Inconsolable » Squid [Holes]

12: White Out

As Squid stalked out of D-Tent, he spat at the legs of his so-called home and then extended his middle fingers towards it. They may have thought they were helping with their constant questions, but it only added to the hurricane crashing around though his mind, aiding the hard thumps of his steady growing headache. He pushed a hand through his hair and trudged across the compound towards the Mess Hall. A pile of pots and pans had his name all over it and, for once, he couldn't wait to do them. Maybe then he'd be left alone.

He'd only lain down for a minute and yet, when he woke up, they all looked at him as if he had come back from the dead. And they kept asking if he felt okay and if he was hungry and if he needed water. Hell, Pendanski came over and fed him some lecture about eating a proper diet. He scoffed. Like they could eat any sort of balanced meal with the crap that they bring into the camp, it could hardly be classified as food. He'd only managed to get away when he mumbled about having to get to his dishwashing duty which almost brought on a new lecture about how proud Pendanski was for him accepting his responsibilities. Thank God he had a reason to get away.

The door to the Mess Hall creaked open as he stepped through and he lifted his chin in greeting to the camper that was in charge of straightening the tables and cleaning the floors. The camper lifted his chin in response and went right back to sweeping. There was no sense in prolonging their torture any more than they were already suffering. Finally his dishwashing sentence was coming to an end.

He stopped in his tracks in the doorway to the back room of the Mess Hall. He shook his head in an effort to erase the image in front of him but it didn't go away. His breath came out between his teeth in one long hiss, granting him Mickey's attention even though he didn't want it. She briefly glanced at him, her expression unreadable, and then went back to washing the pot that was in her hand. A large pile of clean pots were stacked to her right and a smaller pile of dirty ones were stacked to her left.

His nostrils flared. What was she doing now? Trying to show him up? Trying to get out early for good behavior? His headache pounded harder; he wished he could take that pain and beat her with it. But that'd only result in Pendanski on his back again so instead he cleared the space between himself and Mickey and demanded, once he was close enough to her, "What do you want from me?"

Mickey's hand stilled inside a pot and she looked up at him, her eyebrows knitting together as her lisp turned down in the corners. "Nothing," she replied. He had to strain to hear her, she spoke so quietly. Once upon a time he didn't have to work so hard to understand her, but that was practically a lifetime ago.

"Bullshit," he spat before she even finished her denial. "Why the hell won't you leave me alone?"

"I'm not doing anything," she protested with a shake of her head. Her voice didn't rise in volume and she shifted her eyes from his face to her hands.

"Everything was perfectly fine before you got here, now everywhere I fucking turn there you are. Looking at me with those big, dopey eyes of yours. Acting like you're better than the rest of us."

She huffed. "I never thought—"

"And why are you washing the dishes anyway? It's not your job!" Not that he really cared about the washing but he was on a roll and couldn't stop himself. Months of pent up and untouched frustrations rose within him and he wasn't in a rush to keep them at bay.

"I-I just thought I'd help. After your seizure—"

"I'm fine," Squid all but snarled. She flinched at his tone and took a notable step away from him. His lip twitched at the sight. "I've been dealing with this since I got here. I don't need you swooping and pretending like you're some savior, got it? Before you got here people didn't know and now, thanks to you, I have Mom on my ass to check if I'm eating properly."