A Yellow Dress Forgotten [ABANDONED]

Ep. 2.2 | Dragon's Breath || 10.5k

"So, in five then?"

Javier watched Tripp as the man stared into the cage, eyes on the bench. Tripp exhaled, arms folded. "Make that ten," he grumbled. "Has she stirred or...anything?"

"No, she's been out," Javier answered.

"Well, you better get her up, or I'm just going to have her lay on the hood until we get there."

As Tripp walked away dutifully, Javier went back to what he had been doing before: punching Clementine's arm. "Come on, dormilona, get up." She didn't move. And now that he thought of it, the only reason why Javier knew she wasn't dead was the fact she hadn't turned. "Come on. Mija, let's go." He slapped her cheek and quickly backed away, grimacing for the impact. He didn't feel anything. Javier opened one eye. He slacked his raised arms.

Nothing.

"Clementine, it's..." Javier paused. She did move. Her eyebrows twitched to a frown, then further deepened with fear and discomfort. Javier couldn't understand the words she slurred, nor why her body trembled the way it did. "...dormilona? Clem?"

The tremors were becoming more exaggerated, and Javier didn't know what do to. "N-No..." she whispered.

"You have to. We're leaving soon, Clementine," he replied, not exactly confident if Clementine was anywhere close to being conscious.

"Christa... Christa, where are you...?!" He froze. Javier saw the beads of cold sweat along the edge of her hairline. "Christa...please, come back..."

Something terrible swam in Javier's gut. He didn't know what he was a witness to, but he sure as hell knew that this wasn't his to see. "Clementine," he murmured softly, "we...have to move." Comfortingly, he put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed.

Her eyes snapped open.

Javier was slammed against the cage without warning, her knife pointed at his Adam's apple. He barely felt the blade tremble against his throat while Clementine did everything in her power to control her breathing. Javier stared into her eyes in shock. What he saw were the cracks of her sobriety within drunken hellfire. Her breath was shaken: "Oh my god." Clementine stumbled backwards, dropping the knife onto the ground, slacked on the bench.

Her hand grasped her hip, and soon the contents of the flask was inhaled. Her sip was triple the amount of the usual; if Clementine had any sleep the night prior, the first hit of whiskey was always the most.

And as he remained frozen against the chicken wire, Javier saw a reflection of his younger self. From the way she sat on the bench, alone, to her hand on her forehead and the drink in the other. Slowly, he asked, "Were you...?"

"I just... When I sleep, I... I remember. I-I mean, I get these dreams. I get these dreams about...dying..."

Javier didn't call her out on her lie. Instead, he sat beside her. The tension in her body uncoiled when he did, allowing Clementine to slip the flask away. "Tripp is going to come get us in a few minutes."

Clementine nodded, breathing in. The youthful fire Javier came to know replaced her broken tone: "He better. I want my shit back."

[. . .]

"For the fifth-fucking-time, I'm not giving you back that shotgun!"

Clementine, who sat in the back of the truck, sputtered an attempt of a retort. She exhaled shortly and folded her arms. Bitingly, she managed, "But that wasn't even the one that—!"

"Yeah! You have that pistol for surviving! You're lucky I even gave you back that murder weapon! Now fucking pipe your ass down so I don't have to hear you talk the rest of the way there!" From the back seat, Clementine grumbled to herself and flipped him off.