CH. TWENTY - TWO
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"We just got our syringes of the day," he explains on the other side of the walkie. "Trying not be caught by the guards walking around."
"Where are you?"
"In the cafeteria. Minho, say hi."
"Hey, mysterious girl," a voice says, chuckling.
She smiles at his confidence. "I've got really good news for you two, Gally. Will help a lot with escaping."
"Yeah? Spill!"
"My mom works in the same building as y'all are in. I suspect, at least," she explains. "If you manage to talk to her, she can help y'all with escaping."
"She's an employee here," Minho says. "She'll go snitch to Janson immediately."
"No. Not if you mention me. That I'm helping y'all and that I'll be waiting on the other side of the building," Joan protests sternly. "Maybe you know her already. She's the kindest woman you'll ever know."
"No one here is kind."
"She is. Trust me."
Gally sighs. "What's her name? And last name, 'cause most employees here call themselves by those."
"Mary Cooper."
❀
At least she's aware of that now. Her mom's named Mary Cooper. Perhaps she's still alive, since she might've not gotten bombed.
Joan steps out of bed with a sigh. Looks around in her hut. She did use some of Gally's shirts to decorate her walls even more, but sometimes, when she's sad or upset, it only looks crazy. Doesn't feel like home.
But nothing here feels like home because it's a damn Maze.
Yet outside, there's a desert, her likely dead father, and a mother she might not find.
Her younger self called her mom kind, but if she still works for the company that put her here, is she really that kind? Because she's here as a punishment, after all. Maybe her mom doesn't even care.
Another sigh leaves her mouth as she gets dressed. She can feel this won't be her best day. Hopefully, the pill she took last night stopped her period right away.
It didn't. Yay!
There's stains in her bedsheets and clothes. And what does she have to stop it? Nothing. But maybe the pill worked overnight and it has stopped by now, and the blood is really from a few hours ago.
She hopes so.
In an even worse mood, Joan changes into fresh clothes. Once in a while, she groans and clutches her hands around her stomach. She can't remember how bad her cramps used to be and so far never experienced them until, well, now.
She starts making her way to the Homestead with her dirty laundry in her hands. When her head starts aching from yesterday's alcohol, she nearly hits the wall.
"You better not be putting anything red in my laundry."
Why does he always got to be where she is?
"I won't," she grumbles, taking a basket to fill with water and soap. "Would you get out of the way? You're blocking."
He steps aside. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today."
"Not in the mood for a lot of jokes," she warns. He steps aside, so she takes the soap, puts the basket down on a table in the corner of the laundry room (which is in the Homestead), and starts scrubbing. "Would you leave?"
"You've stolen my equipment."
"No, I haven't," she snaps.
"Who else would have?"
A groan leaves her mouth. "I don't fucking know. Not me. When would I have? Yesterday you still had it and the second you told me about... you know, I stayed in my hut."
"Right," he says, but he doesn't sound fully convinced.
"I mean it," she adds. "Would you leave now? Thought this day couldn't get worse."
"So nice of you, woman," he grumbles under his breath, yet he obeys after all; he walks away.
Joan takes a deep breath. Why does everything have to come up at once, while she tried to bury her bad thoughts? Her period interfering, giving her all these feelings and wants, a memory about her mom, her past and the deaths, that desert, the way of being fine with these boys but also desperately wanting another girl here because no boy will ever truly understand everything... too much.
Another deep breath. Her hands shake as she cleans her clothes and sheets. She tries to keep the tears from falling, but it doesn't work, and they're soon dripping in the water. Her hands clasp around the basket, keeping her from letting out any sounds, yet some whimpers escape.
The girl quickly finishes cleaning and rushes to hang the wet things in daylight. Then, she gives up on trying to make this a good day. There's no one she works with anyways. The amount of supplies she has made is unreal, so one day off while it's not Sunday won't hurt.
Wiping tears off her cheeks, she closes the door behind her, changing into... into what? She gave her comfortable clothes to the Sloppers yesterday.
Alright. Fine. For once. Only for the comfort because Gally's sweater will be the most oversized thing she has ever worn. And he gave it to her himself, so it's not a crime to use it for other things than decorating.
She slips the pink material on, not daring to inhale the smell or anything. Just puts it on, along with her own pants. She notices she did leak through again—apparently the pills need time—but climbs in her bed after all. Not much she can do.
The exhaustion of the past month hits her the second she lies down. The constant nightmares, giving her just a few of sleep every night, catch up, and she's soon drifted off.
❀
"Joan." A loud knock on her door. "No freeloaders!"
She awakes with a groan. Honestly, she feels horrible. "One extra day off can't hurt, Alby. Please."
"Give me a good reason."
"I'm on my period."
"Aren't you every month?"
"Yes— well, no— it's a long story," she mumbles. "I'm just very tired."
"Joan, I wish I could, but if I allow you to do this, all boys are gonna take advantage of it. We've promised to treat you the same as we treat them. If you take this day off, they're all gonna want an extra day off and we can't really afford that."
"Right," she sighs. "Fine. I'll get to work."
"Good. Thank you. And sorry, really."
She feels like crying as she gets dressed, again having to wash her sheets and clothes. Hopefully, tucking a few pieces of toilet paper in her underwear will help. Then she walks over to the usual tree trunk and gets to work, ignoring every single cramp in her stomach and every tug at her skull.
"You alright?"
She nearly falls off the trunk at Gally's voice. But when she looks up, he's not there.
Seems like he has began to hallucinate again, too. Or she.
So she doesn't reply and continues working. And like that, his voice doesn't come back. Yeah, she just imagined it.
After a while, she has finished the next load of lavender oil. Her hands are still shaking as she puts it in a bottle. Then she uses the bathroom only to stuff more toilet paper in her pants.
The only thing she gets from returning is seeing Gally on the trunk, the bottle in his hands.
"Let go of that," she murmurs, pulling it out of his hands. He doesn't resist, luckily. "Unless you have something serious to say, leave me alone. Please."
He holds up his hands. "You were crying."
"Woah, I was? Didn't notice."
"And you're not alright."
"For sure didn't notice that either."
"So I wanted to check up. You can tell Alby you're sick and—"
"Since when did you start caring this much, Gally?"
"Since we talked about everything. And I'm really able to tell who's untrustworthy or not after five months," he announces. "And though you're a little shit, you're also trustworthy. And I don't want to feel his devastating sadness of yours in my stomach everyday."
Right. He can feel that.
"Also, did you know I can feel your pain? Not if you hurt the outside of your body, but the inside," he says.
"Don't understand."
"If you bump into something, get punched, or things like that, I don't feel it. But if your own body is producing pain, I can feel it. Like headaches and cramps."
"Well, that's lovely," she grumbles. "Anything else? Won't feel any better with your company."
"We share dreams."
Joan buries her head in her hands. "That's not exactly good news I was waiting for, but okay."
"Your mom—"
"I don't need you to remind me of my dreams or flashbacks," she decides. "So again, if you're not here to do anything important, leave."
He takes the bottle of oil back out of her hands, inspecting it. "What are the benefits?"
"Lavender is calming. Improves sleep, relieves pain, and a million other things," she summarizes fast.
He stares at her, eyebrows raising.
She stares back, eyebrows furrowing.
"I have an idea. Gives both of us a great benefit."
After he explained it, she shakes her head.
"Absolutely not, Gally."
❀
"This is going too far, Gally."
He chuckles. "You agreed."
"Only because it might relieve pain! But now I'm barely comfortable."
"Well, force yourself to relax. Because this is a one time thing I'm doing, only to get rid of your sad feeling, which I feel, and your pain, which I feel, and your bad dreams, which I also see. From you."
She sighs. "Not my fault."
"If it would've been, I wouldn't be doing this. Also, admit you enjoy it."
"No."
"Come on. Which woman does not enjoy a shuckin' stomach massage with lavender oil and awesome hands of a very charming guy—"
"You're turning into Minho. I don't like it."
But alright. She does kind of like his proposal of him giving her this quick massage as long as she forces her bad feelings away and tries to make sure to get a good night of sleep, so he will, too.
"Five months ago, you would've rather stabbed me in the stomach than this."
"Things change. I'd still punch you in the stomach, though. Just not right now. I feel a tad bad for you already, and I wouldn't want to make it worse. You'd start whinin' to Alby."
She rolls her eyes, but they stay rolled back for a little longer than they should've— how can she help it that he just put more pressure on her stomach and is, not gonna lie, an alright massager?
"How come you're able to do this without breaking my organs?"
"As Newt says, Builders are good with their hands."
"Yeah, well, I suppose you don't massage your wood with lavender oil every day."
His hands stop moving for a second, which makes her realize how wrong that sounded.
"Oh my god—" a bright red color replaces the pale skin she had before. "—not your wood. Just... Builder's wood! You know what I mean."
Grinning slightly, he continues. Kneads her sides, his thumbs pressing into her skin before he draws circles with them. Runs his fingers across her stomach before he's back to scratching his nails over her skin—
"Don't do that." An unwanted giggle leaves her mouth, and she cringes so hard that her cheeks get red and she almost kicks him away. "That tickles."
"It does, huh?"
Man, if she just wouldn't have mentioned it, he wouldn't have started teasing her with it.
"Gally, stop!" She urges, having to hold more laughs back.
He shrugs, grinning. "We needed a way to make you feel less sad anyways."
"I will—" a pant "—die because I can't—" another laugh "—breathe. And you won't cheer Alby up with that."
"You do make him start a Gathering almost every day, so you might want to rethink that," he says. And again, his movements make her burst out with laughs and giggles she tries to hold back.
"Stop it!" She slaps his hands away. "It's not funny."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"That's the most basic reply ever," she snaps, pushing his hands away only for him to make her squeal again. "Stop— I mean it! You wouldn't want to live with the embarrassment of me tickling you back, right?"
"As if you would tickle me."
"Yeah, alright. Got me there. Tickling is cheesy and I will indeed never tickle you. So stop doing it to me."
"I'm only massaging." But he does go back to the normal movements now. "Does it feel good?"
"It's alright."
"I asked if it feels good, not alright," he says sternly. "Otherwise, it's for nothing."
"Yeah, it feels good," she confirms. Her eyes close, and the silence that follows is so comfortable yet so unnerving that she has a hard time ignoring the sound of his breaths. The exact movements of his hands, and the texture of the little scars on his skin.
Then, once she really starts focusing on his hands, the massage is good. Makes her feel awesome— awesome enough to sigh out.
He doesn't give a cocky reply, which she expected, yet she doesn't mind. This is just pure relaxation.
"What are you thinking about?" She whispers after a while, when he's gotten too quiet for normal Gally. His hands deliver so much relief that she can barely focus on his emotions, so she can't tell what's got him so quiet according to that.
Well, perhaps he's just quiet because most massagers are quiet as they give a massage, but Gally's not a real massager.
"The way I got so struck with hating you that I never noticed your face could soften like that."
Oh, gosh. She's not sure if he means it nicely, but it sends a whole wave of tingles over her and she's doesn't know if she likes it.
"You've never seen me smile or anything?"
"I have, but that's different. You seemed so vulnerable, a few seconds ago."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
"You should."
Her eyes almost shoot wide open. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then here's a compliment to you. Your massage skills aren't bad, Gally."
"I knew it!"
"Well, then that's a good thing to agree on."
"Agreed."