The Trip Back to the Council

“Can you protect her?” asked Marcus.
    “Yes,” I said, “I can.” hoping I could keep my promise. As the words left my mouth, she stood up and stormed out.
    “Mara!” her father called after her, but it was to late, she’d already left the room and turned the corner. I heard a sigh come from Marcus before he turned to me to say, “Good luck.”

    “Ha, you really think she needs your protection?” James started as soon as I left the room. I tried to ignore him, but this was easier said than done, considering he kept following me.
    “Why are you following me?” I asked, rather irritated by the fact.
    “Cause here, you need the protection.” he responded, “I found out that there are a few people here who were put into camps by you,” he added, “and that alone is worth killing you.” he said as he stopped in front of a door and grabbed my shirt to make me stop there too.
    “Mara, come out.” he said as he knocked.
    “What do you want?” she yelled from the other side of the door.
    “It’s James.” At this, she opened the door, but, upon seeing me, she glared and slammed it shut again.
    “Why’s he here?” she asked, clearly displeased with seeing me. “Go away!”
    “Mara?” said James.
    “What?”
    “You need to start talking to brown eyes.” Silence was her only answer, and no matter how many times he tried to talk to her after that, it was useless.

    The drive back to the Council was a long, uncomfortable one. She didn’t talk, but I couldn’t blame her, I was trying to attack her just days before.
    The first night, we stopped at an inn. She fell asleep fast enough, but once she was asleep, she started squirming as tears began to well up in her eyes. After a few minutes, she woke up gasping, like she was being strangled. She sat up, hunched over her knees and started sobbing.
    I wanted to comfort her, she was just like a little child, rather helpless. But I didn’t, I don’t think she would have liked that.
    Instead, I sat next to her, waited until she calmed down enough to talk. “Wanna talk about it?” I asked. She didn’t say no, she just sat, contemplating what to say.
    “I don’t hate brown eyes because of the separation.” she said, biting her lower lip. “I hate them because,” she paused for a second, I could see the pain in her eyes as she continued, “because that first year, when I was placed in a camp, I was tortured by the guards,” she paused again, trying to speak without quivering, “and experimented on by the doctors.”
    “What?” was the only response I could come up with. She saw the look of disbelief on my face and continued, “The day they started gathering everyone, I tried to run away.” As the words escaped her lips, she lost control and started crying again. “When they caught me, they put me in a separate car. There were only a few others in the car when they drove us all to the camp.” she stopped, trying her best to stop shaking at the memories, but failing. “They branded us, like damn cattle.” She moves her hand to the back of her neck and lifts up her hair, and right there was the brand, the same brand used to mark criminals.
    “Then, over the next year, they’d bring me in, tie me up, and leave me there, if I was lucky.” she chuckled a little, “It took several guards, after the first time, to get me there.” I could see it. I had pictures running through my head, pictures of her being dragged off by guards, being left in some room, after being tortured or beaten, bruised and bleeding.
    The strangest thing then, she starts laughing. She stops and sighs, “You’re the first person I’ve ever told.” she says.
    I don’t want to, but I smile, knowing that she doesn’t hate me entirely. “Thank you.” I say, not exactly knowing why, but knowing that I am.