Sometime later I felt a cool cloth wiping gently at my face. As I began to stir I groaned at the slight stinging sensation I felt as a cloth pressed into my cut, bruised cheek. The throbbing pain forced me to open my eyes and I realized that I had not, in fact, died from my beating, instead, my older sister, Willow had come to my aid. She pushed the linen into my cheek again causing me to recoil away from her hand. The sudden movement seemed to have startled her as she lets loose a string of profanities I had never heard her say before. Once she had recovered from the shock, she dunked the cloth she had been holding into a bucket.
"slow down" she whispered. "you've been hurt and you need to give yourself a moment." Her words stilled me and I began to piece together what had happened. A realization finally dawned on me; my family had not managed to kill me. This was, however, followed up with a second; they might as well have.
Every part of my broken-down body hurt in a way that I never thought it could, pain shot through my limbs and throbbed in my face and stomach. The severity of my injuries became even more apparent as the fog of sleep cleared from my head. Not only was I seriously injured I also had no home to be taken back to in order to have a place to heal.
I doubted my family could have sent a clearer message about how they felt about my presence there. Bitterness and self-pity washed through me, weighing me down. I could understand shock at what they found out today, but I found their reaction somewhere out of my comprehension. How could those who raised me, played alongside me, and loved me, discard me so coldly? They spent every day working with me, caring for me when I was sick, and sharing all of our meals together. One simple action and all of that was just washed away? I wished that they would have finished the job rather than leaving me half dead, lying in the dirt, with nowhere to go, and no way to survive.
Reaching up I brushed away Willow's hand. "Don't bother" I croaked, my throat scratching, feeling as though I'd swallowed sand. After all, everyone would be better off if I had just died from my family's beating like was supposed to.
My sister Willow was not someone who could be roused to anger easily. I always considered her the most even-tempered among our large family by a fair amount, however, as she heard my words her lips pinched into a tight line, and her grip on the rag clenched her knuckles a stark white. And if I had somehow missed the anger that was written across her body, she spoke her mind.
" Dorian, I know you're in pain but I didn't just walk away from everything and everyone I've ever known so you could give up just like that, I am here for you. You and I will get through this." She said her voice ringing with conviction, leaving me no room to argue. Gently she moved my head off of her lap, stood, and offered me her hand.
After a bit of work and a lot more cursing from the both of us, Willow was able to get me to my feet and swung my arm over her shoulders so that she could help support my tall, thin frame against her petite one. I hadn't the faintest idea where she intended to take me, however, there was no doubt anywhere to be seen on her face that she would get us there.
With that, I allowed her to lead me without a second thought. I cast one last look back at the blood-soaked patch of dirt she pulled me from and I vowed to set aside my self-pity and focus all of my attention on the future. Surely if and survived such a painful moment there has to be a reason.
6 months later, and my resolve has begun to wear thin. Winter is beginning to fall and I've had little luck in finding a reliable way to earn a living. Recently, the most consistent of these jobs has been pulling in the scrap at a shipyard. Hard and grueling work that I can scarcely manage. My leg never healed properly, so even at just eighteen years I walk with a severe limp and pain radiates from different parts of my body, and few shop employers want someone as disfigured as I am working their storefronts.
However, I do my best not to give up as I owe my sister a great deal. Despite all the hardships that came when she sided with me, Willow has remained the most loyal family member. When our family abandoned me for dead, she gave up everything to leave with me and treat my wounds as best she could. She sat watch those first nights as fever raged through my body, and found a way to get us both to scrape by.
Some days I cannot help but be consumed by grief over this. Guilt gnawing my insides. If not for my careless mistake she would still have a family, a comfortable home, and a stable future. I know that in order to rectify the situation I need to work until I am able to give us a life equal or better to the one she sacrificed in order to save mine.
An ear-splitting whistle sounded from the top deck of the shipyard, snapping me out of my thoughts. The day was done so I followed the flow of workers towards the bookkeeper's office so that I could collect my pay. We are paid by the cartful so the worker will have that tally and our coin prepared.
Slowly the line crept along until I finally reached the scrawny, older man. "Dorian Westfall," I said as reached his rickety desk.
"Just a moment" The man muttered as he looked down at his records, his thin, stringy, mouse-brown hair slipping down into his eyes. Seeing the tallies of my work he counted out a few measly coins and handed them to me. The cold metal bit into my hands as the bookkeeper spoke, "The foreman wants to see you"
My brows furrowed in concern as I nodded my comprehension and turned to leave. I couldn't imagine what he wants. I never cause any trouble and I always show up when I'm meant to. I trudged along, pushing my way through the crowd and out the door. The early winter wind bit into me the moment I stepped out onto the platform. My threadbare jacket made for poor protection against the cold so I did my best to stride towards the foreman���s poor excuse for an office. As I entered, the grizzled older man was loading fresh coal into his stove, desperately trying to drive the chill from the poorly constructed shack.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" I asked hesitating at the door.
"Yes, thank you, Dorian, have a seat son," Harold said, gesturing to an old wooden chair in front of his desk.
I moved to follow his instructions, paying close attention to my left leg as I drug it behind me. In these close quarters, my leg was even more of a hazard than it would normally be.
While distracted with this he spoke again: "I'm going to have to let you go" a chill stabbed my chest "I'm sorry, it's not that you're not a hard worker, you just can't keep up with the quota and there are boys waiting for a spot who can"
I bit my lip as fear coursed through my blood again. How would Willow and I manage? I glanced up to meet his steady brown gaze. I could see sympathy overflowing in it, but there was nothing he could do. Harold was only doing his job. All I could manage was a single, sharp nod before I rose from the chair and made my way from the shipyard. Once I was away from the swarm of people I let the bitter tears flow. Sobs erupted from my chest, ripping through my lungs. I fought through the pain of the day only to fail. I reached into my pocket to search for my tincture for pain only to discover that I had used the last of it this afternoon in order to get through the day. I wiped my eyes and prepared myself to make one more stop before I had to go home and tell Willow the bad news. Antony, the local apothecary owner might have something to help me with the pain.