act one - chapter two
"wary attempts"
- soobriety -
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WITH EACH STEP up the steep ladder into the prison's watchtower, May found the lengths of her newfound embarrassment almost unbearable.
Glenn had seen her, from his perch atop one of the scattered watchtowers. First, he was worried, he had told her, that a stray walker had slipped its way into the fence. Then he told her that he had accidentally woken up Maggie on his way down to go investigate. At that comment, May was ready to send herself plummeting down the ladder.
It's been a while, since she's been embarrassed. Nothing to be embarrassed about when you are your only company. In some way, she's decided, the feeling of embarrassment is worse than fear. Her skin itches, she feels heat in the balls of her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She wants to crawl into her own skin, to hide within her carefully created shell, to not have to look anyone in the eyes.
The first words she had uttered to the man when he had discovered her were the pleads to not tell anyone. Her hands were clasped together behind her back, fingers tingling like they had touched a hotplate. She stood in front of him, idly, trying to look as innocent as possible. She couldn't look him in the eyes then, either.
Climbing each bar, She could only assume that this is what it would be like to be sent to the principal's office— something she's never done, to the extent of her memory, she was a good kid. She never imagined she would try to escape from prison, either.
What happens, happens.
Maggie was waiting at the top. She sat, gracefully, her best angles illuminated by the glow of a lantern. May's look at her was brief, too afraid to pick her head up and face the woman. She was looking up for long enough to see Glenn offer out his hand to her, a kind gesture. May pretended not to see it, placing her foot on the metal floor and hoisting herself up. She swallowed thickly; her mouth was dry.
"Sit." Maggie offered. May didn't have the courage to do anything other than comply. Her knees found her chest as her back pressed against a charred wall, sling bag covering her legs like a shield.
She messed with the frayed shoelace of her boot, listening to the shuffle of Glenn as he took his seat next to Maggie. Silence dawned on them with an ample force. May watched her fingers entangle themselves into the loops of her shoelace, twisting and pulling and tightening them, distracting herself so she didn't shatter.
Maggie tilted her head, met May's gaze with a lopsided grin. The corners of her eyes crinkled, the eyes that cracked May's ribcage through the middle, exposing her tattered soul for Maggie to see. Without a word, her vulnerability had peaked through; she wanted nothing more to escape, to stitch herself back up and enclose her heart.
"So," Maggie started. Her voice careened through the weight of silence. This was one of the few times May preferred the quiet. "What are you doing?"
Her tone should be aggressive. It should be offended and questioning and probably worried, but it wasn't. She spoke calmly, elegantly laced with curiosity.
May shrugged. Any answer left her throat, floated away within the ocean of her anxiety. "I don't know— leaving, I guess."
"Why?"
Why was she leaving? It was a question she had infinite answers to, miniscule excuses as an act of self preservation. She wasn't safe here, a conclusion among many, but it was hard to say that now. After all, she wasn't fresh meat within a field, she wasn't running for her life. She didn't know what to do, but she didn't have to do those things. Not anymore.
She had to give Maggie a reason.
"I'm looking for someone." A half-truth. She was always looking for him, whether or not she was within the concrete walls of a penitentiary.
"I thought you said you were alone." Glenn pitched in.
May writhed within her own body, she didn't like all these questions. "I am," She bit out, before the volume of her own words smacked her in the face. She backed up, impossibly, sinking into her own frame. "Sorry."
"You got separated?" Maggie hummed, without a beat. It left May confused, how these people were so calm. They acted so simply, even now.
She cant get a grasp on these people, their optimism slid between her skinny fingers. She thought optimism had died with the rest of the world, when she didn't have Ollie to remind her what it felt like. There was no glass half full anymore — the glass was filled with as much as you could manage. It was hard to see the bright side when the atmosphere was a constant polluted sky with disastrous soot and dust.
These people acted like it never existed. They behaved like they were choosing to ignore the fact that May could be a possible threat. Bringing her up for a chit-chat, smiling at her with charming grins and kind eyes. She couldn't decipher if they were being confident, or cocky, or just pitiful.
Maybe that's what it was: they felt bad. A stranded kid lost in the depths of desolation, alone and discarded. But she didn't need pity; she didn't want pity. She couldn't tell what she wanted at all these days, but it was certain it wasn't to stoop to the low of a stranger's mercy.
Curiosity etched its way into the back of her throat, escaped through the words, "Why do you care what happens to me?" It felt immoral to find satisfaction in the way their mouths twisted into confused frowns, the way their expressions finally matched the circumstances.
May finally had a grasp on the handles of this conversation, a wildcard within her royal flush. Maybe she could direct it to the destination of silence, so they'd stop talking, about her at least.
"Do you want us to not care?" Maggie had countered. Her voice grew stronger, more assertive. But still, it wasn't aggressive. "Did you want us to wave at you as you tried to leave, to close the gate behind you?"
Once more, May stilled. Something pricked the back of her eyes, she told herself it was the pain she felt from gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes flickered between Glenn and Maggie, and back to Glenn. She could tell her eyes were pleading, begging him to say something. She wanted him to change the question to one she actually had an answer to.
"We're good people," He finally said, "Good enough to know that a kid like you shouldn't be alone out there."
Of course they thought they were the problem. Of course they were worried that May had been shooed away by their welcoming antics.
In a way, she kind of was. Unbeknownst to them, however, it was less about whether or not it was too good to be true and more it was too good to last. She's not scared of what could happen to her, but what will happen to them. Her reasons are selfless, purely out of concern.
"You're good people," She echoes. Glenn offers a smile, May wonders what it would be like to get used to those smiles. They're good people — she has to remind herself that good people are fleeting. "This isn't a world for good people."
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Word had gotten around quicker than a wildfire.
She's mad at Glenn. One request, only one thing she pleaded for, he sweeped it under the rug and tattled. It's his fault, she tells herself, that everyone is looking at her like an estranged fugitive. It's his fault that she's the topic of hushed conversations.
May should've known. She should've assumed that the warm welcomes were just an image. Like it was a family photo, big smiles hiding all the judgments. One thing, and she was immediately outcasted.
Maybe it was better that way. She wouldn't have to keep everyone at arm's length if they already did it to her. She couldn't get close, no matter how hard she tried.
She shouldn't want try hard.
This could work, she thought — everyone would hate her, she didn't have to fight to survive anymore, and she wouldn't lose anything when this place inevitably falls by the hands of tragedy.
She's better off being mad at Glenn. It was a surprisingly detrimental decision. She probably shouldn't be mad at him; he was telling everyone for the sake of safety. He didn't have to listen to May. And he didn't. Even if respect burns on the tip of her tongue, an irritating urge to confront Glenn, he's nowhere to be found.
It's not like she did much booking, either way.
Patrick had come up to her again, along with the sluggish footsteps of one Carl Grimes. With a soccer ball tucked under an arm, he gazed at his friend with just as much malice as he did May. He held the ball like it was a burden, like he had no intentions of enjoying the sport.
The georgian sun was hot. It blazed without remorse, cooking everyone under the mercy of it. Within a clear field, too bright to not be squinting and definitely too hot to be under the insolation of a big brown coat, May also found no urge to enjoy an activity like that, either. No matter how much Patrick poked and prodded.
"I don't know how to play." She decided upon. It was an obvious lie, a desperate long shot — everyone knew how to play soccer. Carl stared her down with suspision, and rightfully so. He saw right through her, with a lasting gaze. Cerulean amplified by sincerity, his eyes were like a glacier: frozen and numb and glossy. It never faltered, his stare. It made May not think about second guessing her own. She could challenge his gaze, and maybe it was partially because it was like a reflection of herself.
It's been a long time since she's looked in a mirror. She's unsure how she's grown into maturity, or how she's taken the transition from a girl into a woman, but none of it mattered — not anymore. She knows at least one thing: Carl's eyes were similar to her own. Their ideals were close, close enough for respect to bubble up in May's chest.
Carl's eyes held the world — but not like everyone else in this camp. What he sees is what is, no honey glaze, no sugarcoating. It was an easy code to decipher, since May was written in the same way.
"Well, we could teach you." Patrick, May had come to realize with only a couple of interactions, was persistently positive. She's yet to decide if that's irritable or admirable. She cant help but to find his actions like a breath of fresh air. He's so adamant on inclusion, wants their two to become a three — Patrick, Carl, and May. She can't tell if he even knows of her attempt of escaping. She's not sure if it matters to him. He so clearly strives for friendship, something futile in this tainted world.
But it's like they say, three's a crowd.
"She doesn't have to." Carl speaks up, finally. It almost sounds like he's annoyed. May wonders if he's ever not irritated, if he ever stops to rejoice into his life.
She doesn't have much room to speak. Her own feelings of joy are few and far apart. She doesn't remember the last time she's let out a genuine smile, sometime when Ollie was still around, probably. It's a feeling entirely scarce in this world. Memories are the only saving grace, what life was like before. They're escaping, however, from May's keepsake box in the locket of her heart. Cherished times are fading, replacing themselves with the aching reminders of what she's been through — what she's had to go through.
There's a part of her, panicked and begging, denying how her very own brother is becoming one of those treacherous roads of memories to go down. With every image of his shit-eating grin comes along the feelings she's grown accustomed to: loneliness.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder, a saying May only correlated to the idea of romance. She understands it now, how tragically beautiful those words are. It's usually paired with the assumption of a reunion — the story of seperation with a happy ending. May's waiting for the happy ending, to be facing her brother once more, the same spark of compassion he's always had; the one May's always taken for granted.
Ollie's not standing in front of her, though. Two survivors, her age, that May has a hard time saying no to. Her lips push together in a tight line, avoiding the pricking expectancy in Patrick's eyes. She's never one to succumb to peer pressure.
Carl's stare, somehow, is more uncomfortable. He's watching her without any bother. A slight glare, if anything, like he doesn't want her to agree any more than she does. He doesn't like her. She has to tell herself, once again, that it's for the best.
But she's never been one to take shit from anyone, either, especially not a brooding boy with an interior attitude problem.
"Okay." It's reluctant, the way she agrees. It barely registers into her own ears before Patrick flashes a grin. "Teach me how."
Carl grimaces, only slightly. May doesn't notice the way his frown deepens, or the way her own does the same. Her eyes caught the attention of the walkers pushing at the fence.
She was just there, the night before. That same spot, with the tied down opening. The fence bends under pressure. It's more intimidating in the light, watching their slack jaws seep out a mangled gargle. They all blend together, the noises, and a sudden sting of fear creeps up her throat.
Barely, just barely, she's glad she didn't leave last night.
Just as quickly as it's there, the fear is gone, when Carl gives a light push of the soccer ball into one of her arms. Her head snaps towards him, a discreet blink, maybe two, to focus back. She notices Patrick, in her peripherals, already feet away, kicking at the dirt in preparation.
Her eyes, unknowingly wide, land back onto Carl's. He's squinting at her, a knowing expression, when she finally takes the ball. "You're the referee," He says, and it catches her off, how light his tone is. "Throw the ball, and watch how we play. Okay?"
It takes a second, just one, before May nods. One second of silence was all Carl needed for his glare to dissolve. He's looking at her, a boyish gaze. It's a different kind of expectancy — May doesn't understand how. Not yet.
It's new, May's intrigue. She doesn't notice it fully, yet, but it's there, guiding her eyes to watch how Carl's careful strands of auburn curl around the nape of his neck as he saunters to the other side of the grass. He turns around in his spot from across the the field, May keeps her eyes on the ball. Literally.
She didn't imagine an outcome like this, an innocent game of soccer with two other kids, within the walls she had previously been so determined to be on the other side of. It felt even more strange, when she slid off the sleeves of her jacket and set it onto the grass. The breeze flowing into the skin of her forearms was warm, but it wasn't intolerable.
It was okay, watching from a distance. Sports were never her thing. She shouldn't fit in; she wouldn't fit in. These kids wouldn't understand the things she's seen, the things she's done. Kids like Patrick wouldn't understand, at least.
It was oddly cathartic, watching Carl and Patrick. Patrick was enjoying the moment, his smile never thinning, even though he was losing drastically. It seemed as though Carl's competitive nature had shown through, eyebrows furrowed together, lips slightly parted with shallow, heavy breaths of concentration.
She wondered if this is what it felt like all the time, to live without fear. Is this what if felt like to be a kid — to truly be a kid? May couldn't remember, not fully. She wouldn't be opposed of being reminded of such a feeling.
It was an overwhelming desire, creeping up her spine and into the corners of her mouth. They twitched, just once upwards, before she let the reigns fall, and a grin found home on her face.
It was unbelievably hot, her hair was stuck to her back, soiled in sweat. She was still mad at Glenn, and herself too, for being so immature.
She watches Carl argue that Patrick fouled him, accusing the boy of kicking him. She doesn't want to get attached, not to this place, not to these people. They're good people — inherently innocent.
But she doesn't want to be on the other side of the fence anywhere, she doesn't want to be in the battle of life or death. It's a first, but May comes upon the thought that these people are smarter than her. They've adapted, living wildly better than she ever did. It reminds her of her old camp.
Ollie would like this place, the people, or the ones she's met, at least. It seems okay. This place — this community — is hiding tragedy. Or maybe it's healing from tragedy.
She wonders what Ollie would do, if he were here. He'd stay, a decision that took no time for May to make. She doesn't know if she should honor a decision like that. There's a chance here, for these people. There could be a chance here for her, too.
And for the first time, she doesn't hope to find her brother, but that her brother finds her.
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i think i blacked out writing this chapter because i have no recollection of doing it and it's kind of all over the place, but it's fine. it'll be fine.
there's also no part of me that is good at being gradual so i really just threw may right in there, but introductory chapters are my least favorite to write.
anyways thank you for reading i love you