╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
I think you'd be a pretty
decent Med-jack.
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
After Chuck pulled me out of my hammock way too damn early this morning, I find myself awake and in the Kitchens before most of the Gladers have even opened their eyes yet. The only people that seem to be up are the Keepers, and I like it that way. There's less people, less noise, and more of a chance to actually hear my own thoughts.
Currently sat in the Kitchens are Newt, Alby and Minho, who are all sat on a large table in the centre of the room, speaking in low voices to each other. Then on a separate table sits Gally, Zart and Billy, who are much louder about their conversation. Their laughter echoes through the otherwise silent room, giving it a warm, albeit awkward atmosphere. It's strange to hear the almost silence coming from the Gladers.
"I decided you're my new recruit," Chuck says as he digs into his porridge. I ignore the fact that he's talking with his mouth open, allowing me to see the oats rolling around in his mouth. I wrinkle my nose.
"For what?" I say. "I don't fancy babysitting you all day."
Chuck lets his fork drop into his bowl with a frown. "Do ya want to be my friend?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Ya might wanna give that a second thought seeing as I'm the only one you've got."
I scowl at him before eating the porridge in front of me, which, unlike Frypan's infamous stew, is actually really good. Something I've learnt since being here is that the talk of Frypan's food being inedible is just a joke, and all of the Gladers gobble up his meals like there's no tomorrow. The only dish I struggle to stomach is the stew, but I seem to be the only one to have that opinion.
"What do you bloody need my help with then?" I say somewhat impatiently, though I am intrigued by the glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Pranks. A lot of them."
"This is my fist week, Chuck. I'll say it again. First week. I'm not shucking up this early on."
Chuck scowls.
But before he can protest, I lean in and add, "Give it another week or two."
His glare very quickly turns into a beaming smile. We fall into silence before Newt approaches our table with tired eyes. I roll my eyes. I'm not in the mood for yet another rundown on day ahead; they're all pretty much the same.
"Hey, Chuck," Newt greets with a tired smile. He frowns when he catches my deadpanned face. "Don't look at me like that, Greenie, come on."
"Every damn morning?" I mutter as I get up from my seat.
"Language," he says, chuckling as we walk past the tables in the Kitchens, the few Gladers in there not paying us any special attention.
"Shuck you," I challenge.
"So kind."
"Sure is." I smile sarcastically at him. "You're so lucky to know me."
"I don't know if lucks the word."
"Try amazing."
"Try boring."
I throw as much feigned hurt into my voice as possible as we wait for groups of boys to come into the Kitchens. "I'm hurt."
"That's not my problem." His voice is a singsong as he grins over his shoulder, making my lips quirk up in amusement. However hard I rack my brain, I can't think of anything to say back to him other than a vast range of swears. I think if I did open my mouth I could not be held accountable from the amount of obscenities that would leave it.
"What? No comeback?" he repeats my words back to me with a small smile. Despite my best efforts, nothing even remotely witty or funny comes to mind, which makes me incredibly annoyed.
"Shut up."
Newt changes the topic swiftly, most likely sensing the rage radiating from me. It it were anyone else, I would probably shove them, but for some reason I contain myself when I'm around him. Maybe it's the fact that our spats are somewhat amusing to me, or maybe it's the fact that it's six in the morning. Who could tell?
So, instead of shoving him, I resort to hooking my foot around his, sending him stumbling forwards. He gains his balance before he can fall, which does disappoint me slightly. It doesn't stop a sly smirk reaching my face, though.
Finally, the group of boys entering the Kitchens have completely passed us.
"You're with Clint and Jeff today," he grumbles, shooting me a dirty look.
"Finally people who I can actually stand to be around."
I don't catch what Newt mutters under his breath but I don't imagine it was anything even mildly flattering. It only makes the amusement in me build. Without looking at me, Newt opens the door exiting the Kitchens and shuts it behind him without bothering to hold it for me. I roll my eyes.
"I know she's a pain but try not to kill her," I hear Newt say to Clint as I enter the hallway.
"Come on," Jeff interjects before I can retort to Newt. "I'll show you around up here."
As Jeff and I ascend the staircase, I strain my ears to hear Clint and Newt's conversation. Why do I care what he has to say? I don't. I don't care about what anyone here thinks.
But deep down, I know that's not true. I want them — no — need them to like me. At least a little bit. Newt's Second in Command and I still remember our small fight. He has an influence on what job I get. He could make me a Med-jack.
Of course, considering our current relationship, I think he'd make me a Builder or a Slopper out of spite.
"Don't make her a Slicer," Clint warns with a chuckle. "I don't think it's a good idea to put Thea and knives together."
He has a point.
"Trust me, a Slicer was ruled out the moment she came up in the box."
I roll my eyes just as Jeff looks back at me, making him let out a loud laugh. I smile back at him before looking around me. The sunlight shines through the gaps in the walls, the wooden floor creaking under my feet. Down a long, crooked corridor lies five different rooms, a couple closed, but most open. Golden light spills in from the open doors of the rooms, making the dust twirling in the air visible.
"We have a couple different rooms up here for us," Jeff explains before pointing to a room at the very end of the hallway. "That one there used to be Newt's room, but he decided to sleep in the Hammocks so we could have more room for injured people."
That's nice of him. Jeff's words prompt me to think about the amount of injuries. If Newt had to give up his room, then there must be a lot of Gladers hurting themselves each day.
"How many people are hurt a day?"
"A good few. Clint and I mostly spend our time patching up the Slicers, Runners and Builders. Every week we do a health check on the Runners — they do the most work round here. They're only in here for a couple hours, don't need much longer than that."
"How does everything work?"
"Let me show you."
Jeff and I spend the best part of an hour running through where everything's kept, common injuries and diseases the Gladers might catch, and exactly how to treat them. Most of the stuff he tells me I already knew, almost as if the knowledge were a reflex. It makes me wonder if I had something to do with being a medic before the Maze.
"Y'know, I think you'd be a pretty decent Med-jack, Thea," Jeff says to me when I've finished a small test that he's given me — which I surprisingly did very well at.
"I haven't tried anything, though."
"Today's your lucky day!" Clint announces loudly as he struts into the room, pulling a wincing Slicer behind him. Blood drips from the boys fingers, causing my eyes to widen and my head immediately snaps to the medical tray which held all the supplies.
"Shucking hell," Jeff breathes.
Clint ignores Jeff's paling face. You'd think that by now Jeff would be a little more accustomed to seeing this much blood, however his frozen position says differently. "Sit down, shank," Clint orders.
Clint chucks some tissue at me and I grab it easily, gently dabbing the Glader's finger and watch as the blood soaks the tissue immediately. I wince. The end is completely severed off.
"Where's the saline solution?" I ask before Clint hands it to me. "This is gonna sting a little."
"Holy—"
"Someone shut him up," I snap, making the pained Glader fall into silence. My body works quickly, my mind never quite catching up to it. Everything I do is an impulse, and although I've only known myself a couple of days, I know I can trust said impulses.
Biting my lip in concentration, I wrap a gauze around his finger and elevate it above his heart, applying a small pressure, though not hard enough to cut of the circulation.
Clint gives a low whistle when we leave the room, letting the injured Slicer get some rest. "Ya did good. Better than Jeff when he first started."
"Liar."
"Jeff was so bad he almost became a Slopper."
"More lies!"
"They don't sound like it," I say with a smirk, washing my hands clean of the blood on them. Confusingly, I don't have another vision, although I was extremely prepared for one. This only puts me at unease. Maybe there's no real trigger for them. They're just random. Thats a thought that scares me more than the Grievers.
Jeff's head turns sharply towards me. "D'ya wanna be a Med-jack or not?"
"Clint makes the decision, not you."
Jeff looks like he's about to argue with me, but then shuts his mouth as he thinks better of it.
❀
"How was your day?" I ask Chuck when he slumps down next to me on my hammock. Dinner was a boring affair; I sat next to Alby and Zart. And although their conversation was somewhat amusing, I wasn't able to pull any humour from it at all. I'm now convinced Zart's back hurts from carrying that friendship.
Chuck's face is solemn, and he has large bags under his eyes. I feel for the kid. If I had to clean up peoples klunk all day I wouldn't be a happy camper either.
"Shucking great fun," he grumbles.
"Can you not switch jobs later on?"
"Nah. Once ya got a job that's it."
That's it? I've come to the conclusion that the Glade seems more boring than Alby, which would make sense considering he runs it. If only you could perform a satanic ritual to revive Nick. Things were probably a lot more interesting until he croaked.
"I'm really starting to hate this place," I mutter.
"Welcome to the club," Chuck says with a snort. "I'm actually the president."
My mind flicks back to all of the times people were mean to him. It seems pretty pathetic to pick on Chuck just because he's younger than them. He makes up for the fact he's a toddler with his mouth. He's got a face of an angel but the tongue of a snake.
"Why'd they pick on you so much?"
"Cuz I'm the youngest."
"And the shortest?"
"Shut up."
I smirk at him, nudging him in the side. "Kidding, Chuck."
There's another moment of silence before Chuck opens his mouth to speak — something I would usually plug my ears for considering it's always a klunk joke or just an awfully performed joke in general. However, Chuck doesn't move to make any sort of joke at all. "How'd it go with the Med-jacks?"
"Decent," I reply. "I think I have a small chance."
"That's what I thought. Look where I ended up."
"Aren't you a ray of sunshine?" I mutter.
"You can't talk. You're the snarkiest shank in the Glade."
I roll my eyes. "I think you're forgetting Minho and Newt."
"Nope. I'm really not," he says before rolling off my hammock and practically flopping into his own, leaving me alone as his breaths even out almost instantly. I'm incredibly jealous of Chuck's ability to sleep so easily; it usually takes me hours for my thoughts to slow.
And so I stare at the leaves of the trees for hours on end, wishing first for sleep to overtake me, but then instead, I end up wishing that someone would take me far away from the Glade.
—
I love you guys! Make sure to eat, drink some water and have a shower. You guys deserve to take care of yourself <3