When I Was Thirteen...

                                    

                                          
The dipping of the mattress and the soft creaking of the wooden bed woke me up. 
I turned to see the witcher lying in next to me, thankful to see he had put his pants and shirt back on. The thought of having to share the bed with a naked man again - even though this man had been nothing but nice to me - after just escaping from my life as a whore made my stomach turn as waves of uneasiness washed over me. He must have suspected as much, as he was trying his best to keep his distance from me. Easier said than done with his large frame and the, even though made for two people, small bed. 
He also showed no intention getting me to share the blanket. 
He was just laying there, on his back, one hand behind has head, the other on his stomach. 
                          
I felt bad for having all the blankets, but I didn't want to tell him that. 
So instead I waited for Geralt to fall asleep. When I thought he was sleeping I slowly moved closer to the witcher, covering us both with the blanket and carefully laying my head on his chest. I felt his hand that was previously resting behind his head fall to my waist, holding me in a protective embrace, content sigh leaving his lips. 
                          
Minutes passed, maybe hours, but I couldn't seem to fall asleep. Even though I felt safe in the witcher's arms the thought of being so close to him made me nervous. Maybe it was because he owned me now and I had no idea what he was going to do with me. 
                          
"Will you tell me what this was all about today?" came a rough but kind of also soft whisper from above my head. So he was still awake. 
                          
Hesitant at first I lifted my head to look at him, then put my head back on his chest, my fingers playing with the buttons of his black shirt. 
"You don't have to, though," he added. I shook my head lightly and prepared myself to tell him the whole sad story of my life. 
                          
"My parents and I lived in a small cottage at the edge of town. My father was a hunter. My mother died when I was five, she, uhm," I took a deep breath, the memory still huting. "she died giving birth to my younger brother, he was a dead born. 
After that my father concentrated more and more on hunting, doing his best to sell whatever he shot. He also taught me a little bit of archery. 
                          
One spring, when I was thirteen, he was attacked by a wild boar. He barely escaped, with deep bite wounds on his legs and arms. At first they healed just fine, but after three days, they became infected. 
My father realized that he couldn't take care of me anymore and sold me to the towns whore house, hoping that they'd feed and house me there until he got better. But the medicine he bought from the coin he got for me didn't work, and he died, five days later. 
Since then I've been treated like dirt. I didn't have to work until I was fourteen, but on the day I turned fourteen I was forced to become a whore. For the past seven years I've been sold to men who hit me and practically raped me." By now I was full on crying, soaking the witcher's shirt with my tears. Geralt was drawing soothing circles on my back, with is large hand, listening silently. And I was thankful for that. He didn't judge me, he was just listening. 
                          
"Day in, day out, sometimes more that six men in one day. And what did we get out of that? The other girls and me, we were not allowed to go outside, we had only little to eat and to drink; one small loaf of bread and two liters of water had to suffice for a week. 
And the men that came in... They hit us when they weren't satisfied, or worse. That cut on my stomach, I got it the day before I escaped. The man had cut me because I didn't 'moan loud enough'. 
                          
Getting out of there took months of planning, and I still didn't get far. 
If not for you I'd be dead. Twice. 
Thank you."
                          
I could feel my story had touched him, as his hand on my back had stopped moving, went back to my waist and held me tight. His other hand that was previously resting on his stomach now held my shoulder. He was keeping me safe. But why? Why did he care so much? 
                          
"Why? Why did you save me? Why do you let me stay with you? And why did you buy me from my keeper?" I inquired.
                          
Silence.
                          
After a deep breath came the answer. "I wanted to save a girl once, from a situation she was brought in by men abusing their power, similar to your situation. Just that she decided that the situation she was in made her a monster. I couldn't save her, as much as I wanted to. But when I heard you that day, I wanted to save you, thinking ot would make the guilt weigh a little less."
                          
"What happened to her? The girl?" I asked, but already knowing the answer, she was dead. 
                          
"I," the strong witcher's voice broke a little. "killed her." 
                          
I felt bad for him. All he was did was trying to help people, and all they do is insult him and worse. 
The girl he told me about, I think it was the girl he killed in Blaviken. The princess he couldn't save. 
                          
"What will you do with me now, now that you own me?" I asked after a moment of silence, dreading the worst. 
His thumbs were slowly rubbing my shoulder and side. 
                          
"Hmm. You're free. You're not mine. I bought your freedom, not you. You can go wherever you want. Or you can stay with me. I don't know what would be safer for you, though: a former whore traveling alone, or together with a witcher, making a living in killing monsters."
                          
Even though he would never admit it, I could hear hope in his voice that I'd choose to stay with him. He wanted a proof that I was alive; that he had managed to save at least one girl that was a victim of her situation. 
                          
"You know," he interrupted my thoughts. "sometimes a little help could be useful. And you know how to handle a bow. If you want I can show you how you can defend yourself, and then you can decide if you want to stay with me or not. How does that sound?" 
                          
I hummed in agreement, the rubbing of his thumbs, which he had never stopped, lulling me into sleep. "I'd like that," I said with a yawn, finally surrendering to the tiredness. I rested my head on his chest and cuddled myself to his warm body, careful not to pull the blanket off him in the process. 
"Good night, Geralt," I whispered. 
                          
"Good night, Nienna," the witcher answered, but I didn't hear it, I was already asleep in his tight, protective embrace. 
                          
Unknown to me, he fell asleep, and for the first time in weeks slept through the whole night.