The Tens by Vanessa Jones (tharntype novel english TXT) 📕

back to face her mignons, Carla looked each in the eye, daring a defiance that she could unleash her unsettled rage upon, now that the dragon inside her had been stirred awake. 'You all make me sick,' she spat and then turned to nod at Clive, who was caked in adoration at her side. He reciprocated the firm nod and slowly made his way around the circle, gently landing a hand on each shoulder, smiling as if he'd just been told the secret of life. No one flinched or tensed under his touch and Sophie wondered if she would be patted the same since, essentially, she was an outsider. But when he came to her spot, he moved in front of her and yanked her forearm so hard that Sophie felt a twinge in its socket. Clive gripped her arm tightly and yanked her towards the fire.

They were at the fire's edge before Sophie recovered from the momentary shock and realised what was about to happen. The warmth on her face peeled her eyes open and washed away the grogginess, yet her legs stilled remained comatose, so Clive had to drag her, the side of her hip grinding on the dirt. Sophie screamed and contorted herself away from his hand but it was futile without the use of her legs. Clive plunged her forearm into the fire and the pain radiated up through Sophie's chest and cheeks and rendered her silent. She felt as if her lungs had emptied themselves never to stretch to fullness again and her voice box had withered in an instant. She couldn't see, her blindness was fuelled by searing agony.

Clive pulled back her arm and discarded it aside in the dirt, leaving Sophie gasping for air, her lips pressed into the dirt and bark, uncaring what fell into her mouth.

As she ebbed in and out of fainting, Sophie tried hard to stay awake and keep her eyes on something around her, purely for survival. Confusion swam at her and it appeared as if the whole place was lit up, like a UFO had targeted the spot and washed everything in its white light. She could see everyone's face under the white light but she didn't remember even turning her head to look. She could still taste the dirt. Every inhale stuffed her nostrils with more and more sand. There was a flash of white and then the feeling drained from her arm and she, once again, surrendered to darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Sophie awoke in the dark, back in the tent on the unforgiving bed. A headache held her hostage and her teeth chattered like a battered typewriter. Each chatter hurt her wincing jaw and rattled her eyeballs, feeling gritty against an invisible sandpit. She peeled her eyelids apart and scanned the interior of the tent where she lay. The small movement of scanning the room made her whole body shudder with pain. It felt as if she was locked in a suit of iron that was clamping down and tightening on her. As the tent flaps opened she was reminded about the bright flash and the torture of having her arm burnt. 'My arm,' Sophie tried to whisper at Everley, who ushered in cradling a basket of items.

'It's just temporary. I'll attend to it,' and methodically she unpacked the items from the basket: a small jar, some bandages, a bottle of yellow liquid, a small bottle of Whisky and a small tinder box. Everley sighed and placed her hands on the bed, looking up at Sophie after she had lined all her bottles up. 'Sophie, this is going to be unpleasant but I promise you, with all that I can promise you, that you will feel miraculous for it.'

Sophie willed an ounce of relief out of Everley but it didn't come. 'What exactly are you going to do? And, once again, for the hundredth time, shouldn't you be getting me a doctor? Your backyard witchery shit is not going to even dent the crime, because that's what it is, I'll remind you. A crime that you all committed as you stood on and watched!'

'Please settle down. There's no point getting yourself into a state. There is more at play here than you can see from your vantage point. And in time, it will all make sense.'

'If there's ever a time where someone grabbing my arm and shoving it into a fire to give me third-degree burns makes sense to me, I should have my head read.' Pain stopped her from spewing any more anger as Everley grabbed at her burnt arm. Sourness forced its way up to her mouth and she opened it, salivating wildly down her face. Her eyes burned with tears and she searched for Everley's eyes, hoping if she could witness Sophie's tremendous pain, that she would somehow realise how much trouble she was in and seek medical help.

Everley held her gaze like she was watching a road, her eyelids dropping in heavy, unfazed blinks. Everley pulled back Sophie's blankets and she felt the cool air swim around her chest, as she tried to look down at herself to see she had no top on. But really, she was angling for a view of her arm. She couldn't imagine what it looked like as she'd never seen a severe burn. The pain was so great, so intense and nullifying that she wasn't even sure that she still had an arm attached and she refused to move her fingers to test.

'Righto, drink this.' Everley held out the whiskey bottle to Sophie, whilst keeping her eyes on the injury. Sophie clutched at the bottle with her working arm, which was half trapped underneath her torso and pushed her mouth towards it. Gasping, she gurgled as much back as she could before her throat begged for a break. She felt drips of whiskey hit her chin and chest and wished she could lick them