Darkness (part 3)

Peter could faintly hear some sounds, none of them were alarming. Something felt very strange to him. He was settled in a comfortable bed but the pain was excruciating.  He could not move an inch without his whole body erupting in pain. He silently prayed for the pain to stop. But that eerie feeling wouldn't let him rest peacefully. He didn't really know where he was but was sure enough that he wasn't supposed to be here, alive. He slowly parted his eyelids. In the diffused light he saw a girl rearranging something on the desk. There was no one else in the room. The curtains were drawn but he could make out that it was day. The girl turned and saw him looking at her. She quickly came over to his side.

“How are you feeling now?”

She had a very kind voice. “It hurts”, Peter replied. 

He was busy studying her. So, she somehow rescued him and now was nursing him, he thought. She had kind eyes, but it didn't completely sooth Peter’s nerves. She carefully took his hand and checked his pulse. He examined her face closely. She didn't betray any emotion. Fear, anger, sorrow nothing. She had a round face, slightly tanned.

“What’s your name?” she asked.“Peter.”“What happened?”
Peter opened his mouth but didn't reply. He didn't know what so say. He was mourning the loss of his family, cursing the ones responsible, cursing himself for not being able to do anything. Would that answer her question, he thought. Peter gathered himself and hesitantly narrated the incident. As he spoke, he saw the girl’s expression go from, sadness to guilt to pain. 

“Who are you?” he asked, finally.
“My name is Jean. I came here with my brother a few days ago.”

“In the middle of this unrest?!Why would – “, Peter began, confused by the Jean’s words.

“Get some sleep, you’ll be in less pain”, Jean said. Peter was confused but he was exhausted. He felt as if he had been talking for hours. He closed eyes and fell asleep.

Hours went by, followed by days. Peter could soon sit up on the bed without help. As his condition improved, so did his understanding with Jean. Once he was well enough, Jean confided in him. How her brother was in the militia, how he had brought Jean along with him. She was terrified that Peter would hate for being related to someone who had caused him so much pain. But Peter reassured her. 

“I don’t know if your brother was there that day. And even if a he was, I’d hate him. Not you! You saved my life. I would never hate you!” he said. From them on, they became friends. They would talk for hours about random things, discuss the sad predicament of their country with a heavy heart and wonder how long they would be able to go on like this. The mood in the house lifted as Peter recovered. Smiles were more easily seen; sometimes even a small laugh or two. All the while, Jean kept the windows closed. The outside world was so gloomy and murky that the darkness was almost tangible. The windows seemed to separate their world from the rest. Every time the supplies started running low, Jean would have to go out. Sometimes, she would come back and report empty streets; those would be the good days. At other times, she would come back with reports of more killings, each one more horrific than the other. However, Jean never had much trouble because the “guards” mostly knew her brother. All in all, Peter and Jean managed pretty well. They grew to respect each other, and in spite of themselves, grew very fond of each other. They had become so comfortable in their own world that they both had forgotten their worst fears. One night, they were rudely brought back to reality when the doorbell rang. Joyce had finally arrived.