We were once again gathered around a table in the main room. This time, they were taking a little longer to announce who would be taken so both Silva and Blasius were networking with people they had known from before. Menas and I, being our awkward, nonsocial selves, remained seated at the table.
When the guard finally approached the wall lined with metal bars, Blasius sat down and gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. Silva joined us just seconds after.
"Numbers 126, 50, and 63," the guard announced. I looked down at the number that had been tattooed on my arm: 863. Both Blasius and I were safe. I tried to get a glimpse at Silva and Menas's tattoos but they were too far below the table to get a good look. From the look on Silva's face though, she seemed to be relieved. I took that as a sign she wasn't being called either.
"Guys," Menas whispered to us.
He lifted one of his tanned arms to reveal his tattoo. It read "063." Menas stands up. As I look around I notice two other people were standing as well, likely 126 and 50.
A guard makes his way over to retrieve Menas and Blasius stands up when he gets close. He stares down the guard and for a moment, the guard stops in his tracks. He quickly recovers though and continues his way to Menas.
Blasius takes a few steps towards the guard and seems to be trying to block his path. When the guard attempts to go around his large figure, Blasius shoves him. The man is caught off balance and lands on the stone floor with a slap as he puts his hands out in front of him to try and break the fall. Upon seeing this happen, a few more guards rush into the room, making their way to Blasius instantly.
"Do you really want to be making trouble now?"
"We may have let you off easy the first time but trust me when I say your punishment for the next time you want to act out won't be pretty."
Blasius's chest heaves and I could practically see the anger radiate off of him as the guards spoke. He took one step forward: a challenge. A way of telling them he's ready for whatever that wanted to give him. It made me nervous. If Menas was already being taken and there was nothing we could do about it in the moment, I didn't want to lose Blasius too.
In retaliation, the guard directly in front of Blasius just rose his eyebrows. I could see Blasius tense up.
"Blasius," I called. His cold eyes found their way to mine as he turned his head around to face me. They softened almost immediately as they met mine. "I don't want to lose two of you."
"You better listen to her," one of the guards sniggered. Blasius clenched his jaw—hard. I could see the way the muscles clenched. Blasius didn't stop looking at me and I didn't want to look away either, in fear that the second I did he would go back to testing the guards. Maybe it was all in my head, but I felt like I was calming him without even communicating. It was like our eye contact was enough to convey exactly how I was feeling and that I didn't want him to push any further.
It took a few seconds, but Blasius eventually backed down, trudging back over to the benched table and sitting down.
⇎ ⇎ ⇎
"You know what I can't figure out? The order they're taking us in," Silva clamoured. "If they weren't going to take us in order, what was the point of the tattoos?"
I tried to think of an explanation but she was right. The whole situation was very confusing, and with the order being unpredictable, there was no way to know when the rest of us would be next.
That night was spent in silence. I think that we were too worried about Menas to interact with each other. Would we ever see him again? I couldn't remember if I had seen the three that were taken last time in the cell.
Despite laying in bed for what seemed like hours, I couldn't convince my brain to shut off. After a while I couldn't take it anymore and decided to sit up in my bunk.
"Can't sleep?"
I jumped as a voice came from my left. The room was dark except for the tiny amount of light pouring in through the small window out in the hallway so there wasn't much I could see. I recognized the voice as Blasius's anyway though.
"I guess not. With everything going on I'm a little ... distracted."
"That's understandable. I think we are all worried about Menas."
"And about ourselves," I add, "what Silva said is right, there is no way to tell them we'll be next if they're not going in chronological order. I don't know what to do."
I felt the think mattress sink in from beside me and I assume Blasius had joined me in sitting on my bed.
"I'd almost prefer it that way. At least we'd know that it would be a while until they get to us." I begin to nod along then realize he can't see me so I add a 'yeah.'
I flinch as his skin came in contact with my hand. What can only be described as a shock ran through my finger tips and up my arm as he lifted my hand up from my thigh and takes it in his. He gave it a light squeeze. I'm almost glad the lights are gone when I feel the way my cheeks heat up from his touch. I almost roll my eyes thinking about pathetic it must be to blush at a gesture as tame as handholding.
"We'll be okay."
"I hope so. Thank you, by the way," I bite my lip.
"For?"
"Trying to make me feel better. I felt like I was going crazy laying in the bed for so long." Rather than responding, he simply chuckles and stands up, letting my hand fall gently from his fingertips. Something in me wants to reach out and keep hold of it, but at the same time the little bit of reassurance had placated my mind and I finally felt the exhaustion set in.
⇎ ⇎ ⇎
"Amicia, dear," a male voice cooed, "I've missed you."
"Papa, I've missed you too," the tears roll down my cheeks as I grip my father in a tight hug. "Why are we meeting in the forest?"
I had hoped to be back home so that I could see my siblings and mother whom I had also missed so much. The fact that he had chosen to convene in the middle of the forest left me confused and sad. I decided to cut my losses and appreciate the fact that I got to see at least one member of my family.
"The woods," he corrected although the terms were basically interchangeable, "not the forest. As for why, I'm here to get some. You wouldn't happen to have some, would you?"
"Wood, papa? Why would I have wood? I have nothing, especially not wood."
"Hmm," he hummed, "I guess I'll have to get some wood for myself."
My father pulled an axe from seemingly nowhere. Ah, trusty dream logic.
"I've met a man, papa. A good one, or I believe so."
He smiles, "So I hear."
"From who?"
"They watch you closely, you know. The trees always whisper your hidden secrets to me," he said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. I may have been confused but I just let it go.
I sat back on a stump and watched as he carried a few pieces of log that needed to be cut. Setting it down, he brought the axe over his head and swung it down onto the bole. As it snapped into more than a dozen little pieces, I grimaced after peering at the chunks strewn along the grass. The wood had been felt out for too long, perhaps it had been left on the dewy grass or out overnight during a rainstorm. Either way, it was rotten and molded.
"Your wood doesn't look too good," I observed.
He just shrugged in response, "Good thing it's not mine."
"Whose is it?"
"Yours."
"I don't understand."
He smiled and dropped the axe onto the lawn, making his way over to me, "That's okay, my dear." My father bent down to leave a soft kiss on my forehead then began to walk away, weaving inbetween the trees. Although I wanted him to stay, I knew I shouldn't stop him from leaving for he had things to do much more important than a chat in the woods.