CH. NINETEEN
┗━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┛
"No," she says. "I don't remember that."
"I do," he says, lowering his voice. "I was planning to escape the place—"
"What place?"
"The Creators." He sighs. "I was planning to escape them for a while already, yet couldn't find a way to do it. Messed with the airwaves once I stole a walkie from a guard, but it didn't give me much." A pause. "Until one day, you were there, calling out all these names I didn't understand."
A frown starts to form on her face. This isn't what she remembered at all. It would've been nice to have lovely memories, too!
"We spoke. You explained something, but I couldn't hear it. It's like they blurred your words in the memory. And then I explained about where I was. You knew the location. Then by the weeks, we spoke more and more. Me about escaping, you about things that were still getting blurred." He takes a breath. "After a while, we figured out you could help me and Minho escape, since he had joined our talks a while ago."
"But that never worked," she realizes.
"No," he says sharply. "We got caught once we stood outside. You were supposed to be waiting there, but you weren't."
Her eyes avert. "Because they were bombing the place where I stayed."
"I guess. They took Minho and I away. As a punishment, we got that Griever. But it was probably worse for him. Alby shared they all had to watch him on a big screen, one by one. I only had to go through it once. Maybe twice, I don't know."
"And then you got angry."
"Yes, of course." As if it's obvious, he nods. "I was upset about the Griever, mad you weren't there, and really believed you left us behind. I only figured out you got bombed a year later, but you never appeared through that time. I thought you were dead."
"I was wandering in that desert all alone," she mutters. "Until they caught me."
He hums. "Then you appeared, indeed. Camil arrived about a week before you. Or well, they allowed us to talk to him a week before you. I think he had been there for quite a while. He told me about your place, but it was blurred after all. I did hear about you running off. Guards dragging you two away. But you fought and managed to slip off. He couldn't."
"And then you got angry because I left everyone behind."
"Yeah," he says. His cheeks grow red. "I was still upset about the Griever, angry you weren't waiting for us, and once I found out you ran off, I lost it. Because why could you run off on your own, but not with me?" A long pause. "...and with Minho, of course."
Joan sighs another time. "I believe when I got there, they used me to make serums. Because I had the knowledge. But it was too hard. When they wanted answers, they either used those syringes, causing pain, or showed me the video of you and the Griever, which felt like it hurt more," she explains. "Then they left me alone and I watched the screens of y'all in the Glade, 'cause you got sent there in the meanwhile. Together with this boy. His name was Thomas."
"What did he look like?"
"Brown hair. Taller than me but shorter than you."
"I believe most people are taller than you."
She shoots him a glare, followed by holding up her middle finger. "You saw him too, then?"
"Yeah. Watched him and another girl prepare things for the Maze, or whatever they were doing."
"I also saw a girl. Raven-haired, blue eyes," she describes fast. Some kind of excitement hits her. They might get more answers if they compare each other's memories like this. "She said everything was going to change. And that I'm not here for the test, but a punishment."
His eyes wide. "So it is a test! Not for you, but for the rest. Why would it be a punishment for you, though?"
"How am I supposed to know?" She shrugs. "Well, if that pain during the Changing and these wrists aren't punishing enough..." But she doesn't finish her sentence when a strange feeling hits her. "Anyway. Good talk."
He nods in agreement.
"I'm still expecting an apology, though."
"For what?"
"Oh, well. I don't know... maybe accusing me of being a spy, sending me in the Slammer on purpose, telling me to get stung... not sure."
"You might as well apologize for ruining my shirt, making half of my clothes pink, and beating me up."
"You wish."
"I'm not apologizing as long as you don't apologize."
She crosses her arms. "Then no one apologizes. Because I won't unless you do. First."
"Never," he says.
Her eyes narrow. "Alright. No problems solved after all, then."
"We can satisfy Jeff by being a little nicer."
"No apology, no being nicer." Joan gets up. She knocks on the door again, giving a yell at Jeff, but no one opens.
"You for sure have your needs," he mutters under his breath.
"Yes." She moves toward the window. "Ha. I'll fit through this. You won't."
"That window can't be opened," he says, as if she hadn't already seen that.
She takes a spoon off the table. Probably one she got fed with when she lay here. "I've noticed that, you idiot. The glass is not that thick. If I just..." Crack, the spoon against the glass. "See?"
"No one's gonna be happy with you giving the Bricknicks more to repair."
"Wow, you almost sound like you don't want me to leave." A fake gasp, then she's back to hitting the glass.
He ignores her comment. "Doesn't that hurt your wrist? Not that I care."
It definitely hurts. "You don't care, so you won't mind me not sharing that either, right?" With a final smash, the glass shatters into pieces and she can see the twilight better now, instead of the dirty window.
"You're crazy." He groans. Joan ignores him, slides everything off the table, and gets on top of it. With, in her opinion, smooth movements, she climbs out of the window.
And slips, falling right on her back with a wince.
"I'm alright!" She yells. "Now just considering if I will save you or let you suffer."
Some kind of grunt on the other side of the wall.
"Here. I have a great idea."
"I don't think any of your ideas are great, but alright."
"You apologize, and I'll open the door," she suggests, smirking.
He's hesitating. Considers it for a few seconds, though he hates apologizing and admitting he's wrong. "And you will apologize, too."
"No. I have apologized for your shirt already, and I had all the right to beat you up, because you beat me up, too! So what's it gonna be?"
"What about my pink clothes?"
"Well, just wear pink. Might make you look a little better."
"I'm not wearing pink."
"Then you won't. I don't care. Just tell me if you agree with the deal."
"I'm not wearing pink!" He repeats.
Rolling her eyes, she sighs. "Then you won't. Get fucking shirtless, nobody cares about your looks, Gally. Do you need me to open the door or not?"
"Did you just—"
"Do you need me to open the door or not?"
"Yes."
"I miss two words."
"Yes, please."
"Another one."
"No."
"Yes."
"I'm not apologizing!"
"Alright. Good night, Gally."
"Wait!" His eyes appear. "Just open the damn door, woman! One single 'sorry' won't change a thing."
"One single what?"
"Sorry," he repeats. "A sorry won't help."
"Well, I think you did just say sorry in some way, so fine." She makes a little sprint toward the door.
In front of the wooden thing is a table, indeed. Quite a heavy one. Groaning and puffing, she starts pulling it out of the way.
"You alright?"
"Cute you care," she breathes.
"You didn't answer."
A sniff. "Well, one of my wrists is broken and the other one is burned, along with the hand, but yeah, pretty great to pull this table away with those."
"You shouldn't be moving your wrists this much. Breaking down a window, slamming against a door, pulling heavy—"
"Yeah, but you'd like to escape from there, won't you?" She snaps. "I'm helping you. Just be patient."
"There's not a lot of difference between my bed and this one."
"Your point?"
"We can spare you the pain by just letting me sleep here. Only for tonight and only because I'll get blamed if your wrists will never properly recover."
Joan thinks about it. During that, she realizes no one will blame him for the wrists because it's her fault, but alright, if he says so.
"Okay," she says.
"Good thing to agree on."
"Oh, stop saying that all the time," she spats out. An audible laugh comes from inside the room. "Good night, then."
"Will you bring me—"
"Nope. Good night."