Talker – Chapter Thirteen: Reminders
Author's Note: Okay. Well I have this story planned out until the very end, so if you think it's getting boring, let me know. Now when we last left our little group, they were just deciding to take a vacation…
It began to rain in the evening, but they didn't take much notice to it. Much of the day was spent searching each room carefully, prodding around at the items left behind by terrorized tourists and vacationers alike to see if they could be of any use. After only a few hours, the group was freely split up and scattered throughout the resort lodgings, actually at points talking and joking with each other again. So high did their level of security reach, in fact, that by nightfall, they had reached some unspoken consesnes that they would all choose whatever room they felt and stay there for the night.
By this point, Tyler sat alone in the room he chose, having seperated early from the group in light of his own unresponsiveness. Not that he wasn't pleased to be here as opposed to the out-in-the-open beach, but he did not feel excitement or a sense of happiness that the others seemed to be feeling. He was still rather numb, he supposed. The room he had chosen was very nice, but obviously had not been used prior to the disasterous incident judging by the lack of personal possesions. He rather liked it that way. The kind of room he never would've bought out if under usual cirsumstances. For the first time in a long time, he almost felt normal again. After all, he was in a modern place with living human beings, and for at least now, there was little in them that suggested that they had been exposed to the horrors he knew they had been. He had every reason to feel better. He'd even found some good shoes that fit pretty well—thank God. The mood was light, even if he himself was not participating. He felt regretful about that, he hadn't meant to be so outwardly distant. Looking back, he saw that he had barely uttered a word, which must have made them feel uncomfortable to say the least. The irony was that, now that he was away from their company, he found himself missing them.
Which was why he felt a certain sense of relief when Ana came suddenly barging into his room with only the quickest of knocks. "Hey, Tyler." She greeted, drifting into his dark quarters and looking around. "What's up?"
He smirked at the question, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. "Not much. I'm just tired."
"Well I brought you some things." She came forward, placing a pile of clothes into his lap where he sat. "There were some clothes in the dresser in my room. Thought you could use some."
"Thank you." He looked down at them, the thought of finally changing out of his bloodstained attire another great relief. Maybe now he wouldn't look like so much of a zombie. White T-shirt and black pants (or at least he assumed they were, it was dark and light all the same), along with some socks and boxers. Boxers with chili peppers on them, no less. "…I should get cleaned up. This place have running water?"
"For now. No hot water though, careful if you were thinking about a shower." She warned.
"I think a cold shower'd feel good about now…" he glanced at the bathroom.
"Oh, I also found this." She held out a box, and he took it inquisitively.
"Tylenol." He smirked.
"Fever reducer. Knock back a couple before you turn in." she said as she flipped on a lamp.
"Whatever you say, Doc." He downed two pills instantly and tossed his clothes onto the bed, standing up.
"I was going to go down and find something to eat. You wanna join me?" she crossed her arms and awaited his answer.
"Nah, thanks." He smiled breifly. "I was gonna chance a shower. Maybe a shave."
"Okay. Want me to bring you anything?" she offered, turning back to the door.
Tyler almost declined out of modest habit, but he paused, thinking for a minute. "Well…hey, I don't suppose this place has coffee?"
"Coffee?" she laughed. "It's late."
"It's been a while." He mused, looking down at the memory of the coffee house he and Cody used to visit. Tall double mocha latte, two sugar, touch of nutmeg, low fat cream. Had he really been that picky?
"I'll find some instant decaf." She chuckled, shaking her head and disappearing into the dark hallway.
With a sigh he took his clothes and ambled into the bathroom, flicking on the light. It was a large bathroom. Lots of flowers, lots of trashy decorations. And thankfully, lots of soap. God, he'd missed soap. He knew he looked like he needed it, too. He spent a great deal of time in front of the mirror at that thought, caught in a trance as he stared at his beaten and bruised form. His eyes were…horrible. He'd seen these eyes in his attackers, but never really thought he was looking out from them. It shocked him something awful and it took him a long moment to calm his breathing in recovery. He almost felt a little lucky that he couldn't see in color. Even so, he could see how pale his skin was, despite having spent so much time in the sun. He did look like a corpse.
As he stripped away his shirt and turned on the shower, he looked in disdain at the grit on his body. His feet were cut up, sand was always falling from his hair no matter how many times he shook it, and the blood and dirt had formed a kind of gruesome paste against his skin. Bruises did indeed cover his shoudlers and chest, testaments to Tom's final struggle with him. In some places, the skin had broken and trails of blood ran out of them. He didn't want to think about those moments, though. They didn't matter. It was just now, now was what he could deal with. He was halfway into unbandaging his arm when he realized that it was still bleeding, and this turned his thoughts. That realization made him rather nervous, but he pretended to ignore this as well and tossed the used gauze aside without another glance down.
The water was cold. As soon as it hit his skin, he drew a sharp inward gasp and immediately became enveloped in small shivers. He found washing himself no easy task to boot, as though it were a thing he'd simply forgotten to do under the layers of shit he'd had to think through recently. Normalcy had become a foreign thing to him. It felt good to wash his face, he remembered that much. Finally to get the blood and sand out of his eyes and to rid the sweat from his brow almost gave him the feeling that his fever was lifted away. Almost.
He was shaking bad by the time he got out, clutching at a towel and rubbing his face into it hard. When he looked back into the mirror, he felt satisfied with the improvement. Skin free of dirt, eyes clear. Then he felt a little self-conscious about looking at himself naked in the mirror and quickly pulled his clothes on. After that, he searched around and found a razor, with which he scraped away most of the loose hair on his face. He left a slight beard behind, mostly to cover a gash on his chin that he had not realized was there. At that, he felt much more at ease with his appearance. He still looked like a cadaver…but…a civil cadaver.
He found Ana in his room as he came out, the unexpected sight of her causing him to jump like a pin-pricked cat and freeze.
"Whoa, sorry." She apologized, seeing him jolt.
He could only stare for a moment, trying to shake away his unecessary shock. It was just Ana, just Ana, another person, no one to be afraid of. "Y-yeah, I'm just a little, uh…on edge." He managed over the noise of his pounding heart. He took in a breath and flicked some of his wet hair out of his face, now realizing that he was still dripping.
She was sitting in one of his chairs, casually eating spoonfuls of what looked like applesauce. "Found you coffee." She muttered, mouth full.
Gratefully, he went over and picked up the steaming cup, looking down into it with mild wonder. "Thanks. Really, I mean it." He took a drink and sat down on his bed.
"You look good." She decided after a lengthy glance over him as though he were something to be read.
He looked up with an indignant blush touching the bridge of his nose before he laughed weakly. "I look like hell."
She shrugged and kept eating. "You look hungry, actually."
He absently gnawed on the rim of his cup, eyes blurring as he absorbed the dull glow of the lamp. "Mm. Stomach's not so good."
She sighed, eyes drifting to the wooden shutters of his window and listening to the drizzle of dying rain outside. As if to prevent a break in conversation, thunder rolled distantly to announce the end of a minor tropic storm. "Can I…ask you something?" she said quietly, almost like she hoped he wouldn't hear her.
"Yeah. Anything." He nodded. He had a vague kind of idea as to what she wanted to ask him about.
She didn't say anything for a while after that, staring off into nowhere as she slowly set her bowl down into her lap. "Does it hurt? What it's done to you?"
It was now his turn for an awkward pause. He may have expected it, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't even know himself—between the fever and the bloodloss he couldn't say for sure what was because of his infection and what was because of other causes. It hurt him phsycologically, he supposed, but he wasn't about to get teary and pitiful. She was a doctor, not a therapist. "No." he decided. He knew what she was hoping.
She smiled breifly, looking down. He didn't know what she was thinking now. Maybe she was just accepting his lie gently, maybe she had bought it and it had at least brought her a moment of peace. "Good." She murmured softly. He wondered sadly what kind of ghosts were haunting her. It was at that point it came to him he knew almost nothing about her, or any of his saviors, for that matter. "I'm sorry, Tyler, it's probably insensative for me to ask."
"Hey, we've all got our problems…especially now. Hm." He took another drink. "Besides. I thought you said I was lucky. You know?" he smiled and looked up.
"You are, I-" she stuttered, fumbling for a minute. "I-I just meant that…Well you can't be-"
"It's okay. Really." He chuckled. He could feel a dumb smile still on his face, strangely placid. "Sure this is…decaf?" he put a hand to his head.
"Yes." She studied him, concern melting into amusement. "Wow. Those pills must be working wonders on you."
"What?" he grinned. "No. I'm fine. I just like coffee. A lot."
"What, did you get a buzz off of Tylenol? Look at you, you're practically purring." She tried not to laugh, standing up.
He couldn't stop himself from yawning. "Maybe. Maybe a little."
She rolled her eyes and stretched out her back, setting her bowl on a side table and went over to him, taking away his cup. "You could really use some sleep."
"Yeah." He felt a heavy sweep of tiredness just for having uttered that word. He should have looked for that 'may cause drowsiness' label before he took those pills. "That might be nice."
She nodded with a smirk, going to the door and flicking off the lamp. "Goodnight, Tyler."
His eyes momentarily explored the dark, a comforting numbness growing in his muscles. "Night, Ana. Thanks again…" the door closed, and he fell back against the sheets of the bed. A number of thoughts occurred to him as he lay there. That he should probably brush his teeth, or that he should see what time it was, trivial things, really. He didn't have energy in the end to do these things anway, and before he knew it, even the calming tap of rain had faded out in his ears.