The Numbers on Her Wrist

21

When I wake the next morning, Samuel is no longer lying beside the couch, nor is his arm resting next to me. I slowly sit up, my eyes scanning the room to search for any sign of him. I am a little more than surprised when he walks from my bedroom door, wearing only a pair of black pants, his chest exposed.

"Morning, Amelia," he says quietly, smiling at me. I try not to stare, swinging my legs off the couch and resting my elbows on my knees. He walks to me and takes a seat on the coffee table, his left leg touching mine. I chew on my bottom lip for a moment, nodding to the water droplets that drip from his hair. "Took a shower?"

"Didn't think you mind... Or that you'd want to join me."

I smirk and meet his eyes, pushing his shoulder gently, even though I can tell he is joking. "Shut up, Sam." He only grins, his fingers lifting up my shirt to inspect my wrapped ribs. "Hurt any more?" I shrug, "A little." He raises an eyebrow, his fingers running down to my hip and resting there as he drops my shirt. "You know, you can be in pain in front of me... You don't have to put up a facade."

I wrinkle my nose and stand up, his hand falling away. "Are you hungry? I have some cereal I think." He nods curtly, straightening with me and following me into the kitchen. I stand on my tiptoes and pull my top cabinet open, snatching the box of cereal from the top shelf. I brush past Samuel to edge to the other side of the kitchen, pulling down two bowls and two spoons. I set them all next to the sink, nearing the fridge.

"How did you survive?"

I turn slightly, surprised by his ambiguous question. "What do you mean?" I respond as I carefully move to the counter, pulling myself up to sit there. I grunt softly as I bump my sides; our breakfast is temporarily forgotten. Samuel glances towards the window, his arms crossed over his chest as he walks forward, his waist at the same height as the edge of the bar. I pull my legs up and fold them in front of me, resting my elbows on my knees. He breathes out and places his hands on the counter top right in front of where my legs sit crossed. He clears his throat, shaking his head several times over.

At first he is silent, withholding any thought, any feeling, any question, that is forming in his mind. I do not interrupt the silence, staring at the scar that wraps around his waist, and ducks behind his back. Once he finally speaks, he is quiet, almost reverent, and can barely look at me.

"The orphanage. The street fights. The torture." He swallows hard, shaking his head once again. "How did you possibly get through all of that without breaking?"

I frown, bowing my head in front of him and beginning to pick at the edge of my fingernails. "I'm not sure I did." I feel his eyes lift, and he stares at me. "That was their main goal, Samuel; to break every one of the children there. They always succeeded, whether we showed it or not." I see his face fall a little, disheartened that none of us could not be broken, but he knows; he knows these men of the past were monsters, beasts, evil.

I bite my cheek for a moment, waiting a beat to think of a different response; Samuel, of all people, deserves one. "I guess... Seeing the other children suffer, seeing them beaten, seeing them without their freedom. I knew that I had to be strong for them and that even if I was broken, I would have to carry on for them."

He delivers his next question promptly. "How could you keep your head at times like that?"

My chest twists and I roll my left shoulder back, the formerly dislocated joint feeling stiff after last night's fight, and I lick my bottom lip as I meet Samuel's stare. "I only kept my head level because if I didn't, my disobedience and my rebellion was punished with pain. If I stepped out of line, I was punished. I learned that many times over, Samuel." I pause and frown, "After I got older, when they knew I cared for the children, it was not me who was punished." I laugh a little in spite of the serious nature of our conversation. "I fought the orphanage to take their anger to me, not the children... I was stubborn- I did not let my friends hurt willingly."