Thunderstorm

Regaining consciousness after a blow to the head felt very much like being submerged under water and struggling towards the surface with only a very vague idea where "up" was. At least that was how it seemed to Brianna. She'd broken through the surface to find the smell of hay in her nose and the taste of blood in her mouth, and little else at first. Now she lay there waiting for her other senses to return.

She knew from prior experience that it was a very bad idea to try and sit up as soon as she felt able to. Last time she'd tried that, the pain had gotten so bad so fast that she'd puked her guts out just from the shock of it. This time, she tried to take careful inventory of her body instead.

Her head was a mess, she knew that already. It would take days for the headaches to stop. Her lips felt numb, they were probably swollen, but the fact that she was able to draw breath through her nose was good news. Nothing broken there, at least.

The raising and lowering of her chest stung with every breath, though not excruciatingly so. She knew she'd taken a few kicks to the ribs, and while they'd certainly be bruised, they didn't seem broken. She raised her right arm very slowly and carefully and felt along the side of her ribs. Yes, only bruised, thank the gods. She slid her hand lower, reluctantly so. Her thighs were a wet, sticky mess. There was an abundance of welts and bruises on the tender skin, and Brianna shuddered involuntarily. Part of her was simply relieved to have been unconscious during the assault.

The hells with it, she thought, and finally opened her eyes.

The world was dark. She could hear something that might have been thunder in the distance, nothing more. After several moments she could make out the roof of a barn some way above her. Not hard to figure that out, given that hay smell.

Her body was sluggish as she sat up. The world kept spinning in and out of focus, like it wanted to play a game of hide and seek. She was patient with it despite herself. Not that she would have been terribly broken up about emptying her stomach contents into someone's haystack, but she simply wasn't sure her body could take it.

She slowly lowered her head, just enough so she could look down her own body. She was a mess. Clothes? she wondered, looking around in a carefully measured motion. She was relieved to discover her leggings and tunic in a messy pile nearby, torn but not destroyed. They'd be good enough to cover her. Once she could stand up, she'd be able to make her way back home like this. And she hoped fervently that it was late enough so nobody would see her.

The steaming hot water stung in the multitude of cuts on her skin. Brianna grit her teeth as she lowered herself into the tub, telling herself that the stinging would stop soon enough. The weather outside had worsened rapidly, though the rain thankfully hadn't started until after she had made it back home. Now, the frequent lightning bolts crossing the sky and a solitary candle were the only things illuminating her room as Brianna concentrated on cleaning herself. She took soap and a piece of cloth to her body right away, eager to rid herself of the memories of cruel hands and foul breath that seemed to linger on her skin. In the middle of scrubbing herself, she began to shake.

"Hells," she said under her breath, clumsily trying to finish the task but failing miserably. She dropped the cloth and hugged her knees to her chest. The emotion she'd been trying to keep at bay, that certain feeling she always had, after, was welling up inside her full force now. She hated herself for letting it when the sobs finally tore out of her, and she rested her head on her knees and let it all consume her, the hatred, the disgust, most of all the dreaded knowledge that it would happen again.

Wyl was getting more and more brutal. Two years ago, when he had taken her for the first time, he had finished mercifully fast. He'd forced a kiss on her and left her crying, sprawled in the grass, her skirts around her waist. But lately he had taken to enjoying her misery, and to inflicting pain. She wondered whether he'd discovered this penchant for sadism during those last two years, or whether he was simply growing more and more bold with her, now that he had gotten away with it for so long.

Damn him. And damn herself, for being such an easy target.

Brianna brought her arms down in a sudden surge of anger, splashing water. She groped blindly for the cake of soap in the now discolored water and began to drag it over her skin, scrubbing like mad.

She was furious at herself for getting caught again. A single damn moment of inattentiveness, and she'd found herself alone with Wyl by the river, stumbling hard over a branch when she'd turned to run. Of all the moments to be a clumsy idiot…

The soap nearly slipped out of her hand, so forceful were her motions now. She was shaking with barely suppressed fury, at anyone who'd had a hand in her current misery. Wyl, for being the thrice-damned bastard he was. All of West Harbor, for thinking she was and had never been anything but a liar. Her foster father, who seemed to feel nothing but disappointment that she was not growing up to be the kind of person he wanted her to be. And finally herself, for deserving what was coming to her, for not having the strength to stand up to Wyl and his sadistic games, and for having the rare talent of antagonizing an entire town to the point where they had all turned their backs on her.

Damn them all, she thought wildly, and flung the cake of soap through the air. It hit the wall with a thud and cracked in two, and the pieces clattered to the floor.

"Brianna?"

Oh hells, not now. Not now.

"I am taking a bath, Daeghun." Her voice was raspy from crying.

"I need to speak with you when you are finished," he told her through the closed door.

Well, that was new. Her foster father didn't often speak to her these days. Certainly it was an easy task for him to realize that something had happened to her, but he generally didn't seem to care. He treated her with the same indifference that had marked their relationship for as long as she could remember, and the only time he had done any different was the one time she had tried to run away.

It occurred to her that he might be worried about her trying to run again. It was certainly a tempting thought, but with Daeghun on her trail, she knew that she wasn't going to get far.

With a sigh Brianna stood and reached for her towel. The water was getting cold anyway. She dried herself and dressed in fresh clothes, folding the torn ones carefully. She would have to wash and mend them later. For now, she would have whatever talk Daeghun insisted on having, and after that fall into her bed.

She took another sip of the healing potion she had taken out of Daeghun's trunk before bathing, and then slowly started making her way downstairs. She knew he would probably be upset about her using it, and usually she would have taken care of her injuries by non-magical means, but she was worried about the pain in her head. The throbbing had slowly ebbed away now, which she was thankful for. Nothing like having to listen to her foster father while her head felt like it was being split open.

She caught sight of her reflection passing the mirror that hung by the stair landing as lightning streaked through the sky. Her mouth went dry. She stopped for a moment and, once another lightning bolt appeared, touched a finger to her split lip. It was a dark, ugly sore in her pale face, testament to her own weakness. Gods, how she hated the girl in the mirror.

Daeghun was standing by the hearth when she entered the living area downstairs. He turned, and she felt his sharp gaze on her face as she stood there with downcast eyes.

"You wanted to speak with me?"

"What happened to you?" he asked, and she barely suppressed a sigh. She knew only too well that he wasn't asking for her sake, but to soothe his own conscience.

"I fell," she said, and that was that.

There was a long moment of silence. Brianna finally looked up and discovered that he had turned towards the fire, apparently deep in thought. She wondered whether that meant she was dismissed already.

"I have been… thinking," he said just as she had made up her mind and turned to go. "I am worried about you, Brianna."

Surprised, she turned back. His voice was as distant as ever, but for him that was a regular outburst of emotion.

"You don't need to be worried about me."

"Yet I am," Daeghun said. He looked tense and uncomfortable. "Things must change."

What in the hells does he mean by that?

"Things are fine," she said tiredly. "I am fine."

"I have made some arrangements," he said.

He what?

She stared and waited, but he would not elaborate. How very typical.

"We will talk more in the morning, I think," he said. "For now, get the rest you need."

"Good night," she said blankly, and walked back up the stairs, wondering.

Before finally going to sleep she sat on her window sill for a good while, wrapped in her blanket and staring out into the night. The view was just as bleak and empty as she felt inside.