𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐤 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐔𝐬

22. Dead Spiders.

T W E N T Y - T W O
Dead Spiders.

The feeling bubbling in my stomach makes my entire body uneasy. Not even the cookie sits well.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, because I can feel it looming over me. The first dropped when the realisation crashed down on me that Tommy wasn't the Saint I saw him as, that hurt, but it was smoothed over with the knowledge that Joel was the person who I should've looked up to as who truly took me in. He wasn't perfect, but he was always there. But I can feel it, the other shoe hanging precariously, swinging back and forth getting ready to smack me in the head, to add insult to injury.

The air inside the bathroom is thick, full of condensation, it sticks to the mirror and the walls after my lengthy shower. My skin stings from how hard I scrubbed it, wanting to get all the dirt already clinging to it off, and the dirt that will come from the travel to and from where ever we're taking Ellie so she can save the world and shit.

When I got back from my mental breakdown– I sent Joel away once I calmed down a little– I found clothes laid out in my bed. The one's I wore I've been wearing for a while, they've got holes and are so dirty it's not worth washing them if I have a replacement.

I assume they're from Mandy, a gift to smooth my dramatics over. Though I honestly think my dramatics weren't completely uncalled for, I'd like to think there was a reason for my heartbreak. Finding out someone who was everything to you, didn't see you the same way is Earth-shattering. It doesn't entirely matter who the clothes are from, they fit and are warmer than my prior clothes.

There's also a note, written on thick paper in block handwriting: I'm across the street. I hope you come over, I'd love to get to know you.

Somehow the note makes me more bitter, it only drives home the point that she knows nothing about me, that Tommy didn't tell her anything about me. It's not her fault, I know it's not, how the fuck was she supposed to know Tommy took in some kid for a few years? But, even still, I resent her. It feels like she took him from me, even if he never really was there. It feels like she's giving him a real kid, one he didn't just feel obligated to take in.

I stupidly, foolishly thought, that when I saw him he'd apologise, tell me he fucked up, that he missed me, really, truly missed me. But, instead of apologising and admitting that he missed me, that he thought of me every day, all I got was: Bee! You're so tall. It's so great to see you. How have you been? I'm surprised you're still with Joel, thought one of you two would've killed the other by now. Alongside other meaningless small talk you blurt about your neighbour, not someone you spent years with– that you spent with someone who you watched grow up, who you decided to save.

Using the side of my fist I wipe away the condensation from the mirror and take in my appearance.

I've lost weight over the winter, there's less game and we've walked our shoes through. My cheekbones are sharper and my eyes sunken. Thankfully I don't look as rough as I did when Marlene found me, that was a true jump scare. My eyes drift over my body, my pale skin, scattered bruises and bumps from the icy roads or thick snow. And then the scar that almost ended me. It's long since gone white, it's hardly even raised, it just seems to shine more than the other skin. It's rather subtle for something that should've killed me. I twist my torso to see the one matching on my back, the bullet having gone straight through me and out the other side. Apparently, that's the better option; not that it felt like it at the time. One hole seemed better than two.

My heart burns and lungs seize at the memories that pour through me of that night– somehow waking up after it, after thinking I never would, was worse than the moments before knocking out.