Everywhere, Everything ◆ Thomas ◆ TMR

011 - Gally doesn't Hate Your Guts

She breathed in steadily, watching the flames from the fire flicker and cast a golden glow over the Glade. A cup was held between her hands, and she took a sip, feeling the burn of it travelling down her throat.

She sat with Chuck, keeping an eye on him. Three times, he'd tried to sneak away now to get ahold of the alcohol, but it seemed he'd finally given up, because now he sat with a piece of wood and a knife, carving away in calculated moves. She didn't know why she was so strict on him; she was not his mother, after all. But he was just a kid, and she wanted him to hold onto as much of a childhood as he could.

She didn't remember it, but even thinking about what her childhood was like felt hollow. But not the amnesia kind of hollow. The kind as if it never existed. Even then, no one remembered their childhoods, but Chuck was still living his.

"What are you making?"

Chuck looked up in surprise, like he'd forgotten she was there. He shrugged innocently, continuing. But there was a sort of nervous jerk to his hands now. "A gift."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. He'd said it like it was no big deal, but his tone told a different story. "What's it gonna be?"

He hummed, studying it. "I don't really know yet."

"Oh?" She asked in interest, blinking through the sudden haze that hit her. She cleared her throat and shook her head. "Who's it for?"

"My parents," he whispered, so low that she almost didn't catch it. Tears sprung to her eyes as something flickered inside her.

"I bet it's gonna be real nice, Chuck," she said, voice wavering. "You know, I miss my parents too."

"You do?" His head jerked up, a hopeful look in his eyes. She nodded mournfully. She did. She didn't know who they were, but she knew they existed. There was no feeling when she thought of a farther putting her to sleep, but when she thought of her mother, whoever she was, there was a small flame coming to light in her heart, a heat that reminded her of a warm embrace.

"I do."

They settled into quiet again, and this time she watched him carve, chugging the last of her drink in an attempt to silence the crying voice of a child that begged to have her voice be heard. A voice that wanted to beg for her mom and longed for nothing more than to wake up in the middle of the night, nine years old and shaking from a nightmare, but knowing mom's bed wasn't far away. She wanted to jump on her mattress and bury herself under warm blankets, have her whisper that the maze was just a dream and that it could never hurt her again.

Her eyes flickered to Newt, sitting by the Greenie against a tree stump not far away. Thomas' mouth was moving, hands gesturing as he talked. He talked a lot with his hands, she realized, and Newt was just sitting beside him, listening closely to what he had to say.

Thomas had a look in his eyes, a spark of joy and his movements as he explained were purposeful and strong, and she found herself wondering what they were talking about. "Greenie's quite handsome, isn't he?"

She didn't need to look at Chuck to see the incredulous expression he surely would be wearing. "I don't know, I kinda think he looks like a frog." She scrunched her nose, like it was her he had offended. "How many of those have you had?"

She didn't acknowledge the judgement in his words, shrugging him off. "... Three? Three." She concluded, reaching for another sip, just to realize there wasn't one. She pouted in disappointment. "Four soon, be back in a second Chuckie."

She started towards the creator of the drink with purposeful steps, but the closer she neared, the more she loosened, almost falling as she skipped up to him like a little schoolgirl.