Reyna Feldman, a twenty year old Jewish girl from the tiniest of villages in France, is on the run. Captured by German soldiers while trying to escape over the border, she's taken to an internment camp in Freiburg, Germany, where she meets SS Philli...
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Hello again!! The past month or so has been so busy that I just haven't had time to sit down and write... things are FINALLY starting to slow down though so I was able to sit down and finish this chap I've been trying to write for the last two weeks :,) Let me know what you think!!***TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains depictions of PTSD***
The last glimmers of sunlight had long since disappeared over the tree line, the faint flicker of the lantern that still sat on the table the only source of light now, it's dancing flame casting phantom shadows against the walls of the green house.
She didn't know how much time had passed. Didn't know how long she'd been sitting there on the floor. She looked down at her hands. Her palms were stained a deep crimson, while the blood underneath her fingernails had dried a darker shade, almost maroon. They were still shaking. She couldn't get them to stop.
She needed to get up. She needed to get back to the cabin. But she couldn't. She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. All she could do was stare at those bright red stains. Blood. Someone else's blood. Blood she'd spilled. She heard the door creak open, but didn't look up.
"Reyna." The voice sounded distant, like it was calling to her from the shore while she was submerged under water. "My God..."
She looked up, meeting Luca's horrified expression. He wasn't looking at her, his gaze fixed on what lay to her left. She didn't have to look to know what he was staring at. She knew what lay there - who lay there.
"Is he - is he dead?" She knew the answer. The blood on her hands was answer enough. "Did I - did I kill him?" She turned her head, finally mustering up the courage to look for herself.
"Hey, just look at me," Luca was crouched in front of her now, his hand gently grasping her chin, pulling her gaze back to his. "Look at me," He repeated, his eyes locking with her's.
"I couldn't let him..." She trailed off, blinking away from his gaze. She shook her head. "Not again."
"Your hand." He grasped her right hand in his, and raised it up. She followed his gaze down to her palm. There was a deep gash there, blood seeping out of the gagged edges of the wound. She hadn't noticed it before.
"It must've slipped when..." She swallowed down the bile in her throat, memories of what had happened - what she'd done - flashing through her mind. "I had to make sure he was ... that he..." She tried to explain. Tried to make sense of it for Luca ... for herself. "I don't know how many times I-," She shook her head, her eyes burning with red hot tears that wouldn't fall. "Is he dead?"
"Shhh." Luca's arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his chest. "He's dead," He said against her hair. She let out a choked sob, slumping into his embrace. He held her as she cried, only pulling away when the sobs wracking through her had ceased. "We need to get you cleaned up and your hand taken care of, okay?" He said softly, holding her out at arm's length. She nodded, letting him help her to her feet.
