down 8 bottles of liquor without vomiting or a hangover.

She wished he was drunk. It would have been more comforting in a strange way. She had to deal with intoxicated slave men before who were a lot bigger than him on Christmas especially. Lizette however always escaped from their grips.

But somehow, Lizette doubted this would be the case with the overseer. His eyes were not clouded over a focused gray orbs trained on her, unblinking.

Lizette forced a sound out of her mouth.

"Ehhh? "

She tried wrestling her wrist out his grip but Orangehead only tightened his fingers, making her squeal.

"Why are you out so late? " His voice sounded exhausted .

She pointed to the shack she shared with Alice and Timothy and made an angry face, growling and kicking at the dirt with her bare feet.

"You were... fighting?" She nodded, a little happy that he figured it out so quickly.

He shook his head and let go her wrist.

"Nigras I swear... " Orangehead muttered.

He then stared at her, looking at his hands then her, his hands back to her again as if pondering a decision.

Orangehead started for her but stopped and pulled at his hair, huffing.

"Just go back to ya' quartas. And don' come out at night." His voice was lower at the last part, as if revealing a forbidden secret.

Lizette stood there in silent defiance. Normally, in the daylight he would slap her or shriek into her ear, but he just...smiled. His eyes widened giving him a bit of a crazed look.

"You really wanna play games with me?" Orangehead's voice wasn't loud, obnoxious but sweet. The polar opposite to his usually gruff demeanor.

She still felt the heat of his fingers on her wrist and brought it up to her face , but a sharp pain ran through it she saw her skin. Bruises were on it in the shape of finger prints.

Lizette shivered, looking at the damage he inflicted with awe and horror. She was sure he had fractured her wrist, or been very close to doing so.

Did she want to play games with him?

No.

She took one last look at him, before she turned on her heel and fled. That night, she slept near Timothy, despite it being improper. He was her only source of warmth in the cold deadly night.

A/N: So what do you think ?