Little Lamb

6 ❦ wipe your tears

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He lifted me gently, his touch careful, almost tender, as if I might shatter. My body leaned heavily into his, my legs trembling with weakness. Without a word, he carried me to the shower.

The sound of running water filled the silence as he adjusted the temperature until it was warm.

I could barely stand, my legs unsteady, but his arm remained firm around my waist, keeping me upright. The water cascaded over me, washing away the cold and the blood, yet doing nothing to cleanse the shame. My dress clung to my skin, heavy and suffocating, but I was too tired to care.

His hands brushed against my shoulder as he peeled the wet fabric away.

"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, my voice almost lost beneath the water's steady hiss.

He paused, his green eyes meeting mine. For a moment, his hardened mask cracked, revealing something softer beneath. "Because someone has to," he said simply.

As the water cooled, he turned it off, wrapping me in one of my pink towels. Back on the bathroom floor, he knelt beside me with a medical kit.

I wondered who he was, wondered what he looked like underneath that black balaclava. He had to have some sort of medical background. Maybe he was ex-military. A medic? I wouldn't doubt that.

"Allister," I murmured.

His head lifted sharply, his green eyes narrowing in surprise.

"Is that your name?" I asked, the words dragging out of me.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "But that's what they call me."

His accent caught me off guard, faint and Southern. It was disarming in a way that annoyed me. "So... it's an alias? Who are you people?" I pressed, desperate to make sense of the chaos

He ignored my question, focusing on his work. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, stitching my flesh with precision. I didn't feel it, I was too numb, but the sight of it made my stomach churn.

"You're awfully curious for someone in your position."

"It's how I cope," I shot back, the smallest smile tugging at my lips despite myself.

He glanced up at me. "Then stop. Curiosity will only get you killed."

I bit my lip, frustration bubbling beneath my exhaustion. "Who is the man with two-colored eyes?" The question spilled out before I could stop it.

Allister's expression darkened, and he shook his head. "You don't want to know."

"You saw what he did to me. You heard it. Please..." My voice broke. "He's horrible."

His green eyes softened, sympathy flickering across his face before he pushed it away. "These men aren't like anyone you've ever dealt with. If you're smart, you'll stop asking questions. Understand?"

I nodded weakly, biting back a sob. "I didn't think you were like them," I whispered.

His jaw tightened. "I'm not your friend, Lola. Don't confuse this for kindness."

The words stung, but I swallowed them, pressing my forehead to the cool tile floor. I hated him. I hated all of them. But the worst part was that I hated myself more for needing his help, for feeling anything other than revulsion toward him.

He left. And with a heavy sigh, I pushed myself up from the cool tiled floor of the bathroom.

Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed that I looked cleaner, fresher, yet the weariness still lingered in the depths of my eyes.