Underestimate Me

The knife was upon his cheek, its blade softly pressed against his broken bone. Blue was already forming underneath it, though the bruises would be nothing compared to the works Meredith could manage in her rage. Josselyn could see the animal in her writhing to get free. She could see Maa working her power on her blond haired sister. Maa who had been so good to her, but had indulged in taking possessions too. At present time she was taking away the Meredith she cherished. Maa had moved into her sister and suppressed the side Josselyn got to see so frequently. The pieces of Meredith that had been shattered by her brother and her father. The pieces Josselyn knew how to pick up and bind together again. Maa had hidden them deep and replaced the empty spaces with her own wrath. The look in those icy eyes was not one Josselyn was accustomed to seeing. Not in Meredith. She had seen eyes like that though. Two years ago she had seen them. Two years ago.

“You have a devilish wanton body,” She tried not to listen to his words. She tried to ignore his nasty breath, hitting her cheek every time he spoke. She tried to ignore the way his body was pushed against her.

“I reckon that is why Rowen could not keep you to himself. He ought to have known your capabilities would be a service to us all,” she met his eyes. The cruelty, the cold steaming from those irises almost left her paralyzed. She had lost all feeling in her hands for what seemed like days ago. Them being tied up to a pole hanging above her head made her blood flood down and leave her fingers. They were senseless. Her fingers were senseless, not the rest of her body. Her hip was burning from the latest cut they had made. Blood was dripping down her thighs, droplets falling to the ground. She prayed. Balor please, hear me Balor. Save me Balor, I truly need you my Lord. Please Balor, defend me. Dear Balor, I beg you, make my body as numb as the tips of my fingers. I beg you, please let me die.

Josselyn was still holding on to the armchairs of the seat she had draped herself across, her fingertips were digging into the wood and splinters lodged themselves in her skin. She felt them. They were not senseless. They felt the splinters pricking into her flesh. They also felt the cold of the knife Meredith was holding in her hand. Her fingertips sensed the weight of the steel in Meredith’s hand. As if her own hands were holding the knife. As if she was pressing it against Rowen’s cheekbone. His head was tilted back, pulled back from the blade and decreasing its pressure on his skin. The muscles in his neck showed. They were stretched and strong, yet they could not stretch much further and Meredith could easily push deeper.

Josselyn felt as if the tent was getting smaller and smaller. Every word Rowen had spoken sucked the air right out of her. With his hands tied around his back, he was able to strangle her. His mere words were choking her and she tried gasping for air. Every breath she drew sucked the veil into her mouth and suffocated her more. With one drastic movement she ripped it from her face, feeling cold air surge to her sweating skin.

The girl standing next to her tried to grab her hand; she noticed something was not going according to plan. Josselyn avoided the touch. She was too busy getting enough oxygen to her brain. She could not be there. She could not have Meredith put a blade to this man. She could not do it, for feeling it herself. She would feel the knife going into her flesh. She would experience the pain all over again, and this time it was her wielding the blade as well. It was pure self-mutilation and as Josselyn was choking she truly felt this could be her end.

Her feet flew up and as if in a daze she fled the scene. Across the tent, through the darkened room. She flew in front of Rowen, running past him in her bewilderment. Cold air struck her when she dashed through the canvas entrance. Air was slowly seeping in her pores again. She rushed across the quarter and heard footsteps behind her. Crashing into a tree she embraced it and stood there, panting. She felt the nausea working its way up, but she could not barf. She could not hurl, because the running steps that had followed her had been those of Emma. The young sister would find her leader folded in two and retching up her dinner because of a few words and a knife. It could not be and it would not be. Josselyn was to appear strong.

“Josselyn? Sister Josselyn?” The soft voice of the girl was already behind her. Josselyn felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned, stretching her back.

“I am fine; it was nothing fresh air could not mend.” She forced a smile to the little girl, but the look on her face would not waver. The big eyes looking upon her would not change into relief. They kept that horrid look and that shock in them.

“Miss, I…” she started, but she could not finish her sentence. She could not finish what she meant to say as she folded double herself and vomited on the forest ground. Josselyn outstretched her arm and started massaging the girl’s back.

“I am so sorry I let you watch that,” she whispered, “It’s ok, throw it all out. It’s ok.” Emma straightened up again and took the hand that lay on her back in her own.

“It is not the hitting that had me nauseous,” a whisper flew through the air. “It was that I have seen his punishment before…”

“What do you mean by that little girl?” Josselyn asked, she heard the peak in her own voice. The surprise and anxiousness that those few words had sparked in them.

“Sir Elrik had him stand trial. He got forty lashes with a whip. In the towns square. I saw it myself.”

Josselyn grabbed the girl by her wrists and shook her. “Swear it by Maa and all you hold dear. Swear it dammit!” She yelled. She was getting out of control. Losing herself piece by piece. The fear and pain was to be seen in Emma’s eyes when she promised her leader she was not lying.

“Do not play me as a fool, little one. Maa will not be easy on you if you do.” Josselyn almost growled. Maa was taking control of her puppet again and she could not resist it. Strong and determined steps brought her racing back into the tent again.

“Stop this!” She bellowed as she came in, Meredith was still holding the knife to his cheek but had not yet cut him.

Two steps brought her next to her demon. Her arm outstretched and grabbed his tunic by the hem, with one yank she had it pulled up. What she found had her almost gasping for air again. The back she had once caressed so dearly was now painted with marks. The muscles that formed his broad back were interrupted with long outstretched and thin marks. Broken skin that had healed over, leaving white marks across his back, some more pink than others. She had felt how her hand grazed his back as she pulled up his tunic. She had felt that same heat she had that one night, radiating from his body.

The only woman I ever had real feelings for died two years ago. The words kept bouncing in her head. Her fingers still holding onto the fabric of his tunic. His bare back presenting itself with scars in a multitude comparable to hers. Scars of something other than a knife, less deep, less permanent.

“Well I guess they thought you a woman as well" She whispered. It was cruelty, but it was amazement too that brought her to speak those words. She had heard too many lies to know the truth. She had dreamt too many scenario’s to know which one was real. She had had too many nightmares to know if she was sleeping or awake.

He was right. The woman he might have loved, died two years ago. She let go of the fabric and it fell down his torso again, covering up his muscular back and erasing the scars from sight.

“We are done here Meredith,” She said. “Bring this dog to his pole, for this puppy love of his has died. Two years ago.”

She saw her words having an effect on him. His muscles tensed, his eyes started burning and his jaw became more angular than it already was. He was preparing for battle and his anger was flaring up. She was not inflicted by his temper. Not until those words left his lips: "It was your fault this happened to us! If you hadn't shown up that night we would not be here with these nasty afflictions."

She turned to him and with a quavering voice replied to his accusations: “I guess a foul creature like me could only think of your loins”