Resist

26

Breakfast the next morning was...interesting. People seemed to be on edge around me, as though I was a scared and easily startled person simply because of my second nightmare. I was surprised by the dream myself. I hadn't felt fear over being on the London streets in my waking life since I had lived on them for so long; they had been essentially my home. Not until I had been victimized had I felt fear at the amount of solitude I had lived in. Perhaps it was just since then and the fact that I now lived in a group that the dream had terrorized me so. Whatever the reason, Jack had been a very welcome reprieve. Once cocooned in his arms, I had slept soundly until morning.

But due to one eventful night, I was being treated differently and it was already beginning to hit a nerve. Tucker, although usually kind, was being even more sweet and talking in a hushed tone as though I was going to be startled by his voice. Will seemed to be checking on me periodically, as I had caught his worried glance several times, and Bower had not greeted me with a "Good morning" but with "Are you okay?"

As anybody would, I was touched by the fact that they cared enough to be worried but this had to stop.

Breakfast led immediately into a training session in the weaponry, a welcome physical outlet after last night and this morning. I was the first to gather my gear and begin action. I loosed a whole quiver, broken and crooked arrows and all, into the targets. Three metal heads hit home in each, solid thunks sounding through the room.

The murmurs of everyone else readying for practice had lessened as each arrow hit the wood until it was silent in the room, my ragged breathes from shooting the fifteen odd arrows off in a row the only noise. My shoulders burned from how hard I had cranked back the bow string on each, shooting them with such force that some had sunk the whole head into the wood of the targets.

I finally looked away from the last quivering arrow to see the whole room focused on me. It seemed as though my rally of shots was an unexpected event.

Slowly, people composed themselves, kindly remembering that staring was not polite. As my gaze found each of them, they went back to readying themselves, pulling weapons from the walls and fastening on bracers. As I watched Will strap on his leg bracers, I realized that in my haste my own on my arm was uncomfortably tight. I struggled with the strapping, attempting to loosen it, but my angry self had laced it far too tight, the knot pulled so hard that my fingernails could not dig between the strings.

"Need help?" Jack asked. I hadn't heard him walk over but he was hovering beside me, waiting for me to abandon the knot and let him have a go. With a huff, I threw my bracered arm in front of him.

He worked in silence for a minute, strategically unknotting the string. As I began to feel the bracer loosen, Jack spoke again. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low, quiet.

"Nothing," I answered, letting on with just one word that something was seriously bothering me.

Jack waited for me to elaborate as he finished untying the bracer and then began retying it less tightly, his long fingers easily knotting the lace again. When he released my arm and I pulled it back to my side, I caved.

"It's just that after last night everyone's treating me like a child, like having a nightmare warrants me fragile or unstable."

I could tell Jack didn't know how to respond; on one hand, screaming myself awake in the night did make me look unstable and the way Jack had held me last night told me that the fragile part was probably true. But I wasn't either; maybe in the moment I was but not permanently or prolongingly. I was fine this morning and all I wanted for was people to forget about it.

"Exactly how long was it that you lived alone, on the streets?" Jack asked.

The question took me by surprise so I took a moment to answer. "About six years," I told him.