The next morning, Hope stayed in bed later. Why had she told him all that? She barely even knew him and she was telling him her darkest secrets. Her eyes fell shut and she began to wish she had just been quiet and not burst out like that. It would be interesting to see how he treated her this morning. Would she even be able to face him?
Her eyes slitted open slowly and she jumped when she found a face in her own. She squealed and blinked and saw a girl standing there.
"Samara!" came a voice. Hope looked up and saw Smeagol come walking in. She immediately became conscious of her low cut spaghetti strap night shirt and mini shorts she wore to bed. "Sorry," said Smeagol, not seeming to notice. "Her parents were having company over and asked if I would bring her here. I don't know why she wandered off though. Come on Samara," he said, taking her hand. Hope got one final glimpse into the girl's eyes and watched as she followed Smeagol out. That was when she saw it. A long red streak going down the back of Samara's white dress. Hope stood up and wandered over to her, not caring about her pajamas, and checked to see if the mark was still there. Smeagol seemed to not notice and sat down with her by the fire. He looked up and spotted the look on Hope's face.
"Hope?" he asked. Hope did not take her eyes off Samara's back but spoke.
"Smeagol, her back..." she couldn't finish, and Smeagol took a look. He saw the mark as well and fingered it. The red mark was wet and stained his fingers when he touched it. Blood.
"What's this?" he muttered. Hope ran up and saw it was blood as well.
"She's bleeding," she muttered softly. "Here, let me take care of it." Smeagol nodded and Hope carried her into the bathroom, retrieving a bucket of war, water from Smeagol. She stripped off Samara's dress, very carefully and saw what was causing it. A large, ugly cut down her back that looked suspiciously like a whip mark.
"Oh my god," she muttered. "Samara, where did this come from?" Samara, of coarse did not speak and Hope proceeded to clean it. Samara sat motionless, twitching occasionally when the wet cloth touched her raw flesh. Hope was fighting back tears, knowing the poor girl couldn't cry or scream if it hurt. It wasn't fair. It was as though she wasn't even alive. Like it was just an empty body sitting there. Hope finally couldn't stand it and stepped in front of her.
"It's all right," she said softly. "Cry, please. Just let it out. Scream! Anything. It's okay. Just do it. Please don't just sit there like that cuz I'm gonna break." Samara simply stared and Hope gave up as a film of tears blinded her eyes. Samara reached up a hand and cautiously placed it on Hope's shoulder.
"I-I-I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No," said Hope, touching her hand. "It's not your fault. It's me. I'm so tired. Are you all right?"
"Y-yes."
"All right." Hope quickly brushed away the tears and finished taking care of the wound. "Smeagol?" she called.
"What?" came a reply.
"Could you get me one of my long shirts from my bag?" There was a pause and a black shirt was tossed in. "I know it's not beautiful, but this'll work till we can get you home and you can put on a real dress, all right?" Samara nodded slowly and Hope placed the T-shirt on. On the shirt was, ironically, the creature Gollum, from The Lord of the Rings. Hope's eyes widened when she realized this, and made sure that 'Smeagol' was not printed anywhere on it. Hopefully Smeagol wouldn't notice a resemblance. Samara looked at the shirt and back at Hope.
"W-Who... is... G-g-"
"Gollum?" said Hope, cutting in. "Well, er... he's a small guy with a very funny voice."
"What d-d-does he s-s-sound l-like?" Hope smiled.
"Like this. My, preciouss," she hissed. She had always been good at imitating Gollum's voice and was known for that at her school. To her shock, Samara's lips curved into a half smile, and though it was not laughing, it was good enough.
She carried her out into the common room to Smeagol and shrugged.
"It looks like a whip weal. Where could it have come from?"
"I don't know," muttered Smeagol, sounding just as surprised as she had been. "Are you sure?"
"Well, look." She sat Samara down and pulled the back of the shirt up to show him. Smeagol gasped and restrained from touching it.
"That's a whip mark all right. I'll ask her mother about it." Samara suddenly began to tremble and they both stared, suspicious.
"Samara?" asked Hope softly. "Do you know who did this?"
No answer.
"Was it your mother?"
Samara's eyes looked up at her and that was all. Hope and Smeagol exchanged looks and Hope re-adjusted the shirt.
"What should we do?" she asked. "We can't let someone beat her. It's not right."
"We'll talk to her parents." Smeagol took her by the arm and pulled her to the side. "Listen," he whispered, making sure Samara didn't hear. "If there's anyone who would have done this, it's her father. He hates her, he said so himself. Her mother's too frail to handle this. She's afraid of him, I've seen it in her eyes."
"Oh my god," muttered Hope. "What should we do?"
"Confront him. He can't get away with hurting her... of all the nerve." They both jumped when there was a knock at the door. They looked over and standing there was Deagol. Hope gasped and smacked her forehead.
"Oh, shit! I forgot Deagol's lesson. I'll see you later, all right?"
"Yes," he answered. Hope hurried to her room to get changed and then left with Deagol.
