Trapped (þrumuveður)

I feel the sharp blade pull away from my skin, leaving nothing but the cold dark air in its place. I don't feel any relief, in fact, I would have prefered it if he had drawn blood. I could deal with that kind of pain. Fear paralyzed my thoughts when I heard a sound that could only be a zipper and my horrified gasp dies in my throat. I gag, I think that I am going to throw up. One of his hands still pins my arm to my back and even as I struggle, his fingers fumble for the waistband of my pants.

I close my eyes and try to think of something good, something nice, but the dreadful reality of the situation can not be pushed away that easily. Cold air hits my legs as my pants join my bow and arrows on the ground. I let out a whimper not unlike that of a child as he pushes me, harder still, against the wall. I'm sure that the imprint of the wall can be seen in my cheek. But then, just as I mentally prepare myself for the worst, a terrible scream cuts the night air and the pressure on my back is released.

There is no time to wonder what has happened and I fall against the wall that had until then been supporting my full weight. There is more screaming, but this time it is a males voice. It must be Johnny. I wonder if it is a Peacekeeper, the one that pulled him off of me. But that would be even worse. Although Johnny will be punished for what he attempted to do, at this rate any Peacekeeper will want to satisfy his needs on my behalf. That's how things have always worked in District Nine. Nothing is meant to be fair and Peacekeepers are the worst kind of villains out there. So there is nothing for me to do but wait.

I crumple to the sidewalk, ignoring my pants that lie in a heap a few meters away. My shirt reaches my thighs, offering some warmth even though I don't feel like I need any. I pull my legs up to my chest, hugging them. I did not realize before that I am trembling like crazy. It's not very cold, so it can't be the temperature. Finally, I turn around on my knees, my hands braced against the tarmac that is the sidewalk. I retch onto the cobblestones for what seems like hours, not caring as the sick runs onto my fingers. I just turn around in place again, burying my head against my knees as I cry. I feel wretched, I feel used, I am disgusted at myself. The reality of the situation still has not quite hit me, even as tears roll down my cheeks and pool on the ground, combining with the vomit.

It's only now that I realize who dragged Johnny away from me. My eyes focus, rather slowly on the form that is my best friend or former friend or lover... or what? I don't even know for sure. I'm beyong caring. I feel so horrible. I watch, frozen in shock as they fight. I don't feel like I am even there, more as though I am watching the process from afar.

My breathing becomes ragged as they are suddenly lying on top of each other. I'm afraid for her. Then, Johnny is flung away and I hear a sickening crack as his head makes contact with the ground. Then there is nothing, I am sure that he is unconscious. If he isn't dead yet, then he's bound to tell his buddies about what happened.

I don't want them to come as a group. Kevin, Maxwell, Johnny and Rex. As a group they're impossible to fight. The Peacekeepers know about it of course but they're hardly going to do anything. They say that if they don't catch them doing anything, they can't accuse them of anything. They're not bound to punish anyone beating another person up. This is District Nine, we're a district in which children get shipped off to fight a bloody battle annually. A little bit of blood shed is not going to bother anyone. I remember when my brother, Trig, he's ten years old now, came home one afternoon. His left eye was purple, his fragile body bruised and marked, and he was sporting a bloody nose. No one said anything about it.

I flinch when a hand touches me, and then I relax, knowing that it's just her. "Tammy," I murmer. I shiver at her comment and shake my head, not trusting myself to say anything about that at the moment. I don't ask how she knew, how she found me. District Nine is rather large, I could have been anywhere. That's when I realize where she is headed and my eyes open wide with alarm. "No! My parents will freak." But the again, I'm in no condition to go anywhere else.

I struggle as what she is planning on doing dawns on me. "At least, at least drop me off and I can walk the little pathway home," I insist. I know that there's no use in arguing, the second she tenses, causing my struggles to die down. I cast a furious look at her, before glancing anxiously at my surroundings. In truth, I have no idea how my family will react after all these years. Surely they'll be enraged to see me with her again but they can't... can they? Some part in my stirs in indignation when I hear her demand. "Well, I'm seventeen and I'm old enough to decide for myself! Let me down! I can walk!"

My protests grow fainter as the shrubs surrounding the pathway to my house looms into focus. I feel panic rising like a wave inside of me and I struggle harder still in her arms, wanting to flee the situation that so many years ago had destroyed a part of my life. My struggling is only bound to jeopardize her but that thought only registers briefly in my mind before I push it away.

But we've already reached the door and the knocks, or rather, kicks, echo menacingly through the house (at least to me they seem menacing.) Father opens the door.

He is a tall man, his head just about managing not to scrape the doorframe, the stubble around his chin more pronounced than ever, wearing an untucked grey shirt and pants on which even the patches have patches. His hair is graying, his face gradually growing wrinkled. He casts me a brief look and I see something akin to worry crease his forehead, before looking up at Tammy.

Finally, with something that looks like a half-nod, he steps aside. "Come in," he says rather gruffly. It's not a request, it's a demand. Tammy carries me and I just wish she'd put me down. We walk into the kitchen in which my brother was working on his homework. My mother turns on the spot, her hands flying to her face.

I hear what sounds like a strangled sob escape her throat as she rushes towards us. My mother had always been the emotional one whilst my father was stern. "What happened? Oh, God? Are you okay?" Recognition flits across her face and she takes a precarious step backwards when her eyes land on Tammy. "You..."

But then my dad steps into the kitchen, closing the door behind him with a profound bang. "It's alright, Callie, let her talk. Set Kaya down on sofa." I see Trig cast a curious smile at Tammy. Obviously he can't remember her, but he's curious all the same. I hold onto Tammy, as though for dear life. I don't want to let her go.

It's almost too horrible to be true. It looks like a scene from a battle. My mother still unconscious on the ground, my brother now beside her, whispering something in her ear that is so quiet that even I can't hear it. My father seems out as well. Though I'm sure that it won't last very long.

I debate for a second whether I should have Trig come with us but then I realize that it would only make matters worse. "Wait," I whisper to her. I can hear the urgency in her voice but I hurry over to my brother's side, one finger tilting his chin so that he is looking at me.

"Listen to me, Trig. Go upstairs, lock the door and finish your homework." He doesn't look convinced. "Mother will be fine," I say. I hope that my words are true. But a punch won't kill her. I just want Trig safe for when my father comes around. He won't hurt mother any more than he already has. If I know one thing about my father, it is that he loves her more than anything. "I'll be back tomorrow. I'm coming to get you and mum. Until then, lock the door and don't let him in." I place a quick kiss on his forehead and run after Tammy.

Her limping has gotten worse. We walk back past the place where Hooper assaulted me. I glance away and put my hand in hers, I don't think anything of it. Adrenaline has numbed any pain I should be feeling, including my hunger. "We walk and take refuge in the woods," I say. "You don't look very good..." I bite my lip to keep the nervous edge out of my voice. "Maybe you need to sit down."