eunoia - teresa tmr

ELEVEN

Florence wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a bright red streak of paint branching out from her temple. She was sweating in the sun, cramped fingers from gripping the brush for so many hours, but she was far from finished. The wall in front of her was nearly complete—a huge mural along the side of an old, gray building. It was a bright, paint-splattered WCKD that wouldn't normally allow it, but Florence had insisted. A sun, orange and blazing, cut through the sentences she'd just typed:

THE CURE IS COMING.

She was sure the sentences were a lie, but it was a good lie. That was all that mattered.

She leaned back on her head to support herself as she tried to take it all in. This was what they required from her now. No more practice drills through training courtyard, no more wearing out her body with the soldiers. That was not who she was anymore. She was not a warrior—at least, not the type that they required her to be.

She still had the bruises to remind her.

It had been three weeks, yet they littered her body like leeches, a nightmare she was unable to escape. WCKD had succeeded—if you could call it that. The rebels had been pushed back, the compound secured, the mission successful. But there were bodies, too many bodies.

Three of their own had died, and one Florence knew. Not just a nameless soldier, not some faceless uniform, but someone she had known. Someone who had laughed with her at lunch, who had teased her about the way she always failed the push-up drills, who had told her, when she was worrying too much about the attack, that everything would be fine.

Still, others had died with him, but she only just remembered their names. She was repelled, the way she could delineate them. How much further one death had undone her, in contrast with the others slipping into the horizon. She had not wept at the burial, but had stood rigidly gaping at the closed coffins, harder than whole.

The others were on their normal schedule, falling into their places like everything was normal. Teresa ran back into the lab, the soldiers trained on, and Florence—she'd been assigned walls.

She stepped back from the mural, throwing up her hands. Her fingers ached, her shoulders sore from the grip of holding the brush so long. She could use a break.

As called, the voice of an old friend echoed down the empty road. "Still destroying public property?"

Teresa strode towards Florence, arms crossed over the lap of her lab coat, one raised eyebrow. Her hair was less than perfectly fluffed, the way it seemed to be whenever she'd run her hands through it in anger.

"Technically," said Florence, "I do have permission."

Teresa hummed along, stopping next to her. She gazed up at the mural, tilting her head. "It's nice. The colors are a little, how should I say it, bright, but I understand the message."

"Glad I have your seal of approval," Florence said, bumping their shoulders.

Teresa rolled her eyes. "I'd give my seal of approval if you actually ate lunch today."

Florence whined, rubbing her face. "Oh my God, did you really? Do you walk all the way out here to lecture me?"

"Yes."

"You're such a mom."

Teresa rolled her eyes in silence. She extended a small, attractively wrapped box. "I thought you would like this."

Florence cocked an eyebrow. She took it out and unwrapped it carefully, and within was a hand-painted ceramic coffee cup. It was plain but sweet—a small bird sitting on a branch with pale flowers surrounding it. It was something that did not belong in the WCKD world, but then, it was precisely what she had needed.

"I thought it might brighten your mood," Teresa whispered, blushing. It was a rare thing for Florence to see, but Teresa seemed... shy, "It's sort of silly, but..."

Florence gasped. "Teresa, this is—" She swallowed, not knowing what to say. So sudden, so unexpected. And yet in the most beautiful way.

Teresa smiled uncomfortably, looking embarrassed, and shrugged. "You don't have to play with it or anything. Just thought you could have something pretty."

Florence's heart grew a bit bigger. She put her hands around the mug and smiled, in a softer tone than usual. "Thanks."

Teresa nodded, her eyes glancing away, her face calm. Then she bumped her knee with Florence's. "You should sit down," she said, a bit more concerned. "You look tired."

Teresa pushed her onto the curb. The concrete scalded her legs.

They sat there in silence for a minute. Teresa put her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, studying the mural. Florence clutched the mug in her hands. She wasn't sure if she'd ever use it to drink. It was too pretty for that.

Teresa spoke, breaking the comfortable silence. "Are you sleeping?"

Florence's gut tightened. She swallowed, looking at her hands. "Yeah. I mean—not really, but it's okay."

Teresa hummed. She didn't think so. "The nightmares?"

Florence hesitated. The truth was yes. The... visions, she'd dubbed them. They'd haunt her at night, taunting her senseless. A short girl with long, tangled blonde hair, standing on the beach. A boy yelling. A gunshot.

She didn't know what it was. But the bitter taste it left her with stuck in the back of her stomach.

"It's nothing," she said finally.

Teresa didn't push her. She just rested back on her hands, tilting her face up to the sun. The shimmering rays bounced off of her smooth skin like porcelain. "You should talk to Pip."

Florence smiled. "So she can lecture me about my aura or something?"

"Yes, seriously," said Teresa. "She's really good at this kind of thing."

Florence rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Teresa always acted like she didn't care about the little things, but she paid attention. She cared more than she let on.

After a beat, Teresa nudged her knee again. "I think you've been carrying too much on your own, Fleur," she said softly.

Florence looked at her, the words catching in her throat.

Teresa sat quietly, her own face sympathetic. "You don't have to do this by yourself."

Florence swallowed hard, then nodded.

There was no conversation for a long time. But for the first time in a while, Florence felt that little bit lighter, that little bit less lost.

Hopefully it would all be okay.