The Walking Dead Hawaiian
Chapter 6: Drinking and Decking
SORRY THIS CHAPER TOOK SO LONG. I HAD IT ALL WRITTEN THEN ACCIDENTLY DELETED IT AND HAD TO WALK AWAY FOR A BIT. BUT HERE IT IS!
AS ALWAYS, I DO NOT OWN TWD. JUST MY OCS AND STRESSFUL SITUATIONS I PUT THEM IN. READ AND REVIEW!
Most of the groups scouled at the idea of getting poked with a needle.
Needles do not bother me anymore.
But the itchy medical tape does.
I heard someone shift on their feet behind me when I did not jump out of the chair as soon as the doc was done. He did not look at me, intent on maticulously labeling the vile with a black sharpy.
Probably did not bother to spell it right.
"Do you, by chance, know a Captain Allen? He was stationed here."
"By reputation." He said, dropping the vile in a little double bay basket. His eyes flicking to who ever stood behind me then at me. "He was one of the captains stationed here."
Was.
"He is not here," I breathed, "and you have not seen anyone since-?" I gestured outside.
He shook his head, looking more tired than annoyed at my questions.
"Your group is the only people I have seen in weeks." He looked me over, contemplating. "You related to him?"
"No," I said quickly then slowly added, "he was a friend of my dads."
"Sorry for your loss." He said robotically, his eyes going again to the person behind me.
I finally got to my feet, allowing Jacqui to stumble into the chair.
I claimed a spot by the wall and avoided everyones eyes. But that did not stop Glenn from leaning over and mumbling lowly to me.
"Anything on your dad?"
I shook my head, eyes fixed on my shoes so I would not have to meet his pitty eyes.
I had no reason to cry.
None at all.
I knew it was a long shot. I did not suggest we come just so I would not have the constant 'what if' echoing in my head. I knew this was the right decision. I agreed with Rick. Maybe the doc had answers. Maybe this could be a safe place to stay. At least for a while until we can come up with our next move.
We.
Who would have thought a week ago I would say 'we' and not be talking about dad.
At least this gave me time to think about where else he could have gone.
Because he was NOT dead.
So I was not about to break down crying when my stupid heart did not listen to my brain and had a little too much hope for this place. I will not add to everyones sorrow and I would not allow them to give me pitty looks.
Everyone in this room has lost their family. Some more resent than others, but everyone has lost someone.
I did not listen to the Docs slow thoughtful answers to questions tossed around by the group. The elevator, though huge, was a tight fit for everyone but we made it work.
I ended up squeezed into a corner next to Daryl. His nuckles going white on his bag he tucked between his feet to make room for everyone.
"You good?" I mumbled, everyones attention on what ever the doc said to Carl. The words were out of my mouth before I grasped who I was saying them to. His chin, tucking into his chest like he wanted to make himself as small as possible, jerked enough to allow his blue eyes to connect with mine.
He grumbled something about small spaces, shifting on his feet then stiffned when his arm bumped mine.
"Ground yourself." I mumbled, not sure if he wants me to bring attention to his discomfort but the others were having their own conversation with the doc.
"Breath slowly and deeply through your nose." Finding myself reciting my fathers words. "Name five things you see. What color are they? What texture are they? What are they made of? What-"
The elevator rocked to a hault, causing my shoulder to bump his arm, and beeped. The doors sliding open for everyone to take their turn exiting. I ended up stepping off before Daryl, following behind Andrea. Our little group sticking close to the doc even as he casually walked down a dimly lit hall.
"Are we underground?" Carol called, the doc looking back at her with a slight amused smile.
"Claustrophobic?"
"A little." She admits quietly, still keeping her daughter close to her side like a Lolo will jump out at any minute. Good on her.
"Do not think about it."
He is one of those people.
A flicker of annoyance squeezed my heart and had me tuneing out anything else he said.
But I turned back in quickly when he lead us into a cafiteria.
Lori and Carol taking the lead in pulling out food, instructing the the kids to find things to eat with, while the men pulled tables and chairs together to create a banquet set up. I was included with the kids. Setting out plates, glasses, and eating utencils.
Carol found individual packets of premade meals. Kind of like the TV dinners Dad would stash in the freezer for emergencies. Like that time we burned dinner because he decided to show me a new fighting stance he learned from a buddy and we got so caught up in the living room we forgot all about it. Or, usually, those nights we just did not feel like cooking but it was at the end of the pay period and we did not have enough for a pizza.
I miss those times.
I turned my nose up when the doc showed up with a bottles of wine, handing it over to Dale for distripution, but everyone else happily held their glasses out.
Soon everyone was giggling and haivng a good time.
"You know in Italy," Dale talked over everyone, filling Loris glass, "children have a little bit of wine. And in France." He added then took his own seat while giving Lori a playful look.
Who made a point to cover her sons glass with an obmonishing look.
"And, well, when Carl is in Italy or France he can have some then." Sipping from her own glass even as her husband prodded her to let the kid try it. Everyone cheering and giggling when she finally consented and the little boy was handed two fingers of wine.
"Ewww." The poor boy grimaced, gladly letting his mother poor the remaining wine into her glass. I noticed Sophi never asked her mother if she could try any. I imagine, living with her abusive father, her exposure to alcohol was daily and had no desire to participate.
"Stick to soda pop there, bud." Shane mumbled, rubbing at his face with his clasped hands.
"Not you, Glenn." Daryl suddenly said.
"What?" Glenns bewildered, shy grin pulling at his lips, looking at the group from his perch on the metal counter a few feet away.
"Drinking, little man." Daryl gave him an almost playful grimace while he took a seat next to Shane. "I wanna see how red your face can get."
Elisiting more giggles from the group.
"You want some, Kai?" Dale dipped the bottle towards my empty glass but I shook my head.
"Come on, Kai." Shane said sarcastically in a low voice. "Do not have to be twenty-one to drink, now."
"Been there, done that, don't like it." I said firmly, reaching out for a bottle of water to wash down the saltiness of the meal. I forgot how salty these processed meals were.
Then Rick was lightly tapping on his glass, getting everyones attention and turning it to the doc.
"It seems to me," Rick getting to his feet, "we have not thanked our host properly."
The doc straighted a little in his chair. Off to to the side, not partaking in the merryment, but observing us none the less.
"He is more than just our host," T-Dog gleefully rased his glass. A round of 'here-here' and 'boo-yah' echoing around the room.
"Thank you." Rick pointedly meeting the docs eyes and raising his glass in salute. The doc, his face never changing from the tired sad frown, raised his own glass then took a sip.
The ring on his finger catching the light with the dip of his glass.
"So when are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc." Shanes flat tone cutting into the merryment like a knife. "All the - uh - other doctors. Those supposed to be figuring out what happened. Where are they?"
"We'er celebrating, Shane." Rick quietly abmonished. "Don't need to do this now."
"Wait a second," Shanes attention fully on Rick, challenging, "this is why we are here, right? This was your move."
A soberness falling on the room at his tone.
"Supposed to find all the answers. Instead, we - uh-," snorting on a mock chuckle he threw a thumb at the doc, "we find him."
The doc going very still, as if waiting to see where Shane was going with this before starting to answer his questions.
"We find one man... why?" His head tilting to give the doc a stink eye out the corner.
"Well," The doc began, "when things got bad, a lot of people just... left. Went off to be with their families."
An edge to his eyes as he said it.
"And when things got worse, when the military corden got overruned," His eye grew distant, "the rest bolted."
"Every last one?" Shane pressed, fiddling with his fork as if that would take the accusing tone out of his voice.
"No." The docs eyes meeting Shanes eyes with a hard look. "Many couldn't face walking out the door. They... Opted. Out."
He said the words like he wanted to say something else, maybe concious of the little ears in the room, but then he tredged on.
"There was a rash of suicides." His eyes dropped and almost to himself he mumbled, "it was a bad time".
"You didn't leave. Why?" Andrea jumped in even as Shane opened his mouth.
"I just kept working." His eyes raising to softly land on her. "Hoping. To do some good."
He did not look like he found any.
"Dude." Glenns quiet voice breaking the slience. "You are such a buzzkill, man."
No one said anything else. Glenn taking at seat at the table with his food he got out of the microwave.
Shane fidgeted under everyone's gaze. He looked a little ashamed but did not apologize.
The rest of dinner was not as merry as the beginning, but it was pleasant. The food, though salty, filled me up in a way it had not had in weeks. The doc waiting until we ate two or three, some of us even more than that in glasses of wine, then getting up to announce showing us to our sleeping quarters.
"Most of the facility is powered down," the doc explained even as lights flickered to life along the hall we walked through, "including housing."
Our tired group shuffling along until the doc said the magic words.
Hot water.
I had the fleeting thought we might have to share rooms, not knowing how many offices there were down this hall, but I was quicker than the other girls. Running to the end of the hall, despite my large bag, to skirt into the last room on the left before anyone could tell me otherwise.
And if I was to share a room with any of the other girls, there was a part of me that felt bad for taking too long. But then there was the other part that knew I needed to soak under the wonderfully hot water. Scrubbing every inch of me, gobs of soap from the little dispenser attached to the wall, at least twice. My hair three times because the second wash I found a leaf and it was not hard to convince myself it needed another thorough wash.
Dad would take long showers after work.
As soon as he was in the door, he would drop his pack, slide out of his boots, and head for the shower. I learned, after my first month living with him, it was his way to decompress from his job. I did not know what he did exactly, but I knew it was high strung and demanding and it was a wonder what a nice hot shower can do after a long stressful day.
My breath shuttered in my chest.
I turned the water off, grateful there were still towels hanging and I had one for toweling off as well as drying my hair. Which was a task in and of itself. I put my only clean pair of clothes on after giving my other ones a quick scrub and rinse in the sink. Laying them over the shower door and leaving the fan on in the hopes the circulating air would help them dry faster.
I found the community room before anyone else. Taking my time running my fingers over the pool table as I walked by and not caring they came up with dust.
It was just dust.
This was normal.
I missed normal.
Having a weekly house cleaning chores list kind of normal.
The snack bar was wonderful. My heart jumped when I found Cheetos and Pocky straws and I was happily snacking away on them, the Cheetos long gone, when I heard Carol and the kids enter the room.
"What is that?" Carl pointed at the chocolate covered straw disappearing between my lips. I offered him the box.
"Amazingness. You want on?" He gave me a sheepish look. And if his mom had been in the room, I am sure he would have looked to her for permission before reaching out for one. I offered the box to Sophie, giving me a soft smile for including her, then to Carol, who politely declined with a raise of her hand.
Instead she went to the bookshelf.
I offered the kids another one, their hair still damp from their showers, each wearing pjs faded beyond recognition of the little cartoon characters on their shirts. Carol browsed the shelf for a moment then settled on the couch. I was surprised to see a children's book in her hands.
"How was your shower?" I hesitantly tried at starting a conversation. Taking another chair kitty-corner from the couch.
"Wonderful." Carol sweetly said, her eyes going to her daughter when she snuggled in next to her. Her voice still soft but sounding stronger compared to when I first met her.
"How are you, um, with this. How are you doing." Carol gave me a confused look, but her eyes lit with understanding when I gestured to the room.
"Try not to think about it." She grumbled, mimicking the docs tone.
"Have you tried 'grounding'." Thinking about my impromptu one-way conversation with Daryl. My face burns.
She shook her head. I scratched at my shoulder.
"It - um - helps with anxiety but I think it is - you know - same idea. Ground yourself by focusing on your senses instead of what is getting you all worked up."
She cocks her head, thoughtfully.
"So - like - you don't have shoes on. What does the floor feel like? Texture? Temperature? Color? Just - you know - things you notice about it. Focus on those then move another object and sense."
She nods, her hand absently stroking her daughters' arm who is eyeing my hands. I hand her another Pocky.
"Have you... used... this method?" She asked slowly.
"Sometimes." I admitted. "It depends." Feeling a embarrassed. She is a grown woman, probably been through more than me married to that Pua'a, and here I am trying to teach her how to work through anxiety.
"What are those?" She watched me eat two straws this time.
"Pocky." I supplied, holding one up for her to see. "Kind of like a frosting covered pretzel. These are pretty popular in Hawaii."
She gave the packaging another look over with a small smile. Sophia politely asked for another one but when I offered one to Carl he declined. His eyes fixed on something else at the snack bar.
But he did not look like he would snag the little red bag, so I did it for him. Popping the packaging open I made a show of eating the cheese covered chip then, over doing asking him if he wanted one, tossed the bag in his lap.
I appreciate his mom teaching him good manners, so, I figured I would meet him halfway since he seemed to be struggling with knowing the proper etiquette in this situation and I know how religious the south was on their food etiquette.
His lips pulling into a wide grin, not the little shy one I have seen plenty of, for the first time.
"Where did you grow up again?" Carol politely asked.
"Mostly Hawaii." I supplied, handing the last of the Pocky to Sophie. "Moved here about three years ago to live with my dad."
"I wondered why you did not have an accent." Carols little smile was pretty. She should show it more often.
"And when I do," I dramatically said, "it is more Texan than Georgian." Laying on the vowels thickly.
I felt my heart tighten but I hid my face from Carol in my hair.
"Your hair is gorgeous." She mumbled, dreamily. Her eyes on my fingers nervously twirling a lock.
I suddenly found myself wondering the reason behind her short hair and anger licked at my belly. Remembering mom keeping her hair short for probably similar reasons.
"Thank you." I whispered.
"You mind if I, um, braid it?" Her fingers twiddling in the air like they were kitchen to play with the ringlets.
I froze.
When was the last time someone else did my hair?
I shook my head to keep from remembering because I knew it was going to hurt.
"Sure. If you want to." I mumbled. She motioned, almost excitedly, with her hands. I scoot close to her until she gestured for me to have a seat in front of her on the floor. Sophie making room while happily munching away on the last treat.
Her fingers are soft. Starting at my temples to slowly work her way into my mass of hair. Separating small sections of hair to work the knots out then moving on to another section. I cringe when strands are pulled, but for the most part she is very careful.
"Sorry." She mumbles quickly, retracting her hands like she expected me to strike her.
"It is fine." I quickly say, patting my hair. "I have a thick scalp."
Tentatively her hands go back to my hair. Her fingers softer than before.
"All we need is some soda pop and it will be a sleepover." Lori teased, rounded the couch to give us a wide smile.
"Y'all don't call it 'Coke'?" I blurted out.
"Sometimes," Lori consented, "Rick does. I grew up in Oklahoma and we call it 'pop'."
She walked to the shelf, eyeing the spines.
"Anything good?" She called over her shoulder.
"Some." Carol mumbled. "At least enough to keep us occupied for years."
"You underestimate my reading abilities." I smiled. Eliciting a chuckle from both women.
"I am not getting anywhere." Carol huffed, her fingers slapping her knees in frustration. "I need a comb or a brush."
"I have a brush." I offered, holding off a shudder at the thought of a comb. Those things hurt. I stood up to retrieve it from my pack.
"We probably should head back anyways," her eyes going to the clock on the wall, "why don't you meet me in our room, and I will work on it once I get Sophie to bed. We are the third door."
I nodded, only catching snidbits of Lori's goodnight words to Carl out in the hall.
My brush was at the bottom of the bag. Go figure. Shows how long it has been since I tried to tame it. Nearly having to unpack the entire thing before I could jerk it out with a triumphant sound. Then, out of habit, I loaded everything back in. Dad always said not to leave your stuff sitting around.
Never know when you must pick up and leave quickly.
That has helped me on numerous occasions.
I paused at the door.
Going to the bathroom I run my brush through my hair. Working through the worse tangles and saving the smaller ones for Carol. I knew my hair can be a handful. Did not want to subject her to that, or my scalp, despite my brave face.
Not for the first time since this whole crap shoot happened, I wished I had some kind of product to help with the frizz.
I stall a little more, giving Carol time to put Sophie to bed and not wanting to look too anxious, by making my bed. Just a pillow, sheet, and blanket stashed in a side table. The items were simple but well made.
I imagined a tired scientist, working long hours, pulling them out to take a quick nap before going back to the grind. Or, when the project took longer than they anticipated, crashing on the couch for the night instead of trekking through the city.
It was different now.
Always will be.
Stepping out of my room I see Shane wobbling his way down the hall towards me.
A bottle clasped firmly in one hand while he used the other one to guide him down the hall.
His face is scratched.
Fear squeezes my chest.
"Shane," I asked hesitantly, "you good?"
He takes another wobbly step, raising the bottle to his lips his eyes land on me.
"Hey, Poly, just getting a little wasted." He says in a dramatic whisper.
I think he is past wasted.
"Well," I really did not know what to do in these situations, "um - Metiuraoi n te mawnebaw."
I went to walk around him, giving a friendly wave and a smile even though I knew he would not get my joke, when I am slammed into the wall.
"Have a drink." Shane shoved the bottle to my lips. Tipping the contents painfully against my mouth. I did not open my mouth.
I hated alcohol.
Hated everything about it.
The smell.
The taste.
How it turned regular average men into assholes.
I batted the bottle away but not before a glop of it ran down my chin and soaked my shirt.
"Tha' hell, Shane!" I snarled then his hand was slipping under my shirt and I froze.
No. Nononono.
"I bet I can get you there better than that redneck." He mumbled into my neck, the smell of him clinching my throat in a gag. "Wanna try a cop-"
His words choked off with a jab of the brush at his throat. He pulled back. I jerked his hand from under my shirt. My knee aimed for his crotch, but he jerked to the side.
He stumbled away while I stumbled into the nearest door.
Slamming it shut with a choked sob while frantically looking for a lock.
There was no lock.
"The fu-" I whorled around, brush up to beat the ever-loving shit out of anyone else who-
It was Daryl.
He stood, paused, at the bathroom door, his hands working the buttons of his shirt back into their wholes.
My mind whirled.
I could not fight two-
The doorknob turned and I jumped away. Taking up a defensive stance in the corner as I see Shane pop his head in the room. His eyes automatically going to Daryl in the opposite corner than me.
I watched as Daryl's eyes darkened, his feet loud thuds as me storms towards me.
"Hey, man, have you seen-" Shane is turning his head.
He is going to see me.
Daryl is royally pissed at me.
Oh, God.
I can fight, sure, but both guys are bigger, stronger, and know shit. I am no match-
Daryl slams his fist into Shane's face.
I hear a thud against door then Shane disappears. Daryl shoving him out the door with a colorful arrangement of curses.
His blue eyes are molten when he turns them to me.
"Stay here." He orders, slamming the door behind him.
I notice my fingers around the brush first. They ache.
I take a deep breath, uncurling my fingers slowly to transfer the brush to my other hand. Flexing the digits to get circulation back.
What... just happened?
Shane. He...
Oh, God. Will Rick be pissed at Daryl. At me? Shane is his friend. And kind of like the second in command of the group.
I am screwed.
I notice my chest is cold.
I look down. The smell of liquor assaulting my nose.
He smelled like liquor. Especially towards the end. He drank all the time.
Tears pricked at my eyes, threatening to bring back memories until I scrubbed them away.
Daryl is back with a rough shove of the door.
He tossed my pack on the floor at my feet and a wad of blankets I stashed in my room. Then he stalks over to the desk in the room and shoves the chair under the handle of the door.
"Take the couch." He snarls. He slams the bathroom door behind him, and I am left to puzzle out what in the world just happened.
How did he know which room was mine?