Junebug • TWD

54. How It Goes.

quick note: the first section of this chapter is almost solely about june's eating disorder. if that's triggering to you, don't hesitate to skip!

Dad doesn't get home until really late when the sun has already gone down. By that point, I've already gotten into my pajamas and I've been practicing reading for a good hour or so now. I'm getting a little bit better each day, I think. Mom and Dad have been helping a lot with the words I don't know. Dad found me some books called Dork Diaries that I've been liking a lot. They're funny and have good drawings in them.

Today, though, I don't think my dad's bringing back any books. I don't know where he went, but considering a whole group of people went with him, I figure it's somewhere more important than a library or school.

Quiet footsteps come walking up the stairs outside my cell, and I know it's my dad because everyone else's footsteps are much louder and clunkier, especially on the metal stairs. Dad's got hunter's feet, though. Anyway, if I listen really carefully, I can hear him walk past my cell and into his and Momma's, which is the next one over. Ever since Mom joined us in the prison, he got over that not sleeping in no cage thing. He's been sleeping in his and Momma's cell every night.

Eavesdropping is a bad thing that I know I'm not supposed to do, but I decide I gotta just this once. My dad almost always says hi to me first when he comes back from a run, especially because he knows I worry as much as I do. But today, he passed right by my cell. I think it might be because he's feeling sad or angry or something like that. The type of emotions he tries to hide from me these days. When he's feeling those, he goes straight to his cell, either to be alone or to talk with Momma about it. She's usually pretty good at getting him into a better mood, but she's good at doing that with everyone. It's like her superpower.

Making sure to be as quiet as my dad's footsteps are, I slide off of my bed and tiptoe over to the door of my cell—it's really just a bedsheet, though. If I listen carefully, I can hear my momma's voice.

"How'd it go?" Momma asks Dad.

I can hear Daddy putting some stuff down, probably from his pockets and stuff. "Lost Zach. Beth's boyfriend," he grumbles.

That makes my heart feel heavier. It doesn't matter to me how many people have died in my time here. It always hurts just the same. Whether I knew them well or not, it puts a lump in my throat every single time, without fail. Just because I can't help but think about all the people who did know them well and how sad they must be feeling. Beth was dating him. She's probably feeling just awful right now. I wonder if Dad has even told her yet.

Mom is apparently thinking the same thing as me because she says, "Oh, that's awful. How's Beth? She must be devastated." If I close my eyes, I can imagine the sympathetic frown on her face.

"Acted like she didn't care. Said she doesn't cry anymore," Dad says with a scoff. Beth? Beth, out of all people, acted like she didn't even care that her boyfriend was dead? That doesn't make no sense at all. By the tone of my dad's voice, I can tell he's questioning that, too. Except he's more annoyed and angry sounding about it. I think it's a cover-up of sadness, though. He's angry because he's sad that Beth won't even cry about her dead boyfriend. He's angry because he's sad that Beth thinks she can't afford to truly care about and mourn people anymore. And Daddy covers up those thoughts and feelings even more by changing the subject completely, fully, and to a topic I am not so fond of because it means he's worrying about me, which I hate. "Whatever. Got my own kid to worry about," he says. "How's June?"

"In her cell readin'. She was writing for hours earlier, though," Momma says.

And it's true. I wrote for way too long earlier. So long that my hand got all crampy. I just wanted to get my thoughts about Carl out of my brain so I could stop feeling angry about them.