Anna

by Sammy H. K. Smith

  Sitting on the edge of bed he pulled the duvet down and started to stroke my back. He made the simplest of touches feel like torture. I concentrated on ignoring the route he traced. I didn’t want to know what he had carved into me.

  “Anna.” He shook me gently. “You need to eat.”

  I didn’t need to eat, I didn’t need to do anything, but I sat up anyway and fixed my gaze on the pile of crumpled sheets. He fed me the food, some kind of rice and sauce, I didn’t taste it. It was a chore, the repetitive chewing and swallowing.

  “Shall I bring Ben to see you?”

  Ben, Ben. I’d forgotten him and a small yearning crept into me. I wanted to see him but I continued to eat in silence.

  “Are you going to talk to me, Anna?” I almost looked up at him then, but managed to resist and continued to concentrate on the bedding. Conscious of the cold, I pulled the duvet around my bare skin, covering everything but my head.

  “Anna?”

  I couldn’t ignore him forever. I wasn’t stupid. I forced my eyes up to his face.

  He was smiling as though this was normal. He put down the tray and sat next to me, worming his hands under the duvet and pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and my food threatened to come back up.

  “Please talk to me.”

  A finger under my chin guiding me to look at him.

  “I’m cold.” He pulled the duvet around us both and leaned against the wall with me cradled on his lap, it was ridiculous. I realised how little I knew of him so I asked, “What do you do out there?”

  He didn’t reply immediately and instead took my hand in his, stroking the back of it over and over again until it became painful.

  “I fix things for people, help settle disputes, find things and people that they need, patrol and carry messages.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t fathom why I was getting into a conversation with him, why I didn’t just ignore him. Another long pause.

  “Because I’m good at it.” He didn’t want to talk anymore and pulled my face closer to his. I stared up at the ceiling as he kissed me. There was no point in counting. He broke away and instinctively I wiped my mouth on my hand. He noticed but said nothing. “This is the first time you’ve spoken to me in over two weeks.”

  Two weeks? How had so much time passed? I’d now been with him almost a month.

  “You hurt me.”

  “I’ve only ever wanted to take care of you, you caused it to be painful. There was no need to fight.” He wasn’t accusatory, merely soft and explanatory. “It doesn’t hurt when you don’t fight, does it?”

  There was only one answer I could give him. He wouldn’t accept the truth, so I shook my head and he squeezed me tighter.

  “Ben has asked after you, he was worried. I told him you’ve been unwell but that you’re better now and that you’ll come to dinner tonight.” I nodded. I wanted to see Ben and yes, I had been unwell. “I’ve brought you new clothes.” He moved off the bed and went through his backpack: a dress. I looked outside, it was nearly October, and yet he had brought me a dress. “I thought you’d look pretty.”

  “It’s cold.” I didn’t know what else to say and I immediately regretted speaking. His face fell and a dark cloud of anger covered him. “It’s pretty… but it’s cold, I’ll need a jumper.” He stared at me and I swallowed anxiously. “I do like it.”

  He left the room and I stood on the bed by the window and watched the sky turn from grey, to blue, to orange and finally back to dark grey and then a velvety black. It was so clear that the constellations shone like beacons. Craning my neck and standing on tiptoes I made out Pegasus clearly; winter really was approaching.

  He eventually returned with bedding and the wash bowl. I knew the rules. I helped him undress me and he sat washing me. I wasn’t allowed to interfere. My hair first, then my neck, back and chest. He worked his way down methodically, ritualistically.

  As he dried me and I dressed, he stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and drawing me closer to him. “I have a gift for you.”

  I didn’t want another false declaration of affection, but I remained quiet as he forced an ill-fitting ring on my finger. Though it was a simple diamond band, I hated it.

  “I want people to know that you’re mine.”

  “You’ve already branded me,” I replied softly.

  “This is prettier than the brand.”

  When he released me I tried to twist the ring but it was stuck.

  “It won’t come off,” I blurted out.

  “It’s not meant to.” He had his back to me and I almost, almost felt my own anger, but as soon as it rose it disappeared in a haze of pain and memory. I stopped trying to pull at the ring. My finger already red and puffy.

  “Are you ready for dinner?” He held up the cuffs.

  “Please… not the cuffs.”

  He lowered them and beckoned me over, I didn’t argue and walked over to him.

  “But you’ll run.”

  “No, I won’t.” I shook my head eagerly, trying to convince him. “I won’t.”

  “Oh, Anna.” He clicked the cuff around my wrist and then his. “It’s written all over your face, you’ll try and then we’ll fight.”

  We left the house, the shackle chafing my wrist and my finger throbbing at the tightness of his gift.

  This was day one. I’d have to start again.

  On the second day I counted a rotation of thirty-three different Wanderers and Enforcers, including four women. Why were they different? Why weren’t they branded and locked in a cell? Greeted with open arms by Olly and shown the same hospitality as Will, they looked no different to me, perhaps larger, stronger, but they were still female.

  A husband and wife team pulled a third woman with them, her hands tied together, and her face awash with fright. A beautiful mane of red curly hair fell halfway down her back. Her limbs were so thin that surely, she would break. There was a large cut to her right forearm, and I couldn’t tell if it was the start of a brand or whether she had injured herself. I found myself grabbing Ben’s arm as Olly negotiated terms for the woman, pawing at her body with the eagerness of a child at a sweet shop. Ben held me back, whispering a warning, as I involuntarily forgot who I was meant to be and tried to step forward as Olly grabbed at her breasts and remarked that she would be a worthy addition to his toys.

  She begged, her words an echo and memory to the way I had begged my captor not to hurt me, to let me go. Olly ignored her, even laughing at her tears and running a finger roughly across her cheek.

  The deal was sealed. Her freedom traded for a repaired house within the town for the couple.

  One of Olly’s men, I can’t remember his name, dragged her away to Olly’s house, her screams growing quieter and quieter until I couldn’t tell if it was her crying in the distance or another unfortunate soul in this hellish town.

  That night at dinner, the couple and female wanderers sat laughing and joking with Olly and his crew, ignoring Kat, Ben and me. That night, after he had shown his affection, I asked Will why those women were free. He chuckled and kissed my hair with his reply:

  “Not all women suit being branded, the same as not all women are strong enough to be alone.”

  I didn’t even have the will to be angry.

  On the third day I asked Ben where Ella was. He told me Olly had sent her to another town on an errand and she would be away for several weeks. A small pang of longing for a sympathetic face stabbed into my dead heart, jolting it slightly but not enough of an ignition to start it.

  “Don’t worry, Anna. Ella will come back. I hope she brings some honey like she did last time.” He moved the Scottie dog along the board and I glanced at Kat on the other bed. She was silently watching us both over the top of her dog-eared magazine. When the door opened and Matthew nodded first at her and indicated the bedroom next door, she shot me a withering look and threw her magazine to the floor. It slithered open on a glossy shot of a mother and baby on one page,
and an army recruitment poster on the other. As the door closed and Ben continued to steal from the bank while thinking I wasn’t looking, and while he slid another handful of notes onto his already bulging pile, I picked up the magazine and flicked through; lies, all of it lies.

  Reluctantly, I walked down the stairs with Ben and back into the kitchen, preparing yet another meal. Will stood and pulled out my chair. This was new, where had the chivalry come from? Sitting I looked around – Ben stared at his plate and Kat smirked as she sipped her wine. But it was when Olly began his nightly reflection on life and thankfulness of family that I really started to feel the hatred burn in me again.

  The chivalry disappeared soon enough, for the following days I remained locked away and alone in my cell. He would come and check on me, remove the bucket, and leave food, but always silent. I wept like a child, huge sobs dragged through my body. Each minute I was alone, and without distraction, I could only focus on him and his vile touch.

  It was late into the night of the fourth day I started to panic. My captor wasn’t back. I banged on the door, shouting and calling for anyone to come and release me. More tears, more anger, more sadness and loneliness raged through my body. I had to get out. If he was dead, I was trapped. As much as I hated the thought of him returning, I willed and wished him to walk in. If it was him, I knew how to please him, what would happen. It was a cold comfort but comfort nonetheless.

  The door was eventually unlocked. I didn’t move from the bed.

  “You left me all day,” I blurted, without thinking.

  “I had business to attend to.”

  “Why couldn’t I be with Ben?”

  He didn’t reply and climbed in behind me and pulled me close.

  He finally spoke.

  “Ben’s run away.”

  Those words were like I’d been punched in the stomach, like he had delivered another winding blow.

  “Ella took him.”

  I screwed my eyes shut and screamed inside. They’d left me behind, they’d left me behind! My selfishness shamed me, but that shame was soon wiped out by fear.

  “Do you know where they went?” He turned me around to face him and started to stroke my face and hair. It wasn’t tender. It was threatening. I shook my head. “Are you sure?” His hand moved to my throat and I shook my head harder.

  “I don’t know where they went, I thought Ella was away, working for Olly.”

  “Olly wanted his men to question you. I said it wouldn’t be necessary. You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Anna?”

  I shook my head again. His hand lingered around my throat. I found myself playing with the ring and thinking of the dead boy. He was a murderer, I could never forget that.

  “I’m not lying, I don’t know where they went.”

  Part of me was glad they had gone, escaped and run away, the rest of me was overwhelmed with loneliness.

  “How can I trust you, Anna? You’ve played games with me before.” His hand moved to my brand and he pushed me onto my back, leaning over me.

  “I’m not lying, I promise, Will, I’m not lying.” I pressed as far back into the mattress as I could, creating a small amount of space between the two of us. I’d tensed up and he could sense that, the heavy lines were back on his face.

  “You promise? What do you promise, Anna?”

  “I promise I’m not lying to you, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “No?” He kept one hand on my throat and the other on the inside of my leg. I was too scared to close my eyes. “So tell me Anna, have you ever had a conversation with Ella with no one else around?”

  Kat, that bitch. Instantly, guilt rose, I didn’t know what they had done to her, and after a warning squeeze to my neck I nodded.

  “What did you talk about?” He continued to move his hand on the soft skin of my inner thighs and I desperately wanted to clamp them shut: but I didn’t.

  “She offered to help me escape, I said no.”

  “And why did you say no?”

  “You’d find me, you’d hurt me.”

  He relaxed the grip. My heart was beating so fast I was lightheaded and nauseous. He continued to irritate my skin and I grabbed his wrist and shook my head.

  “I’ll do more than hurt you, Anna.”

  He lied to me, it did hurt if I didn’t fight, and there was no attempt at gentleness. I held him, I tried to push him away, begged him to stop, I even begged him to kiss me, anything to appeal to the man, but nothing worked. He dug his fingers into my arms, clawing at my skin. The sickness and pain spread from my stomach up my back. It went on forever, longer than ever before; eventually he gave up and released me. I pulled my knees up and curled on my side, crying softly into my pillow. I pictured Ben and Ella, far away, somewhere together: alone. They had left me.

  I didn’t sleep that night. When I was sure my captor slept I gradually inched out of the bed and knelt by his bag. Every part of me ached. Too scared to open the zip in case he woke I undid the toggle and opened the small compartment at the front: maps, compass, fishing line, hooks, a sewing kit, and a pot of paracetamol. I paused, slowly opening the pot, conscious that the tablets would rattle. There were only six – why, when I finally had the strength and momentum to end it all, were there only six?

  I didn’t get a chance to put them back. There was a sudden tearing and pulling feeling as I was lifted by my hair. Screaming, I dropped the bottle and clawed at his hands. My toes scraped the ground and he threw me across the room. I hit my head on the edge of the bed and blood poured down my face. In an instant he grabbed me by the arm and punched me in the ribs. I coughed and choked as my body crunched. A white hot pain burst through my side and I started to cry; blood was on my lips and shock set in. I was shaking violently. He hit me again and again in the same place. I didn’t think it could hurt any more. I was wrong.

  I collapsed. I couldn’t see properly, it hurt so much that everything blurred. He threw me on the bed as though I weighed nothing and backhanded my face over and over. I tasted blood. Everything went black.

  When I finally woke, I couldn’t open my left eye and my face was swollen and inflamed. I tried to sit up but cried out as a searing rush of extreme coldness engulfed my right side.

  Alone. It was day and the low winter sun streamed through the tiny window. Will was gone. I looked down, the angry purple and red bruising to my side glared up at me. Gingerly touching my face I could feel the heat trapped under the surface – my jaw throbbed and I ran my tongue over my teeth, feeling one wobble at the back. I stared at the ceiling. Why had I gone through the bag and made him angry? I was stupid.

  At the sound of the door being unlocked I tried to scramble for cover, but the pain prevented me. He entered, face blank, with a tray of food.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out before he approached. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.” My voice was slurred, muffled.

  He didn’t speak, sitting next to me and forcing two painkillers into my mouth, followed by a sip of water.

  “I’m sorry, Will.” I really was sorry.

  Not a word. He spooned soup into my mouth and even though I wasn’t hungry I swallowed, wincing as my side pulled. When it was finished he helped me to my feet and I cried out and panicked. I was desperate to placate him, to keep him calm. After dressing me he checked the back of my head as he brushed my sticky, matted hair.

  “Will you ever learn, Anna? I never thought you’d give me so much trouble. You seemed so lost, so quiet when I watched you. I just wanted to take care of you. Instead you make me angry, push and test me all the time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “What happened?”

  I didn’t speak, or rather, couldn’t speak. My face was too swollen and I feared what he would do if I did.

  “Business went wrong. Olly’s lost Ben – his rent boy with the fucked-up face – and one of his crew, Ella. If you see them, get Sue to send him word on the network. There’s a reward out for their return.�
�� He didn’t unchain me this time, and instead accompanied me to the table. I drew back as her gloved hands touched my ribs and side. Blood filled my mouth as I bit my lip in pain.

  “Most likely a fracture or two. I suggest rest and painkillers. I would give you some morphine tablets…” She trailed off and locked stares with Will while I concentrated on her paisley shirt, not wanting to look up. There was a long silence. “But no, I think just ibruprofen and paracetamol will do.” She then proceeded to check my neck and scalp, her careful fingers slowly probing. It took all of my strength to remain still and not cry out. She took an agonising amount of time and made carefree chit-chat with Will: about the weather of all things. The doctor was worried about the anticipated frosts and her seedlings, and when he offered her supplies via the network she called him her hero.

  I still didn’t cry, not when the doctor caught the side of my face with her ring, nor even when I slid to my feet and jarred my ribs.

  “I recommend that she takes it slow and steady. No heavy lifting and, as I said, lots of rest,” she addressed Will, ignoring me. “If you must travel then be patient. She’ll not be able to travel at the pace you’re used to.”

  “Fine. How long until she’ll be healed?”

  “Difficult to say. The pain should subside after a few weeks. If she needs further breaking in then I strongly suggest you avoid that area – you could do real harm.”

  There was no emotion in her voice. Just that professional authority again, and Will clasped her hand in both of his with a declaration of thanks. The doctor hadn’t charged him this time and she seemed warmer to him than she had before.

  I could barely walk. Each step left me gasping for air and I shuffled like an old woman. He was still angry with me and would often pull on the cuff and quicken his pace, forcing me to stumble and cry out at the blinding bolts of pain in my chest and stomach. I didn’t want him to be angry.