Page 6 of Of Shadows and Blood

That bastard.

My blood begins to heat up as I march over to the confrontation. Sawyer stands up and raises his hands to Trentin. His gait sways from drink, and small specks of blood and skin cover his body from the crows’ feast.

My eyes lock on the scene and Sawyer makes eye contact with me, shaking his head slightly. Trentin sways and nearly trips on the frayed whip. I have never wanted anything more than to turn that whip on the man and let him taste the tired leather as it pierces his face and scrapes his tyrant mouth.

Trentin spits onto the dirt, the glob settling as he draws in a ragged breath of rage. His arm cocks back further behind his head, threatening a dangerous blow to Sawyer who is already bleeding from his nose, trying to get his bearings before the next lash. I don’t know how Trentin is up and mildly coherent after the stunt in the field.

“You leave him be,” I snarl, stepping in front of him to block the path to Sawyer.

Trentin snorts and spits on my face. Unflinching, I move closer, his drunken hot breath filling the space between us. He flexes his arm again as his grip squeezes the leather.

“I said –” I put a finger in his face, pointing a deadly aim at him – “stop.” My anxiety races as I stare at him, not wanting to back down in the slightest.

I can do this.

“Don’t, Liv. This is between he and I,” Sawyer speaks up from behind me. I turn to look back at him, seeing that he regained his ability to stand, wiping blood mixed with dirt from his forehead.

Trentin’s evil grin spreads across his face. “Tell her what you took from me.”

Sawyer grins from ear to ear.

“TELL HER!” Trentin screams, whipping the ground.

Turning back to face the drunk, I realize I underestimated his motivation to deal pain today. My head collides with the back of a hand delivered by the disgruntled man.

Pain erupts across my face as my head is thrown to the side. My cheek stings, no, burns with fire and I fall to the ground. The taste of metal coats my tongue. I lap it up.

“Your punishment for his mistake,” Trentin says, leaning down close to my face. He makes a reach to grab my chin, but I push away, crawling a few feet back to regain my stance. His violence has never surfaced like this, and I fight the fear it evokes.

What happened?

Sawyer grabs me from behind and helps me stand up. All I can do is turn my face into his shirt. He reaches in his pockets and I peek down to see his hands dig up a few coins. He tosses them to the ground in between us.

“You owe me far more than this, Sawyer,” Trentin bites.

“On the contrary, I owe you nothing.”

Trentin bellows a crackly laugh, and I pull my head away to see him hobble closer to reach down for the coins, picking them from the dirt. Just like the filthy beggar he is. Our eyes meet and he mimics the pouty face I used to earn the bruise now forming on my face.

“How cute,” he says, standing up to take a look at the two of us. “A poor, useless ass boy with his pathetic girl. And I do mean girl, she don’t even look like a woman,” Trentin groans out.

Sawyer makes an attempt to fly forward but I press into him to hold him back. The insult may have very well hurt him more than it hurt me.

It’s true, I’ve lost any distinguishing features of femininity, curve, appeal. It’s a miracle Sawyer even bothers to recognize me as a girl he can sneak off with when the candles are blown and work is done. Our secret, innocent moments hidden away in the half-collapsed church in the woods.

Sawyer releases me gently and I softly wipe my face, no doubt marking it with dirt.

“Hey, let’s talk about that.” I reach for his hand.

“I’m fine, Liv.”

“What does he think you took from him?” A million things run across my mind. No one on this land has valuables worth stealing.

Sawyer puts his hands to his hips and shakes his head before walking away with a slight limp. To discuss any moment of weakness would do more harm than good with Sawyer. This is how he deals with it and while I cannot blame him, I wish he would seek me out more.

I watch as he picks up the wheelbarrow sitting next to my porch, pausing to release a sigh with his shoulders as he carries forward towards Haldon who, without a doubt, watched what just happened. I don’t blame him for not intervening with the marks he carries every day from his father.

Coming down from the adrenaline of the altercation, I release a deep breath and assess the swelling on my cheek. I wince as I run my fingers across it. My hair is unruly and dirtied once more so I’ll have to remember to ask Ma to put it up properly when she gets home. Sometimes she brings home little blooms she finds along the road and weaves them in. Her fingers, gentle against my scalp, prompt me to imagine a life as someone who isn’t me.