The Price We Pay

Chapter 17

My feet carried me back to the house, my head pounded as I ran. I desperately reached for the door, pushing down the overwhelming feelings exploding from my chest. I clenched the cold doorknob, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it. Jakob had been my best friend for years. I even thought we could be more than that, and In less than a second I had ruined it.

I rested my forehead on the door as my stomach tightened into little knots. I released the doorknob, unable to go inside. If I did, I would have to face Irene. She could read me like an open book, and I wasn't ready to talk.

Instead, I left the back door and circled the house. Even though they still ached from the day before, my legs craved movement, I walked around the side of the house and peered down Irene's long, dusty street. She didn't have many neighbors. Besides her house, I could only see one other home. It sat not too far down the opposite side of the street. I would be willing to bet there were more houses, however, the trees made it hard to see any further.

As much as I wished to be moving, my legs felt like wood. I sat down on Irene's front steps, watching the trees sway above me.

You're just one person.

Jacob's words repeated in my head. Did he really mean that? It was true: I was only one person, compared to the enemy I was facing, I was a grain of sand. Irrelevant, unimportant.

I tilted my head up to see the tips of the trees, I felt so small, so broken, so alone. Part of me longed to talk to Jakob, but I had ruined any chance of getting him to talk to me. My eyes filled with tears, I quickly blinked them back. I don't cry. Especially not over boys.

I couldn't sit here sulking all day, I used my hands to push myself up, when a pain I hadn't noticed before shot through my arm. I stayed seated as I rubbed my finger over the palm of my hand, only now realizing how red and swollen they had become from pulling the blanket.

A sick feeling washed over me. Only hours before I had used these hands to kill another person. I had gripped a gun and fired, I had killed another person. I hadn't even thought twice. I had never in my life killed a person, at least, not before Lodz.

I looked away from my hands, focusing all my energy into not throwing up. Instead, I tried justifying my actions; they had been Nazis after all, they killed people, they had been trying to kill us, they wore swastikas. Were those not good enough reasons? No matter how much I tried, overwhelming guilt filled my conscience. Was there ever a good reason for killing another person?

I sat with my thoughts as I noticed the details of the house down the street. It was a small farm house, smaller than Irenes. However, unlike Irenes, colorful flowers grew under the window seal. They looked a lot like the ones I had seen in Irene's garden.

A tall woman stepped out of the house, she wore a long green dress, with a white apron tied around her waist. Her sleek black hair was tied back into a bun, it was so tight, her face seemed to stretch with it. She carried a small handful of dirt. In the center, a small plant was growing. She knelt by the flower box under the window and planted it next to the other flowers. A beat later, she flipped around and looked directly at me. The hair on my neck stood up, I sat up straighter.

Her dark eyes began to study me. I checked behind me, confused at her sudden interest. She crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a tight disapproving line.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If this woman decided to be nosy and ask who I was, I would simply tell her that Irene was my Aunt and I had only stopped by for a few days. The woman stood in the same spot, staring me down. I finally grew uncomfortable in her gaze. I pushed myself back up, ignoring the pain in my hands. I'd rather be inside with Irene than out here having a one sided staring contest with some random woman. I turned to open the front door.