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June 1944: Saint Marie du Mont: France
Hours-long did Riley Wilson stay at her spot, her back still resting against the wall and her eyes not leaving the sight of the sky. Together with Joseph did she talk about whatever came to their mind. Riley, who was interested in the company she was about to spend all her time with, hearing the names of every male passing by, and Joseph, who was incredibly invested in her work with the Resistance, listened so well to her that he had failed to realize that his friends had sat down. Standing up for so long, after the jump they had made, took too much of the energy they'd need for the next days.
Riley herself could feel her energy dying down. The pain in her side was constant and it distracted her focus from what was important. The pain she was barely able to mask behind her stories. Riley was never the one to address her problems and preferred keeping quiet in terms of complaining. Used to handling things her own way, she had strayed away from non-toxic behaviour in terms of dealing with her life. She'd change her manners for the better once the dark days in this war were over, that's the promise Riley had made to herself. But the longer it took the allies to win the war, the darker it got in her head, and the less hope she had left to ever get out of her thoughts.
She let Liebgott lead the conversations, the chatter relying on his questions that would push it further and prevent the words from silencing between them. He wanted to know as much as she was willing to tell. In his eyes, what Riley had already realized was something wonderful and he couldn't help but feel almost thankful for her work. And not only did he want to know more, but he also preferred her talking to keeping quiet and staring up, thinking about what had happened to her in the late hours of the night. Knowing death and its impacts, Joseph himself was surrounded by soldiers who hid from grief and somehow, was convinced not reminding one of the death, was much better than the feeling of that choking sadness.
Letting her hands fall in the pockets of the army green jacket, Riley tried grabbing the one thing she normally always carried around with her. Panic rose up in her chest, the little tins she had decorated with the sharpest part of one of the knives she had kept, were nowhere to be found in the fabric of the jacket. Having left behind the jacket she was usually seen in still at home. The only clothes Riley still had that were her own possession, were the shirt she had been sleeping in, everything else still hanging in the closets of her stay. The clothes she had received weren't hers and surely didn't keep the tins hidden in the pockets.
The loudest sigh rolled over her lips and just for one hit, she slammed the back of her head against the brick, her cold hands keeping the light away from her eyes who no longer wanted to see anything anymore besides her own jacket.
"Looking for something?" Joe placed his hand at the spot Riley had just hit her head-on. In case she'd try to hurt herself again, he'd be able to break the fall and prevent her from going too far in the self-loathing.
