Unknown Omega

Chapter 7 - Her- Unknown

The Chieftain has been increasingly difficult the last few days. It's almost as though he's frustrated with every breath I take. I'm so sleep deprived and hurting that everything has an odd blur at the edges.

I'm surprised I haven't chopped a finger off and served it in supper. Maybe I did and just haven't noticed. I glance down at my hand to see if it still has all of its digits and startle.

I'm clutching my abdomen like it hurts. Like it hurts more than the back of my legs and shoulders. I don't know, maybe it does. I can't tell. Everything hurts. Every molecule within my body throbs in pain.

Maybe I ate something bad. Or I haven't eaten at all. I look over at the shelves to see if I've eaten any of my allotted food.

All of it. At some point I ate all of it.

A vague memory of wolfing it down as fast I could blurs through my mind.

That's not like me. I've learned throughout the years to hoard my food and slowly eat it throughout the day. Even the previous kitchen maid did this.

No wonder I'm grabbing my stomach. I've already absorbed and expended the nutrients.

And I still have laundry and dinner chores to complete.

What was I supposed to be doing? What task did I just finish? Where was I headed?

The wash basin and a mound of fabric waits next to the water pump. Laundry.

I put my body into motion, knowing there's no relief for my stomach.

I lift the basin to carry it outside and a twinge in my lower back makes me falter. The internal ache confuses me for a moment. I've never felt such an odd sensation. But then the memory of backing into the counter during the Chieftess' attack resurfaces, and I shrug in acceptance.

I set it out in the sun and then begin preparing to wash the clothes. Fill the bucket at the pump, lug it outside, and pour it into the basin. After several trips, I refill the pail one last time and set it in the sand beside the basin. Rinse water. I go back inside, gather the laundry, and pick up the soap.

By the time I've returned outside, the water is scalding—the sun is so hot it heats it to almost boiling in minutes. I drop the material into the water, kneel, and start scrubbing. The water instantly turns my skin bright pink. I work as fast as I can, knowing it will only get worse.

The soap stings my flesh, and tears gather in my eyes. The recent lash marks on my arms flair in pain, and I can't help but take a moment to grimace. Then I force myself back into action.

I'm almost done. I've filled two of the drying lines with clean articles of clothing. My body is moving on autopilot. The blurry haze has snuck its way into my conscious again, and this is a task that doesn't need anything besides muscle memory anyway, so blanking my mind is easier than being present.

I'm bent over the basin scrubbing soap into one of the last items when the hair on the nape of my neck stands on end.

Someone is watching me. My senses heighten, and I begin to straighten.

A hand clamps over the back of my neck.

I freeze in terror.

"Don't move," the Chieftain demands. My hands scream inside the scalding water, but I stay as still as I can. My back protests the awkward position, but I tremble in place, afraid to do more than breathe.

His ragged breaths penetrate my misery, and confusion pours through me. He's always so cold and calculating.

"What have you done? You fucking bitch, it's like you've bewitched me!"