With each hit, you could feel your eyes widen more, burn more — you were frozen in place. You couldn’t have pulled her out, even if Shauna had let you.

All you could do is watch as the other girls landed sharp hits and kicks on Natalie. You wanted to pull her out, spare her, but she hadn’t wanted you too. She thinks she deserves this.

The others would’ve taken that as an invitation to beat you down, anyway.

She hadn’t done anything wrong, you knew that, but she didn’t. How could they do this to her, all for letting Coach Scott live?

You feel queasy as you enter her teepee, a sputtering, sickening guilt at what you just let happen to her prodding at your insides.

“The hell do you want?” Natalie rasps sharply, though she doesn’t mean to.

You don’t flinch. You know she’s not truly angry, she’s deflecting; defending herself against a possible threat.

“I’m going to fix you up.” You whisper, sitting beside where she lays on her dirt-pad bed, battered and bruised.

Natalie fully believes she deserves this, eliciting her sharp response. “I don’t need your fucking help,” she spits, but the pain in her voice and eyes tells otherwise as she flinches when you hesitantly but gently stroke her hair.

The blood is still smeared on her face. As if she doesn’t think she deserves to be clean. “You didn’t deserve what they did.” You whisper, gently wiping the blood off of her face with a small cloth, dipping it in the bowl of water you carried in with you.

Natalie winces, but doesn’t protest further.

You eventually coax her to sit up, neither of you speak. Nat can’t meet your eyes, but you can tell by the hunch of her shoulders that she’s beating herself up.

“It’s not your fault.” You offer quietly, tending to her knuckles. “I would have helped coach too.”

Natalie scoffs weakly, shaking her head, but doesn’t speak.

Another beat passes, the silence thick and tense. But she fills it.

“Why are you doing this? They’ll kick your ass if they find out.”

“I don’t care.” You say sharply. “They don’t scare me.”