Ryder shoves another sandwich in his mouth, grinning toothily around the food. Thera makes a happy sound, but bites delicately, as though she wouldn’t dare be seen being grateful for food I know she needs.
About an hour ago, some of the group had branched off to search for food in one direction, while we went in the other. Tre, Thera and Aarya went off about two city blocks to the left, roaming just as passionately as we were for some sort of food. The search took far too long, the time seemingly elongated by Ryder’s endless complaining and Boston’s frequent sighs. Eventually, and I do mean eventually, Tre’s booming shout echoed through just about the whole city, catching our attention. It was more of a wordless cry of satisfaction, rather than true words, but the meaning was clear enough: they’d found food. We had all sprinted emphatically in their direction, guided by Thera’s periodic squeals of excitement, panting against the warm wind. They, upon our arrival, explained that they had come upon a deli, partially demolished but fully abandoned.
“The food is a little dusty, but nothing a quick brush of the shirt won’t fix,” Thera grinned, oddly amenable to interaction with me all of a sudden
Ryder paused, and stood there silently with his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched Tre carefully. With a wan smile, he accepted a sandwich from Aarya’s eagerly outstretched hands, passing along to Boston. Boston, excitement and hunger gleaming in his eyes, did not hesitate in the slightest before tearing a large chunk off of the sandwich and shoving it in his mouth with a contented sigh. Ryder side-eyed Boston, observing him as he chewed and swallowed, then for a good second afterwards. I, similarly, watched both Ryder and Boston, waiting for the latter to fall to the ground dramatically clutching his throat or something of the sort.
Nothing happened, so Ryder and I indulged in the sandwiches as well, gobbling the much needed calories gleefully.
I myself slide a slice of ham down my throat, following it closely with a slice of cheese. Tre grunts, dragging my attention to him, and he feigns a toss before actually tossing something to me. Reflexively, I catch the item, and plastic crinkles upon hitting my hand. I nearly gasp at the item lying in my palm; Tre has given me a water bottle. Before I can meet his eyes to silently ask if I should hide this, I notice the rest of the group has acquired one too. I toss a glance through the very broken deli window, trying to locate where in Aarchea Tre found this apparent abundance of water bottles, but I fail to see anything.
“It’s behind the building,” Tre answers my unasked question, deep voice rolling over me pleasantly.
I shift to look at him, nodding in thanks, but also observing - this is the first time he’s spoken real words to me. A choking cough snaps me out of my judgments as someone hacks up the sandwich they just ate. That someone, naturally, is Ryder, who proceeds to pound dramatically on his chest with each cough. I lean back and settle against a wall, rolling my eyes as Tre and Thera shift and glance at him warily as though they are actually concerned about his overzealous act. He cedes his coughing fit, clearing his throat with a loud rumble to close the curtains and finish his show, then tossing a glare at most of the group.
“I could have been dying and not one of you even flinched to save me,” he exclaims theatrically.
“You were fine,” Thera brushes him off, flicking a dismissive hand at him.
“I wouldn’t have minded,” I mutter, more to myself than any of them, but Ryder notices my comment.
He clutches his chest, gasping as though I just steam-rolled his torso.
“You wouldn’t be sad if I died?” He asks melodramatically, a constructed sob lurking behind his question.
“You’re holding me hostage, so honestly, that would be the best case scenario for me,” I state bluntly, staring at him with a dead pan look.
“Right,” he murmurs, pressing a contemplative finger to his chin. “I forgot about that part.”
I sigh, my annoyance mirroring the scoff that comes from where Thera is standing.
“Either way, didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to wish death upon other people?”
I shrug, more focused on blocking the images of my mother’s death that threaten to blur my vision than responding in a witty manner. Blood seems to seep in from the top of my sight, dripping slowly into my sight, causing me to wobble slightly even as I’m sitting down. I wipe my hand across my eyes viciously, trying to clear the impediment that isn’t actually there. Even though I know it’s not real, it covers my vision just as effectively, making everyone’s faces blur and darken.
“Worthless piece of scum,” I hear my father’s voice whisper crudely in my ear, followed by the sound of his hand cracking sharply across my mother’s cheek.
“Look at me, Anastasia,” he snaps in my mind. “Look at me!”
I manage to cut the sounds off before I hear the final sound, the sound that meant my mother would never hug me again, never laugh again, never, never, never. A shudder crawls under my skin, dragging its fingertips over the sensitive surface of my veins. I tamp down the motion before it rises through my skin and is visible to the group, clamping down hard on the emotions that rise with the flashback and shoving them firmly in another box. After the lid clamps down and I nudge the box as far as it can go considering the other boxes it’s pressed up against, I glance around, scanning the expressions of everyone around, trying to gauge if anyone noticed. From what I gather, they didn’t, and I lean back as though never rattled, gratefully taking another bite of my newly acquired sandwich and swigging out of my Tre-supplied water bottle. Speaking of water bottles…
I push myself off the ground, brushing dust off of my legs, moving to step away. That is, until Ryder’s foot hooks around my ankle, though I manage to stop quickly enough to avoid tripping like a clumsy idiot.
“Where ya goin’?” he asks, question muffled by the abundance of sandwich stuffed in his mouth.
“I gotta piss,” I tell him, keeping my voice cool and even as I wrench my ankle away from him.
He coughs violently as he rushes to swallow, probably to say something stupid within the window of comedic timing. Once his coughing and choking subsides, he grins up at me, swallowing the rest of the sandwich hard.
“Pissing all by yourself, gorgeous?” He jokes, a proud grin spreading across his face.
And there it is.
“Ew, Ryder,” Thera snaps, sounding unnecessarily disgruntled.
He chuckles, mostly to himself, though I’m fairly sure Boston snorts in the largest display of any emotion I’ve seen from him so far.
“Fine, but don’t run. I’ve been a lot of things in my twenty three years, I have no issue becoming a bounty hunter too.”
I give a mocking salute, dropping to one knee and bringing my fist to my heart in the way that is customary for Aarchean soldiers. Most of the group rolls their eyes in unison, which is actually mildly impressive, and I get up, strolling behind the collapsed deli.
“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” I mutter quietly, shoving my makeshift shorts down.
I pee quickly, crouching awkwardly above the pavement. I pause to listen for a moment, but the casual chatter and noise of the group eating continues without fail, so I sidle towards the wooden crate that contains more water than anyone would truly need except for in a moment like this. Glancing around furtively as though I’m committing a crime, though I suppose it is technically theft, I grab four water bottles. Without missing a beat, I tuck two water bottles into a crevice in the wall, conveniently left behind by the air strike. One more gets placed carefully around the corner, sitting suspiciously just inside the alleyway between this building and the next. I tuck the last water bottle surreptitiously into my pocket, trying to jam it down as far as I can, though it is hardly unnoticeable. I make my way back to the group, strolling slowly to enjoy my time out of their control. Despite my ability to run in that moment, I’m not nearly foolish enough to try and test out Ryder’s statement - I have no doubt he’d come for me, if only to torture me more than he might already be planning to.
“Take your time, Kaelin!” Ryder calls out, just as I begin to round the corner.
“What?” I call back, voice lilting in confusion.
“We’re gossiping about you. Walk slower.”
His blunt answer shocks me for a moment, and my chin juts backwards as I stop to process what he just admitted. Despite my shock and overall confusion at his candidness, I do slow down, but I do not hold myself back from straining to listen to anything they might be saying. Following Ryder’s orders, I lurk just behind the building, shoulder pressed against the corner of the building, breath held so I can eavesdrop.
“Just kill her already,” a gruff voice mutters, hardly a bit of empathy or emotion in his voice.
It must be Tre.
“I’d certainly have no qualms about it,” the fairy-like voice comes, the cold tone belonging clearly to Thera.
“C’mon,” Ryder drones, grabbing the end of his words and stretching them into a plea like a half-chewed piece of gum.
“You gotta stop messing around, Ryder. Dead serious,” Tre tells him, sounding a bit more intent on that than he has anything else so far.
“Death is hardly the most serious thing around here anymore,” Ryder attempts to joke, but his tone falls flat and dismal. “It’s more like serious as getting kidnapped by militia crackheads and having scars carved into you against your will until you look just like them.”
There’s a heavy silence that follows his simile, and I dare to peer around the corner to gauge the reaction of the group. Thera licks her lips, shuffling her feet uncomfortably as her hands raise to fiddle with one of the tiny braids woven throughout her hair. Boston, curiously enough, flinches visibly, shrinking backwards as though Ryder’s words have forcefully shoved him in the chest. He shoves his hand roughly through his hair, mussing it more than it already is, and he quips out a whistle. The quick three note tune hands awkwardly in the empty silence, appearing to brush off the welt that Ryder’s words must have left on Boston’s chest, tipping his chin up and crossing his arms in a way that mirrors my usual posture. Aarya, on a contrasting hand, appears unaffected, giggling as a wispy curl falls into her eyes and she becomes childishly focused on blowing it out of her eyes with tiny breaths.
“I’ll put her head,” Aarya laughs, the suggestion coming out whispered and dainty.
Ryder’s head snaps around to watch her, the reproach in his gaze making my stomach scrunch uncomfortably.
“Put her head where?” Tre asks, his tone dipping oddly into something that sounds sweet and caring, the way someone would talk to a toddler before nap time.
“In a jar,” she says matter-of-fact, as though there hadn’t been any other option.
Silence strikes the group again, clamping its hand over their mouths until the sentence has lingered long enough.
“Ohhh-kay,” Ryder drawls, clapping to diffuse the remnants of Aarya’s suggestion. “We like the enthusiasm!”
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