The Exile and the Girl (1)
A vicious thirst clawed at my throat. Before I could even open my eyes, a pounding hangover slammed into my skull like a club. I barely choked down the bile surging up from my gut.
“Ugh.”
I let out a small groan as I dragged my leaden body upright. Rubbing my temples with both hands, I sat there for a moment until my blurry vision sharpened. I stared blankly at the ceiling. In one corner, a moldy stain had seeped in.
“......Again.”
That dream again. The day Artisia declared our engagement broken, and Lien pointed at me as the culprit.
“Kuh, heh heh......”
A dry chuckle leaked from my cracked lips. It had been four years already. Yet the memory of that day haunted me every night like a nightmare. No matter if I drowned myself in rotgut or popped pills to forget. That hellish scene wouldn't fade.
Clink—
As I swung my legs off the bed, an empty bottle rolled underfoot.
“......Tch.”
I clicked my tongue sharply and kicked the damn thing aside. Limping to the basin in the corner, I twisted the faucet. Murky water, laced with lime, gushed out, gleaming coldly. I scooped up a handful and scrubbed my face.
I looked up at the mirror. The red stigma branded on my right cheek stared back coldly. The mark of one excommunicated from the Church—a sinner's brand. The price I paid to keep my neck intact.
“......”
I stared at my reflection for a long moment before turning away. On the desk lay stacks of dusty newspapers and half-torn letters. Letters stamped with the imperial seal. Wait for me. I need time. I'm looking for a way. Just a little more time. At first, I believed them. I waited, and waited, and kept waiting. I figured Artisia and Lien had their reasons. So I gritted my teeth and endured, just like back in the alleys as a starving kid.
But nothing changed. Eventually, the daily letters slowed to every three days. Then once a week, once a month. The last one was dated three years ago.
“Kuh, hee hee hee, ki-hahaha!”
A chilling laugh bubbled out of me. I was pathetic. Still clinging to scraps of hope? Why else would I keep those worthless rags?
“Kuh, heh heh, ha-ha, ku—cough, cough......”
I laughed like a madman until thirst hit me like fire. I grabbed a nearby bottle and shook it—empty. Another—empty. All of them.
“Fucking nothing......”
I muttered curses under my breath and peered out the window. A cold autumn rain fell outside. The sun had set, but a dull gray light lingered in the sky. Guess I'll grab a few more bottles. I threw on my threadbare coat from the wall and stepped out.
Creeeak, creak.
My footsteps echoed down the quiet hallway as I descended the stairs. Outside, cold rain lashed my face. I hadn't bothered with an umbrella. Part of me hoped some nameless plague would drop me dead right there.
I staggered toward the dingy tavern in the back alleys. People on the street avoided my eyes. If our gazes met under an umbrella, they'd whip their heads away, as if my filth might rub off.
“......”
The rain thickened. One more block to the tavern. Limping over slick cobblestones, I rounded a corner.
Thud. Thud. Crack.
Dull thumps cut through the rain. I turned. In the unlit alley, three men surrounded a huddled girl backed against a wall. One burly bastard gripped her hair, snarling something.
“......”
I watched for a second, shrugged, and kept walking. The world's full of sob stories. Right now, I needed booze to drown the ache drilling into my bones more than some stranger's tragedy.
Smack.
Another thud behind me.
Thwack.
I pressed on toward the tavern.
Splat.
This one was different—something hitting the ground.
“—Ah, fuck. Hey, check if the brat's dead.”
The big guy pointed at the sprawled girl. Those words yanked up a memory I'd kill to forget but couldn't shake.
“......Hah.”
I sighed bitterly and turned back. The thugs poked at the limp girl like she was trash. I approached.
“Hey.”
“......What?”
The guy turned. My foot smashed into his face.
“Gahk...!”
“You fucking worm shits.”
I growled low, stomping his face relentlessly. Blood poured from his mug as he twitched, then went limp. It was over in seconds.
“Y-you bastard, what the hell?!”
The second guy yanked a dagger from his pocket, yelling. I smirked.
“What? Gonna stab me? You ever killed with that thing?”
“You son of a—!”
He charged, swinging wildly. I sidestepped, hooked his ankle, grabbed his collar, and kneed his face. A wet crunch, and he crumpled, out cold.
I stared at him wordlessly, then turned to the last one.
“Wanna keep going?”
His face drained white. He shook his head frantically.
“Then drag your pals and fuck off.”
He hauled them away in a panic. I watched them go, then glanced down.
“Hey. You alive?”
No answer. I frowned and crouched.
“Hey. Alive?”
I prodded her shoulder. Nothing. Her breath was faint against my finger.
“Still kicking.”
My job was done. Live or die, that was on her. I shook off my hands and stood. A fancy silver flask caught my eye on the ground—probably dropped by one of the cowards. I shook it: sloshing liquid inside.
“Oh.”
Grinning, I pocketed the spoils. Do good, get good. I scoffed, mocking the Church's teachings. As I turned to leave—
Grab.
The girl clutched my ankle.
“Hey. Let go.”
Her muddy fingers didn't budge. If anything, they tightened.
“Let. Go.”
I tugged my foot; her body slid a bit.
“Persistent little shit.”
I stared down silently. A hazy memory flickered over her. I sighed shortly and hoisted her onto my back. She was lighter than expected.
“......”
I adjusted her slipping in the rain and trudged home slowly.
......
Back home, water dripped from us both—we were soaked. Grimacing, I dumped her on the floor. Her chest heaved unevenly under wet clothes.
“......”
Truth be told, her fate wasn't my problem. But I didn't want a waterlogged corpse stinking up my room.
“......Fuck's sake.”
I scratched my head and rummaged for spare clothes, dressing her roughly and throwing a blanket over. What the hell am I doing? I ignored the thought. Pointless rumination was for idiots.
I slumped against the wall, yanked the flask's cork with my teeth. Fiery liquor burned down my throat, heat blooming through me.
“......Haa.”
I exhaled deeply. Felt alive again. Just drink and crash. Too lazy to change. I chugged until my eyes shut.
......
When I opened them again, cold metal pressed my throat.
“......What?”
Through the throbbing headache, I saw the girl I'd picked up. She sat before me, trembling hands gripping my old letter opener from the desk.
“......You.”
Her cracked voice rasped from her throat. Pale face, bruised under her eyes. Sunken cheeks like she'd starved for days. Chopped red hair frizzed out unevenly. Emerald eyes mixed terror and wariness.
“You're up.”
I lifted the flask, but it was bone-dry.
“Drank it all already......”
I scowled and chucked the empty into the corner. She flinched but held the knife steady.
“Hey. Put the knife away. You can't even scratch skin with that.”
I grabbed her hand casually. She tensed, blade nicking my neck—barely. A dull letter opener? Please.
“See?”
I snatched it smoothly and stood. She scrambled back a few steps. Sunlight streamed in, but my damp clothes clung from sleeping in shadow.
As I grumbled and stripped off the soggy coat and shirt—
“Y-you. No, you.”
“Hm?”
I turned. She clutched the blanket, glaring like she wanted me dead.
“......What did you do to my body?”