Promises In Mourning ☆ Gally - TST

I feel shitty.

Finley's POV:

After Aris led me back to my room, I reluctantly climbed back through the vent after saying goodnight. I didn't lay down in bed, and the wires and tubes still lay scattered across the white sheets. I didn't bother to attempt to reattach them. I just sat at the edge of the bed, my thoughts of worry overwhelming me. 

"Got quite a few battle wounds, don't ya?" A woman speaks to me once she opens the door to the room. She closes the door shut behind her and observes me before taking a few steps closer. I look up to meet her eyes and bring my full attention to her. She grabs a chair and pulls it to sit in front of the bed I sit on. She takes a seat and glanced at the tubes and wires that I had pulled out, she sent me a disapproving look before deciding to ignore it for the moment. She then pulls out her clipboard and looks directly at me with an intense and warm look- how is it intense and warm at the same time? I don't even know.

"So..." she begins, her chocolate eyes staring deeply into my green ones. "How do you feel?"

"Shitty." I deadpanned.

"I'd assume so. You lost quite the amount of blood from that bullet." She smiled kindly. I stare at her blankly. "Okay, well," she continues, "those scars on your left arm there," she points at my arm with the end of her pen, "the stitching was opened and was infected, but don't worry. We got it all fixed, cleaned, and stitched back up. As for that bullet, it is out and stitched up too. We got you all cleaned up and with some new fresh clothes, as you can see. You're all nice and new."

"Thanks," I mumble.

"No need to thank me. I am just doing my job." She writes a few things on her clipboard before looking back up at me. "I'm just going to check the stitching and make sure that it is not infected and they are healing properly, I also need to switch out the bandaids. I will then do a checkup of your overall health too... if that's okay with you?"

"I guess." She smiled at me before helping me lay down on the bed and then removing the bandaids. She looks at the different stitches on my arm and my side, examining them intently. I watch her closely while she does her work. I can't help my gaze but look down at the stitches too. The memories of how they got there come back.

The grievers' shrieks and the sounds of the all too familiar metal rubbing against metal as it chased after me. The pain of its leg digging into my arm before stinging me...

The tears rushed down the sides of my face while I sat alone in the runner hut. The pain of just wanting everything to stop. My tight grasp on the knife that Gally gave me as I ran the blade against the skin of my wrist. Watching as the blood drips...

The looks of pain glimmering in Gally's ocean blue eyes. They aren't the same blue eyes that used to look at me with so much care, love, and admiration. He moved the gun between Thomas and me, confused and conflicted of what to do, as if he was arguing with himself internally. The rippling sound of the gun shooting bounced off the walls of the cold room. Screams and shouts of worried glader's came from across the last few of us that stood alive. The spear came out of nowhere and went directly into his chest. Killing him almost immediately...

"Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. Did that hurt?" I am brought from my daze as the woman stands by the wound on my stomach. Her hand held a wet cloth drenched in rubbing alcohol against the stitching. Worry flashed across her face.

"Did what hurt?" I asked confused.

"I'm cleaning the stitching before I put new bandaids on. You began to cry so I assumed I hurt you... Did I not?" A look of confusion takes across the soft futures of her kind face.

"No. I didn't feel anything," I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, a few tears falling as I do so.

"What's wrong?" She asks in a soothing voice that makes me want to tell her every single thing that is on my mind.

"I was too late to tell him," I mumble to her sadly, not even fully thinking of my words before they are spoken.

"Too late to tell who what?"

"I never could tell him that I love him, I always said 'you're an asshole' instead. And when he died. When he was killed, I finally managed to say that I love him. But, as I said, it was too late." I explain to this random stranger that I just met, and I don't even know her name.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Her eyes soften into a pitied stare, her hand gently rests on my arm while she gives me a small reassuring smile.

This is why I tell no one anything. They just pity me. Look at me differently and treat me differently. I don't want pity. I don't want their looks of sorrow.

"Even if you couldn't manage to say it, and even if he never heard you say it, I'm sure he knew you loved him," She gently moves her hand to hold mine to show her understanding before she turned back to cleaning the wound and then put on a new bandaid.

Once she was done she turned to me and gave me one more look over.

"You take care of yourself, okay? Someone will be coming in soon to talk to you and explain some things. And make sure you get some rest," She turns around and leaves the room.

Great, I have to talk to more people. Internal eye-rolling.