Nightmares were few and far between for Amelia. But this time she was greeted by a distant memory.
The smell of sulfur. The taste of the familiar copper tang on her tongue. And, the feel of their hands clawing at her skin. Images of people she once loved flickered before her eyes — past and present merging together.
Their desperate screams filled her ears as she watched them die before her — chanting her name.
Amelia
Amelia
Amelia
"Ms. Amelia!"
She woke with a start.
Brown eyes blown wide. Her large hunting knife was poised in her left hand as she pinned the blurred figure to the floor.
The more they squirmed under her grip the harder she pressed her knife. She could hear them begging but the sound was muffled and frayed as her pounding heart swallowed the noise.
But the feel of small nails pinching at her skin grounded her. Blinking the haze away she was startled.
The child.
She had pinned the child down. Pressed her knife into her neck and drew blood.
Guilt quickly flooded her system. She could feel bile clawing its way up her throat before she wrenched her hands away and sprinted outside. Hunched against the cabin Amelia emptied her stomach. Guilt intensified the experience — bile burning its way up her throat, angry tears lining her eyes, and the retching of yesterday's meal.
Everytime she blinked, the expression of the girl haunted her — those scared hazel eyes boring into her. The look of fear and betrayal. The guilt of everything laid heavy upon Amelia's shoulders.
Wiping her mouth, she struggled to regain her composure. She hated the shivers that racked her body — stripping her of any self-control. But, maybe she deserved it. Maybe it was her slice of punishment.
She moved unsteadily towards the cabin's door. Hesitant to enter Amelia instead chose to pace the porch — allowing her and the girl some space, some peace of mind.
She paced till the sun came up — an angry orange that glared at her, seared into her skin.
Her eyes often flickered to the door and her hands twitched at her side. She's unsure of herself and she doesn't like it. She can hear the girl whimpering on the other side of the door but can't bring herself to do anything.
Howevers she doesn't have to wait long.
"M-ms. Amelia? Are you there?" She can hear the tremors in the questions and wonders if it's from fear.
For a moment the idea of leaving the child enters her mind. She entertains it — ignoring the child's questions and just leaving towards the woods — disappearing. Nothing to fear if I'm gone. But Amelia already told the girl she was getting her to her group, to her mother.
She sighs as she rubs her eyes with a trembling hand, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."
There's a silent minute between the two.
"Y-you can come inside."
Amelia doesn't want to.
She'd prefer to stay outside — away from her mistake. But she knows the girl is asking for comfort — for Amelia's comfort.
Pushing the door slowly she allows the child enough time to change her mind — but she doesn't.
Instead Amelia's greeted by a depressing scene. The girl's pushed up against a corner, knees tucked up close. She can see her tear tracked cheeks and the remaining tears that cling to her lashes. And, she's shaking as she tries to muffle her cries — putting on a brave face.
But what pains her the most is the sliver of blood leaking down the girl's neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.
She's relieved it's clotted and just a cut but the guilt doesn't settle.
Amelia moves to crouches, wanting to be eye-level with the girl, ignoring the frown that pulls at her face when the girl flinches away.
She stretches her hand out, palm side up — like trying to coax a scared animal. "I'm sorry, Sophia," she hopes the child can hear the sincerity in her apology, "It shouldn't have happened." The moment the words slipped out of her mouth she could see the girl's brave facade crumble as she let out a wet sob.
Amelia can see the shift in the girl and braces herself — even if her body's reflexes scream for her to move. She understands if the girl attacks her. Doesn't blame her — means she's still got survival instincts.
However, it doesn't stop her body from flinching. Even more so at the fact she's now got a crying child in her arms.
Fuck! She's got Stockholm syndrome.
It's the only reason the child is crying in her arms, seeking comfort in someone who's hurt her.
Amelia doesn't move for a while, just allows the kid to cry into the junction between her neck and shoulder — tensing every time she feels the girl snuggle closer. After a few minutes, once she only hears sniffles, Amelia starts to pull away from the girl only to feel her grip tighten.
And no matter how guilty Amelia might feel, the kid touching her is causing panic to bubble in her chest — the urge to simply push the girl away grows with every second.
Breathing hard, she tries desperately to relax. "Sophia. I need you to let go. Now." She's stern, maintaining an even tone, hiding the shakiness in her voice.
The girl sniffles before unlatching herself from her.
The space gives Amelia comfort — gives her control. Allows her attention to be drawn back towards the girl's cut.
Standing up, she gestures for the girl to follow. "Come on, let's get that fixed."
Amelia's softer. She can't stand to physically comfort the child but she knows how to right her wrongs.
—
Amelia regrets taking Sophia out into the woods — no matter if she was trying to do something to cheer up the child.
She feels exposed and anxious — her body itches for a fight, searching for a release to all her pent up stress.
Her knife is drawn as she listens to their surroundings. She makes sure the girl's always in her view. Slightly hanging back she covers their tracks, making sure everything looks undisturbed.
There's only silence between the two — Amelia commanded the child to remain quiet. She's only allowed to speak when Amelia tells her — request of her. That was the rule — the compromise. All Sophia had to follow if she was to accompany her.
A rule she quickly disregarded the moment she became bored.
"Ms. Amelia, where are we going?" The girl turned to her, whispering as if it made everything better.
Amelia felt her eye twitch in annoyance as she glared down at the girl — who at least had the decency to look guilty.
Huffing, Amelia told the girl to keep quiet before moving forward.
The closer they got to their destination the tenser Amelia got — it was a secluded area but sometimes she found a straggling corpse hiding between the trees.
The place was hidden behind a group of well clustered trees. It concealed itself well, almost like nature decided to hide this piece of herself away from the changing world — a nice little creek. And, in the afternoon sun the murky water, glimmers giving off the view of it being prettier than it actually was.
In reality, the water's stagnant, weeds huddle along its edge and if you dig deep into the dirt you're likely to find yourself some crawdads.
But it's a good place to take a bath — secluded and quiet.
"Come on," she nods over at the girl, moving towards a small cluster of rocks — making sure to avoid ruffling any foliage around.
Amelia stands a few feet away near a small clearing where the grass naturally parts from itself — making sure not to leave any prints in the mud. She gestures for the girl, "You go in first. I'll keep watch."
The girl looks around curiously, "Um…go where?"
"In the creek," Amelia emphasizes slowly, looking at the girl as if she's stupid.
"Why would I go in the creek, Ms. Amelia?" The girl asks, growing comfortable enough to question the older woman.
"To take a fucking bath. You look like shit girl. Can't be taking you home like that."
"But…I don't have any clothes to change into."
Amelia sighs before reaching for her rucksack and pulling out some clothes, "Gonna wear these." She found them back at the cabin when she went through the rooms — luckily the ex-owner had a child around Sophia's size.
That seems to be enough incentive for the girl.
Turning around Amelia offers the girl some privacy. "Make sure to watch out for your cuts, don't have any more ointment for them. And wash your clothes, we can put them out to dry so you can wear them tomorrow."
"Ok, Ms. Amelia."
—
Sophia finished bathing pretty quickly and was seated near the bank with her feet in the water. Where Amelia had told her to remain allowing the sun to dry her off.
However, Amelia wasn't expecting to feel the girl's eyes on her back as she bathed — making her skin prickle and hairs raise — which she promptly ignored.
Instead she's focused on rubbing at the mud and gore still coating her skin from the past few days — layers of grime that had quickly matted against her. The water around her turns murky as blood and dirt melt off her — she feels like she can breathe again, relax and gain some form of release from the mud that tugged on her body hair.
"You have a tattoo?"
The question throws Amelia off, disrupting her peace as her hands still for a moment to think back on what she's got on her back.
Right, a scorpion on my shoulder.
"Yea, only two." She offers the girl an answer.
The girl makes a sound of awe, "what else do you have?"
"I have Santa Muerte on my arm." She points towards the figure finally being revealed.
"What's that?"
Amelia sighs before moving to harshly unknot her hair. "It's the saint of death."
"Why would you get that?"
"To protect me from a horrible death. Now close your eyes. I'm getting out."
Amelia looks back at the girl making sure she really closed her eyes before getting out. She slips on the worn overalls she found — feeling weird without her camos. She's quick at fixing her knives against her before grabbing her bag and wet clothes.
"Come on, let go." She's already off heading back through the same path they took.