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THE DOZEN.
ix. TIME
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THIS PEN IS absolutely terrible and the ink is slowly fading out, but i'm going to attempt this anyway and just hope for the best since i've gotten pretty good at that lately. i'm not really worried since i don't think i actually have the ability to be worried, but nobody knows what the next few days will bring for us. more than anything, i hope that we'll be okay - all of us. we don't have to be safe or happy, just alive. we can worry about other things later, i just don't want to lose anybody. or see anyone lose themselves. i have a feeling that'll happen if we're not careful, because i used to always hear the stories (mostly from tv shows) about how people weren't the same after traumatic or life-threatening events. i hope we stay alive and i hope we stay the same.
Parker's shoes padded against the hardwood floor as he haltingly entered the living room. Adelaide, lounging in the recliner across the room, glanced up at him from the book that lied in her lap; the pen loosely held in her hand came to a stop just as she fully fixated her eyes on him. As she did so, his eyes diverted and immediately shot to Ellie's lithe frame lying unconscious on the couch.
The worry grew with every moment he stared at her, but it was a worry he couldn't seem to fathom. He hardly knew her, had just met her the day before. And yet, he still felt the need to check for her pulse every time her eyes slid shut for longer than a second. He presumed it was just because he was finally able to take care of someone in the way his mother would never allow him to care for her; he'd just mention the word "rehab" and she'd be gone the next morning, only leaving behind a small note telling him to be good while she's gone.
"She's sleeping," Adelaide softly spoke up, drawing Parker from the thoughts that were beginning to consume him. He was brought back to reality, back to the creaky floorboards beneath his feet, back to the sound that her pen made as she began to write again. "I'll let you know when she wakes up," she added, eyes glued to the journal before her, "so you can give her the medicine yourself. I know you want to."
"I just..." Whatever sentence he was attempting to form trailed off, lost in oblivion, and he only ended up looking down at the way he nervously rubbed his thumb back and forth across the width of the side of his index finger. However much of a nervous habit it might have been, it was nevertheless calming. It brought him back down to earth as if the weight of the world on his shoulders wasn't enough to hold him down. "I just want to, uh, make sure that we're all..." his timid voice stopped for a moment, as did the motions of his hand, and he looked back up at her, "that we're all okay."
Her hand slowed to a stop and a small, assuring smile graced her lips as she looked up at him. "You don't have to worry," she told him - almost like a promise. All the promises he'd ever been told were utterly empty and carried no weight, but he couldn't help but take her word for it. It seemed almost like a skill she had perfected, being able to tell anybody anything and they'd believe it. She could tell him that the sky was a shade of purple and he'd take her word for it.
Not that he'd admit it, but he only thought about her charismatic skill to avoid thinking of his own susceptible flaw.
He nodded in response and attempted a small smile, but all he had done was hardly twitched the lips that seemed to be permanently shaped into an anxious frown. He shot a glance over to the woman sleeping on the couch, letting his mouth fall open as he scoured his mind in search of the right words to say - but the only sound to be heard was that of the front door opening and thunderously slamming shut.
Carson paced past the living room and Jasper traipsed behind, with only the latter stopping when Adelaide asked, "Find anything?"
"Nope," Carson quickly called in response, already halfway to the kitchen by the time he answered.
Jasper, instead, stood directly beneath the doorway of the living room; his cheerful gaze remained upon Adelaide longer than it did Parker (not that it was any surprise, they still hadn't spoken since their argument yesterday) and, suddenly, he raised a dark bag into the air. He anticipated that they'd be just as delighted as he was, but they just blankly stared. "Okay," he breathed out, shoulders sinking, "not that either of you asked, but I got a bag. There's not much inside yet, just a bottle of water, but I have big plans for-"
"Give it to me," Parker strongly interjected - the first thing he'd uttered to his best friend since their argument. Jasper, blatantly taken aback, pulled his eyebrows together and tightened his grip on the bag in his hands. "Not the bag, Jas, the water bottle. Give me the water."
"Chill, Park," Jasper (almost condescendingly) replied with a small smirk. He reached inside of the blood-stained bag; the very moment the bottle was in view, Parker practically snatched it from his best friend's hand. Jasper expected him to chug the entire thing right there, judging by his neanderthal attitude towards a simple bottle of water, but all the younger man did was set it atop the table on the corner closest to Ellie. Jasper's eyebrows rose in surprise, but a look of amusement washed over his face and he spoke up, "I don't think she's the thirsty one out of the two of you."
And with that, he exited, leaving both Parker and Adelaide struggling to refrain themselves from smiling. Adelaide had expected Parker to be mad, but when he turned to face her, she saw that the corners of his mouth had curved up and shattered the frown she believed to be sempiternal.
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"Gosh, this is gross," Clara grumbled, wiping her bloody hands across her pants and watching the crimson stain tarnish the denim. "Remind me again," she turned, "why we're doing this, because I'm on the verge of quitting."
"It's for the children, Clara," Nicholas half-jokingly replied, but with a face that she almost took seriously until he broke out into a childlike grin at the sight of her exasperated glare. His joyful beam vanished within a matter of seconds, and he solemnly added, "This is important. We can't just... not bury the dead. Especially when they're important to one of our own. And I don't expect the little girl to come out here and do this herself, seeing as she's obviously angry at them right now, so it's gonna be us."
"Well, yeah," she was quick to agree, "but why us? There are ten other people here, perfectly able."
"Eight, actually," he observed, "if you subtract Ellie and the little girl."
A tired groan burst from her mouth as she rested her hands on her hips. It wasn't that she was lazy - she just wasn't the most able-bodied person in their group. She seemed fit, but, in reality, she was just small. She couldn't lift her own weight or even half of it, running was almost torture, and nothing good could be mentioned about her stamina.
But then her eyes trailed down to the sheet-clad corpses beside her feet. Patches of dark blood had begun to seep into and plague the white sheet, almost like blemishes ruining a pale face, and the smell was still just as horrid despite the fresh air among them.
And they were once human. Before they were blemishes or the source of a horrendous stench, they were people. Parents. Lovers. Humans.
If anything, she thought, they deserved a proper burial.
"Alright," she breathily spoke, giving him a small nod. "Fine... Do I have to dig, though?"
A brief smile adorned his face and he jocularly stated, "You have to dig." Her face contorted with chagrin: a long exhale, furrowed eyebrows, and eyes closed with discontent. "I'll let you process that while I go and find the shovels."
Clara watched as he walked out of view to the side of the house; it was presumable that he knew where he was going for his walk seemed rather intent. Once he was nowhere in sight, it was just Clara and the two corpses to occupy the backyard - and only Clara to provide the motionless patch of snow with life.
In that fleeting moment, she realized how scarce life was. Only she could provide such a thing when surrounded by dead trees, dead bodies, dead skies. Thinking back to when skies were clear and she knew more than eleven living beings seemed reminiscent to when an elderly person thought back to their high school days. It didn't feel like just two days ago, she was starving in a facility and waiting for someone to pull her from her barren cell to introduce her to yet another torturous test.
Even then, at least she got to see doctors. At least she was well fed, hydrated, warm - and she knew what to expect, more than anything. Each day was predictable, the same as the ones before; these new days within a new world were unforeseeable. The only thing that could ease such an anxiety was remaining hopeful.
But that was scarce as well.
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The endless ebb and flow of consciousness was beginning to irritate Ellie. She'd fight to stay awake, only to become so exhausted that the war only became that much more taxing, which would lead to a bout of restless, nightmare-infused sleep that held no beneficial values.
She awoke, for yet another time that day, with a gasp. Parker was the only person in the room to witness her sudden awakening, but she nonetheless felt immediately crowded and self-conscious, like every movement and motion was under the blazing stare of dozens of viewers.
"Hey," he soothingly spoke, almost like she was a child - nobody had ever angered her so quickly. She rose from where she lied on the couch as he sat down on the corner of the table in front of her. It was the first time they'd been at eye-level; he always towered over her due to the fact that she was lying down, but now she managed to tower over him with a simple look. He'd be lying if he said it didn't scare him at least slightly. "Got your medicine," he commented, reaching down into the bag that sat at his feet.
"What medicine?" she was quick to question, watching as he set numerous boxes and bottles beside him on the table.
"I went and got medicine," he haltingly stated. "Medicine for you; for your headaches, the nausea, the restlessness. It'll help."
"I don't need your help," she slowly clarified, adding emphasis onto every syllable to assist in somehow getting through to him. He just didn't seem to understand, didn't speak her language, something - anything that prevented him from comprehending that what she really needed (and wanted) was to be alone.
He'd heard that exact sentence before. Though, every time his mother said it, she had a condescending and incredulous tone; Ellie just seemed patronized. He understood that some people just had too much pride to willingly accept help from others and if she wanted to be drowned by her pride, then it was her choice. All he could do, all he had ever done, was hope. "You should probably get some more rest," he told her as he stood, "I wouldn't be surprised if we leave soon." She only watched him for a few moments as he began to stuff all of the pale boxes and bottles back into the bag, so she missed when he grabbed the water bottle from the table and carried it out with him.
He'd taken less than a dozen steps before arriving at the dining room table. The dark-haired girl - Nine, he believed - was quietly sat at the very end of the table, rhythmically tapping her nails against the wood. She didn't even seem to notice his presence. Swinging the bag off of his shoulder and onto the table, he sat down at the opposite end and dumped everything from the bag with a loud clatter that pulled her from whatever world she had mentally wandered to.
"I'm sorry."
Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes instantly darted to his. Whatever he was entirely absorbed into doing was of no importance to her when the two small words left his mouth, though she could see in her peripherals that he was opening all of the boxes, bottles, and packages in front of him. "What?" she hesitantly spoke up, realizing that her usually frenetic fingers had stilled for the first time that day.
"Everyone back in the, uh, the facility, you obviously cared about them," he elaborated, "so I'm sorry they're dead. That sucks."
"Oh. Yeah," she abruptly responded, breaking out into a small, forced smile for the sake of politeness. "They really weren't as bad as they seemed," she added. "Some of them were kind of jerks, but the others... They were great. One doctor even let me use her last name for myself, just 'cause I was never given one. I think she might've actually gotten fired for that, because she vanished after. Anyway, yeah. It was nothing official, but I was convinced that it was for about a decade. Anyway... Thanks."
"You don't have a last name?" he questioned, still not making eye contact with her (aside from the quick glances he made just to show he was paying attention.)
She nonchalantly shook her head. "If anyone asks, I'm Alexa Donovan, but officially, it's just 90042. Though, if you want to get technical, I never officially existed anyway; at least not in the real world."
He peered down into the water bottle, watching as the pills began to dissolve into minute flakes. "Jeez, tough break," he commented after a moment of distracted silence, finally looking up at the girl sitting across from him. "Well, I'm Parker. I don't have my full number memorized, but ten is what's on my arm, in case you were wondering-"
"10387," she recited with ease and then quickly added, "Sorry. That was weird. They told me about you all and I have a really good memory, so... It just happened, kinda."
"They told you about us?" he asked. "I wasn't even aware there were eleven other people in the same position as me until the day they gave us the tattoos."
"Yeah, that was Tag Day," she coolly told him. "Uh, but yeah, I knew about you guys. When you're in one place for your entire life, the people surrounding you start to like you more than they're allowed to. Which means you get small, little... privilege things, I guess. I still went through all the same things you all did, just... It's hard to explain."
He nodded. "I get it."
A small smile played on her lips and she replied, "You do?" She never meant to seem so astonished; there was just no denying the sheer excitement that came along with finding someone who seemed to understand her for once in her life.
But then he abruptly retorted, "No, not really." Her face faltered, the smile drifting away like the tide says goodbye to the shore, for it returned as he added, "But I'm not gonna hate you or consider you less of a person because you weren't put through as much as I was. That's kinda immature."
"Wait, is that how everyone else feels?" she was quick to question, leaning forward in her seat.
Seeing that the pills had dissolved into nihility, he stood from the seat, cringing at the way the legs of the chair scraped against the hardwood floor. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "And they won't because they're not gonna find out. I don't think either of us should mention that you were basically mom's favorite kid."
"Yeah," she breathed out, nodding. "You're right."
An artificial smile that he had created for the sake of affability was the last thing she saw before he intently exited the room, heading for the living room. Ellie had resumed lying on the couch, though with her back facing him this time. Her position only made placing the water bottle back onto the table much easier for him, as it erased the possibility of an explanation and allowed him to settle into the chair across the room without having to tolerate her dagger-like stare.
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"There you are."
She wasn't listening.
She heard his voice, of course; it was the only noise that could possibly be heard within the still room. Her back was facing him, she was leaning against the windowsill: far too absorbed in watching the two blonde teenagers bury the ones who truly didn't deserve to be buried. However much she abhorred what they were doing, she couldn't tear her attention from it.
"I've been looking for you everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean, like, two rooms. Regardless, though-" An ear-splitting crash was what finally separated her from the thoughts that vigorously raced through her mind. She jumped in a slight way and quickly spun to see Jasper picking up a digital clock from the floor. "Oops," he breathed out once he noticed her glaring at him. "Sorry. I was leaning on the shelf and - it just - I accidentally knocked it off, sorry."
Though the time remained frozen at 4:51, he found relief in the simple fact that it wasn't entirely broken. She, however, had to bite her tongue to stop from screaming at him over the same mistake that she had made earlier. It was only a simple, clumsy accident, but it had unprecedentedly enraged her like never before.
But then she remembered that she was trying not to be so angry about it all. Rage only meant exhaustion. Being exhausted was something she was growing bored of.
"Here I am," she finally breathed out through clenched teeth, her small arms folding over her chest. "What do you want?"
"I, uh, wanted to ask if you had seen what was happening out back," he haltingly answered. "I think you'll be happy. Which would be amazing, actually. It's already a good day, kind of. Ellie finally took her medicine, your parents are being buried, I got a bag-"
A good day.
The day in which she found out that, not only did her parents replace her with another kid, they couldn't be bothered to survive afterward.
A good day.
"Oh. Yeah. No. I saw it." Her curt, choppy sentences cut through him like a razor blade in a way he couldn't begin to explain. It was almost disappointing, seeing someone who should be so happy and innocent be so... gone. Absent. "If you feel like doing me a favor, you should go and tell them to stop."
"You don't want them to bury your parents?" he asked slowly, taking a small step towards her.
She stepped back. "No," she answered bluntly. "They don't deserve it; should've just let them rot into the floorboards. And it's not their business, anyway. They don't have the right to call that shot."
"They just thought it'd-"
"I don't care," she interjected with a sharp, saddening inch of monotony. "They're going to stop, and we're going to leave this house," she slowly told him, almost like an order. "We're going to D.C.. We'll let the military and the government do whatever it is that they want, and we're gonna forget that we ever even came here. Okay?"
"Okay," he quickly, faintly replied under her burning glare, "but can you please stop doing the thing where you stare at me and talk really slowly? It's scary. I think you know it's scary, that's probably why you do it."
"Yeah, that's exactly why," she nonchalantly confirmed, taking quick steps past him as she exited the room. "I'll be on the bus."
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Adelaide's journal thing is getting its own book soon ok
word count: 3428