The Colour of War

Chapter 12

"Get off me!" Evelyn's voice tore through the air, raw with anguish. Stefan's grip was insistent as he wrestled her away from Joseph Ginsburg, his once vibrant life extinguished on the cold pavement.

"Let go!" she screamed again, her fists pounding against Stefan's chest. The crowd encircled them, a sea of morbid fascination that fed upon the tragedy before their eyes. Her eyes were fixed on the motionless body.

"Enough, Evelyn," Stefan said, his voice a low growl in her ear as he pulled her into him. "We have to leave."

Around them, whispers rippled like a tide of disapproval. Eyes bore into them, judging, condemning. Evelyn's anger shattered into despair, and her strength drained away as she collapsed against Stefan's chest.

"We need to leave," Stefan said firmly. He wrapped her more tightly in his embrace, shielding her from prying eyes.

"Alright," she gasped between sobs, her resistance fading. Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen if not for Stefan's steadying arms. Stefan held her close, his arms a fortress.

"Time to go," he said, scanning the faces around them one last time before steering her away.

They reached his house, and as the door closed behind them, Evelyn's sobs subsided into a deep silence. She stood there, numb and lost, staring at the door.

"I need to go home," she murmured, but her voice lacked conviction.

"No," Stefan replied, blocking her path. "You're in shock, Evelyn."

She didn't want his care or concern; she wanted to escape, to run from this nightmare. She tried to sidestep him, but his presence was an immovable barrier.

"Let me go!" Evelyn lashed out as she released all the pent-up emotions—the fear, the loss, the betrayal. He caught her wrists gently, absorbing the blows. When she finally ceased her struggles, he simply held her. Something inside her snapped, and her grief morphed into fury. With a sudden burst, she lashed out, her palm striking his cheek.

"I wish I never met you!" Her words were harsh. "I'm sick of you, of the way you talk with those soldiers. It's all just... a mistake."

Stefan's face remained impassive, yet his eyes betrayed a hint of pain. Stefan sighed as he released her wrists. They stood there, looking at one another, saying nothing. He reached up, his fingers brushing away a solitary tear that had escaped her eye.

"Think what you want of me," he said softly. "But I cannot in good conscience let you leave in this state."

The uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Finally, Evelyn nodded, her body sagging at what had just transpired, it pressed down upon her shoulders. Stefan watched her, his expression unreadable, as she trudged toward the stairs.

Evelyn's eyes drifted between the stoic man before her and the door leading to the world outside—a world now painfully altered. Her parents, Mrs Ginsburg, Alma... all images that haunted her mind. Yet within her, nausea bubbled, rooting her in place as memories of Mr Ginsburg's final moments invaded her thoughts. The vivid picture of his face, blood frothing from his lips. She doubled over, bile rising uncontrollably.

"Sorry," she gasped weakly, her apology barely rising above the sound of vomit splattering on the wooden floor.

Stefan stepped gingerly over the mess, his arms scooping her up as if she weighed next to nothing. Instinctively, Evelyn's arms encircled his neck, her tears a silent stream soaking into the fabric of his uniform. He ascended the stairs with measured steps, carrying her burden as well as his own.

In the sanctuary of his room, he laid her down with a tenderness that contradicted the strength of his soldier's hands. His fingers brushed through her hair, soothing in their rhythm, a comforting presence. A lingering kiss touched her forehead.