Author stuff: I had a week this past week. Well, specifically the last two days. Completely, clotheslined by work. Far too many people are travelling around right now. And too few of them are wearing masks, which they are required to wear by my company. There's legitimately signs all around the hotel. How they keep missing them, I have no idea.
I completely forgot that I wrote this chapter. It was such a… I don't want to say it was fun to edit, because editing is never fun, but it was… a reminder to myself that I can write something like this.
TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter. There's blood mentioned and a bit of gore. I didn't go into too many specifics, but it still might trigger some people. One of the things mentioned even gets me when I see it or experience it, so I know what it's like.
Again, if something triggers you, please let me know.
Chapter 9
In Which Gally Does Something Stupid
She was glad for the lock on the door – a feature Gally had added her first day in the Glade, for her own protection, he had said. She was beginning to trust many of her fellow Gladers, it was just… She was afraid of the ones she didn't quite know yet who might do something.
That was part of the reason Gally had her work with him on the trellises, that and he knew she was going for Track-hoe. He had told her what he had heard some of the others saying the past few days. He felt that she would feel more comfortable working with him rather than the others, who would spend the day ogling her and getting too close.
"You're not mad, are you?" she said as he demonstrated for the third time how to safely hammer the pieces of wood together.
"What?" He said. "That you want to be a Track-hoe? Not really. You'd be better there, I think. There or in the kitchens."
"Because I'm a girl?"
"Because, Princess, you'd be away from them." He jutted his head in the direction of his Builders. "They're not bad shanks, they've just… They haven't been around a girl in a long time. None of them remember how to act around you – around any girl."
"I don't want them to act any differently than they would around any of you," she said, holding a strip of wood down so that he could hammer it.
"They would treat you differently anyway. We all have to. Not because we want to, but because…" He stopped, as if he were about to say something that would reveal all of his secrets and then some. He cleared his throat. "It… it doesn't really matter. Come on, I'll show you how to trim the wood so it's all even."
Gally had been kind. He had been kind to her after she had tried some of his brew and impressed him by not sputtering like most of the boys did when they drank it. Sure, he'd tease her, but his words were never offensive or downright mean. And he respected her personal space, so that was nice. He also never forced her to anything she was uncomfortable with.
The question was: why?
He certainly had to have a reason. And, whatever it was, she would find it out.
After they had finished up for the day, he waited outside the showers so she could have some privacy while she bathed. It had been luxurious – the bathing, not him standing guard. Though she wasn't complaining. The other Gladers respected (and kind of feared) him.
And he always made sure she had something to eat, despite all his teasing. A few days back when she and the boys tried out being a Slicer, he'd managed to swipe a sandwich and saved it for her for when she felt like she could eat again. Not to mention he was always willing to take her chicken, though he'd complain about getting tired of it.
And… and there were a dozen other things.
She wondered why that was. Probably because she was the only girl in the Glade.
Yeah, that had to be it.
She managed to get a little sleep that night but not much. She woke up feeling even more exhausted than when she had gone to bed. It was horrible. Thankfully, they were trying out as Med-jacks. The little hut that was really an extension off the Homestead.
"Not looking too good there, Girlie," Clint said, looking her up and down – not in the usual way that the other Gladers did, to her relief. More in the 'what-the-hell-did-you-do-to-yourself' kind of way. Methodical. "Didn't sleep well?"
"You wouldn't be wrong," she said, her own voice sounding like it belonged to a toad or a frog to her ears.
"I would suggest lying down, but I don't know how busy we'll be."
"Would we be busy?" She wasn't sure if she'd like that or not. A consistent stream of people would keep her awake, but did she want to be surrounded by so many boys leering at her? No, she didn't think so.
"With you here," Jeff said, "I think we'll be slightly busier than usual."
"I think I'll take a nap and chance it."
Clint snorted. He turned to Graham and patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry, Greenbean," he said, "Jeff and I'll make sure you don't see anything too gorey. Don't need you passing out on us a second time."
Graham shrugged him off but didn't say anything. She noted how his cheeks, ears, and neck pinkened slightly. He was still embarrassed about that. She had a feeling it would follow him for quite a while.
Every now and again, Flossy could feel his eyes on her. It was a little more than disconcerting. She tried to ignore the feeling as they waited for something to do.
Clint and Jeff decided to test their medical knowledge. Neither she nor Archie were particularly good at it, but Graham surprised them all – himself included. He could prattle off the different effects of certain medications and what they were used to help treat as if it were nothing.
It took at least an hour before a Slicer appeared.
"Chickens," he said, showing his hand. There were clear talon marks on his
"How on earth," Jeff said, rotating the Slicer's arm so they all could see. "You know what, I don't want to know the full details. Right then, the G Tri-force –"
"'G Tri-force'?" Archie said, frowning as he looked between Graham and Flossy. She offered up a shrug.
"– we need to get this cleaned. Water is, yeah, thanks, Girlie. And the disinfectant is, Clint's got it, Graham, thanks though. We need bandages, can you grab them, Archie? Right, so, getting it cleaned."
It was a task that didn't take very long, but in the middle of it a Builder came in declaring that he'd hit his hand with his hammer. After that, it was almost nonstop. That is, until Nick got wind of it.
As it would turn out, many of the Gladers were purposefully hurting themselves or getting themselves hurt just to get a look at her at the one place they knew she would be.
"They're acting like they don't ever see me or something," she said after Nick left to go tell the Keepers.
"They do, but at a distance," Clint said.
"Yeah," Jeff said, "I mean, this is the first time I've even seen you up close. You have a lot more freckles than I thought."
"What's wrong with my freckles?" she said, covering her nose and cheeks. Did she have freckles? She wished there was a mirror in the Glade so that she could see what she looked like. Maybe she should request for one to be sent up… She'd probably never get it.
"Didn't say anything was wrong with them, just pointing out there's more."
She frowned, lowering her hands slowly. There were times – times such as these – when she wished that she were taller. She wasn't the most intimidating person around. In fact, she probably ranked the least intimidating. It made living in the Glade a bit difficult. The boys probably wouldn't talk behind her back as much.
Well, they probably would, because she was still the only girl, but it might sting a lot less.
A cry from outside caught their attention. The door was kicked open, slamming against the bamboo wall and rattling on its hinges. Gally stalked in, holding his hand. He was pressing a white strip of cloth down to his palm. It was quickly staining red.
"Med-jack," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He didn't have to, as Clint and Jeff leapt into action the second he came in. She listened as they questioned him about what happened, leading him to one of the cots.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Graham turn away. He looked abnormally pale and his hands were shaking.
"Right, Greenie, Girlie," Clint said, "stand back and watch this one. We don't need you messing up our Keeper of the Builders."
It was a playful taunt, not meant to really be taken seriously, but they still listened. They stood off to the side of the cot, eyes intently focused on the task at, well, hand.
Gally's face pinched and passed between too pale and too red as Clint and Jeff worked. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling to keep from looking at them. His jaw was clenched tight. His brow was furrowed.
Carefully, as if approaching an injured animal, Flossy sat on the cot next to him. She placed her hand on his knee, drawing his attention. She wasn't sure what she was trying to do – comfort him, distract him, something – but it worked.
His eyes flashed with several emotions, too quick for her to grasp, as he watched her. A part of her thought he would rather not have her see him like that. She was probably right.
"Yeah?" he said, his face still twisted as the disinfectant was delicately poured onto his palm. He let out a hiss and unclenched his jaw. She watched as the once clear liquid mixed with his blood, dripping down into a little tray that had been brought out.
"Tell me about what you were doing," she said, her voice sounding soft to even her ears, "when it happened. How'd you get hurt?"
She felt Clint and Jeff's eyes on her as she spoke. She hoped that she was doing the right thing. They didn't try to stop her, so she guessed that it was fine with them.
"Me and a couple of others were installing the trellises, the ones we worked on yesterday, remember? I shucked up and caught my hand on a nail. Thankfully, I didn't actually hammer a nail into my hand."
"You've done that before?"
"Once. I was being a slinthead at the time –"
"Aren't you still?" Jeff said, interjecting. She saw the playful glint in his eyes. Gally rolled his eyes and winced when Clint started stitching the cut. She had to look away from the needle and thread, feeling a little light headed.
Nope. Needles piercing skin wasn't something she wanted to look at.
The cut wasn't deep, just long. If he didn't overwork himself, he'd heal in two weeks or so.
"Ha ha. Anyway, I was being a slinthead and trying to show off. Ended up catching my hand. I don't think I've shucked up that badly in a while."
"That was pretty stupid of you, yeah," she said. She caught sight of her hands – they were still resting on his knee. It was warm under her palms. She wanted to draw them back, but she didn't think she could without making him or any of the others notice. So, she kept them there.
"You can say that again."
"I don't think he has a lot of brain cells left to kill, so he can't afford to be stupid," Clint said.
"Slim it."
"Be careful what you say to the Med-jacks. It could come back later to bite you in the butt."
"And who built the Med-jacks their private hut? Sure wasn't Minho. I swear, he doesn't know the difference between a hammer and a saw."
Clint snorted, continuing his work. It didn't take him that much longer. Flossy watched as he snipped the thread for the last stitch, putting the equipment away to be taken care of when they were done.
"Right," Jeff said, "we can let your nurse do this part."
He handed her a bandage roll without hesitation. She was alright with bandaging – nowhere near as good as Clint or Jeff, but definitely better than Archie or Graham – she supposed. And Gally didn't seem unwilling to allow her to work.
Gally moved his hand so that she would have better access to it without having to move from her spot next to him. She tried to ignore the stares of everyone in the room, tried to hide any nervousness and tension – a hard thing to do when her hands trembled. She wondered if Gally noticed the absence of her hands on his knee by the sudden lack of heat and sweat.
She didn't know if she succeeded, but Clint would murmur a correction every now and again. Gally was patient through the whole thing, and Graham returned to them after she got to work.
"All done," she said, tying off the bandage. Clint looked it over and nodded.
"All that practice on those shuck-faces did some good," he said, procuring a few pain pills for Gally out of the cabinet. "If you want, you could make a great Med-jack, Girlie. We'd be happy to take you on."
She scratched her head, ducking her chin down. She bit back a smile. She hadn't even considered being a Med-jack before. Did she want to be one? She'd have to think about it.
Author stuff cont'd.: Poor Graham. I feel terrible about putting him through this.
What am I listening to? Dressed: The History of Fashion
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