The Dixon Bloodline

Chapter Five

I didn't take a long shower, in and out of the amazingly hot water in only five minutes. Sure, the shower was a luxury, don't get me wrong I would have loved to stay standing under the pressurized liquid. But we had quite a few people who needed showers still - including Dad - and I didn't know how much hot water there was. Towels were provided by the doctor, grabbing one of the fuzzy cloths from the bathroom closet, I dried myself off, looking towards the slightly steamed-up mirror. Gazing at my short and small stature, I frowned slightly, observing just what was wrong with me, for nothing was wrong with body un-positivity. At ten, I stood at a resounding four foot even, weighing about fifty-five pounds roughly - considered under the standard of underweight. The skin on my body already naturally clung to my bones, and I looked sickly pale. This was because I was born with some complications with drug use from my mother as a little infant, something my dad also never liked to get into. My Uncle, however, spilled the beans to me not that long ago, that my mother was a drug addict and used substances while carrying me to term. Thousands of scars littered my chest, torso, arms, and the top of my thighs, each one varying in size or how dark they were due to depth. The litter created on my skin from these scars was from an accident Uncle Merle got us into, leaving me worse for wear due to the circumstances. This was also the reason I chose to always keep a flannel or long sleeves on, and why I never wore shorts, to keep my scars hidden from the world.

I let out a small sigh at my reflection, pushing the wet dirty blonde strands of hair from my face, pulling it up and out of the way with my towel so I could start dressing. I grabbed my underwear and tank top first, pulling them onto my slightly damp body, before moving on to struggling against my blue jeans. With the blue jeans on, their zipper zipped, my belt strapped in, and the button clasped, I grabbed the last thing on the counter - a long-sleeved blue and black flannel - and shoved my arms through the long sleeves as I pulled the flannel on. Taking the time to button the flannel up fully, I then used one of the toothbrushes and toothpaste Jenner kindly provided to brush my teeth, something I already missed in the apocalypse. After my teeth were clean there was only one last thing I had to worry about, using the damp towel to finish drying the hair on my head. I threw the towel into the bathroom hamper, then used a brush to comb through the strands. When I got to the counter there were plenty of hairbrushes - just as there were toothpaste and toothbrushes - along with quite a few hair ties. Not knowing if we were staying here or not, on my way out of the bathroom, I made sure to take one hairbrush, two toothbrushes, two tiny tubes of toothpaste, and a few hair ties to take back to my duffle bag. With that, I made my way out of the bathroom carrying my dirty clothes, so I could let someone else in for their turn.

I made my way through the hallway of the underground facility and entered the room Dad had claimed as the two of ours. Dad had already been at work, having gathered a cot Jenner offered, for himself, along with a few extra blankets and two pillows. He had a pillow and a blanket on his cot, and one pillow and two blankets set up on the couch in the room for me, my bag setting on top of the blankets. I offered Dad a small smile and thanks, only getting a nod in return as I made my way across the room and toward my bag. Folding up the dirty clothes I had, I set them to one side of the bag, organizing the few spare clothes and other items to the other side while unloading my pocket load. Looking towards the journal I had packed away in my bag, I remember I needed to find some kind of writing source here, due to the lack of one I had now. I used a pencil at our last camp that Carl had been using for homework, but in the middle of everything, I misplaced it. That journal had every memory I could think of starting from when I was six, the day I was gifted it and began logging everything on a day-to-day basis, good and bad. I knew keeping up on the journal was something I wanted to do, even in the middle of the dead walking, wanting to be able to look back on what had happened previously so I wouldn't forget many details.