31 Michelle Day 9

I hate working. Well, that's not true. I like feeling wood planks in my hands. Unbending and strong, I can use it to build me anything I want. A shelter, a home, a bat to beat the other Builders with.

It's not my job that is awful. Building itself is fantastic; even in the early morning sun I enjoy it. My main issue relies with everyone staring at me. Their wandering eyes have stopped wandering, and started simply resting on me for hours on end. I thought it was bad before I got arrested and thrown in the Slammer, but this is worse. So very much worse.

We are almost done the additional room they are putting on here. I still don't know why I am building it. Never thought to ask, and I don't particularly care. If I stopped to think about it, I might wonder why. Why I am so complacent in doing things without being told why. Constructing keeps me sane. It takes my mind off of every terrible thing that is happening around me. So long as I can make the structure stand, it doesn't matter to me if my whole world falls down.

I guess that is the purpose to building it. The Glade doesn't give me time to worry about an end result. After all, I have been tossed into the Slammer more times than anyone else here, as far as I can tell. Currently, I need something to keep my eyes moving, and the gears in my brain turning. I don't want to think. I want my thoughts to slip away from my head, and for all my actions to go on autopilot. Rub mud on the walls, over and over again. Continue until your fingers are numb and your hands are caked in brown.

Who needs therapy when you can easily decide not to think?

It's hard with everyone staring at me. I can't storm off today. So far, I've been lucky that Gally hasn't let me go. Didn't Alby give him the opportunity to decide he didn't want me anymore?

This is what I am talking about. Thinking. All it does is ruin my mood. I thought I was in a good mood too.

"Hey, be careful," it's that boy again. David. Why is he always everywhere I go?

We work together but that's beside the point.

"With?" I don't even glance at him over my shoulder. Using the back of my hand, I wipe my itching nose.

He grabs me by the wrist, and I spin to stare at him. "That. The mud we use for dry walling is pretty toxic. It comes up in buckets you know; it's not real mud. Ingest it and you are going to be spending a lot of time in front of a place people unload their klunk."

That's a pretty image. He isn't very good at talking, but he means that I am going to be blowing chunks for hours upon hours. Honestly, it's better than being here with the Builders.

I think.

It takes me a second to remember to rip my wrist from his grasp. Who does he think he is, grabbing a hold of me like that?

I try my best to ignore the voice that whistles in the back of my mind. He is trying to help you.

"I don't need your help." I do, but I would never admit it to him. Not to his face that turns pink as I speak. Nor his eyes that wander away from me and to the ground. I feel my feet soften into the ground as he looks away from me.

It's as if my bones forgot that they were supposed to stop me from turning into a puddle on the ground.

"Right," he at the dust that threatens his own nose. "Sorry, I forgot you've got the whole "I don't need anyone" thing going on."

"It's not a thing." I turn back to the wall, avoiding scratching my nose with my muddy hands.

"Sure it is," David leans down, taking some mud on the end of whatever it is he is holding, and begins to spread the brown muck along the wall. "I had half a mind that you would admit to stealing the screwdriver just to spite me. Since, that's your thing."

He's wrong. I don't have a complex about acting independently. The simple matter of the fact is that no one here has told me the absolute truth on any matter. Why should I trust anyone to support me when they could easily let me fall? What motivation does anyone have for helping anyone else?

It's a dog eat dog world. An expression I know but do not ever remember hearing. There's got to be a reason why I am trapped in this Maze. I imagine it's to point out the fact that we are all on our own. After all, that's how I feel too often.

"David," Gally walks up to us.

I watch David's eyes fly back to the wall. His eyes look straight forward, before they look down at his mud stained boots. Gally moves in between the two of us. He smells like the sun, hard-work, and anger. Cheeks show the sun, his clothes the hard-work, and his glare the anger.

Gally is smart not to threaten David. Chests heaving as they both breathe, Gally is nearly pressed up against David. His stance is menacing.

David is quite the opposite of Gally. The mud-caked boy next to me does not break eye contact from the wall. He is too scared to look up. Hands shaking as they spread mud along the wall. Lip quavering as air pushes out of it in sudden movements. David is a coward.

Or maybe, David is resilient.

I look away from the two of them, concentrating on my own part of the wall. Right, dry walling or whatever it is I am doing. Like I said, it's easier not to think.

Maybe that's the coward's way out. Am I more fearful than David?

I won't let myself be.

My eyes tear up to see Gally staring straight at me. He peers over David's shoulder, staring me down. I want to look away, but I can't. Non-verbal communication or something. The way he stares me makes me feel like he can see deep into my soul. Perhaps he can. After all, Gally is many things. A shank absolutely, but he isn't dumb by any stretch of the word.

His lips are tight in a line, and his eyebrows are low. Often, he looks at me with exasperation, or with a glance where he wants to tell me he was right the whole time. Anger normally clings to his face like a stain, so I am used to that.

This look is almost a challenge. It's not quite serious enough though, and I can tell from the way his nose is turned down. It's certain of whatever he is communicating me that is for sure. Though I can't exactly discern his meaning.

"Michelle," he begins, "come with me."

"Why?"

I don't ask it, though I was about to. Instead, it is David who looks up from his work to stare Gally down. His skin turns even redder than it normally is. His fingers clench and I wait for Gally to rip his hand up and let it collide with David's face. I can see it happening now. He takes one quick swing, and knocks David so hard his cheek hits the mud on the wall before he falls down.

As I am seeing it I don't flinch.

As Gally breathes, I watch him relax his hand. "Going to teach her about planking the floor. After all, we wouldn't want her to get hurt using a screwdriver."

I expect David to flinch but he doesn't. Absolutely wrong about him being cowardly.

Whatever. I watch David's eyes linger along me as I back away from the wall before us. Gally is a good liar. His jaw is strong and his eyes steady as when he does it. When David looks at me, I know he is trying to get me to pick a side against Gally. Why? What does David know that I don't, and why hasn't he said it out loud yet?

I follow Gally out of the room. It is a quick few steps until we are out the small space and into the foyer of the Homestead. He doesn't stop, instead heading up the stairs.

"I'm not some puppy that's going to follow you around," I call it out to him from where he is above me.

He glances down, staring at me from his place on the railing. I cross my arms as he looks me up and down.

"What?" I demand.

He continues to stare before turning on his heels and heading further up. Such a drama Queen. Honestly, I don't know how I agree to continue following him up the stairs. He is ridiculous.

Once I'm at the top waiting for him, he pulls me aside and into a room in the corner. It's small, smaller than the one we've been building. Unpainted walls, and a floor made with splintered wood greet me. The bed inside is tucked into a corner, beneath a window that points out to the rest of the Glade. It is open without shutters, and Gally pulls me away from it.

"Don't touch me." I rip my hand from his grasp.

His eyes linger on me, before he drops my hand rather violently. Of course he has to make a show of letting me go. Gally can't just behave normally for ten seconds.

"Ever going to tell me why you brought me here today?" I try my best to match his scowl. "I'm beginning to think you just wanted to bring me into your bedroom."

His nose crinkles in disgust, before he backs up into the closed door behind him. "This isn't even my room. It's Newt's. I'm not shucking dumb enough to bring you into my room."

"How many rooms does this place have?" I ask.

"Ten," he grunts. "It's a load of klunk. Only three shanks get rooms to themselves, and they're the ones your friends have cozied themselves up to."

So this is the game he is playing. Gally and I can never just have a conversation without his ulterior motives leaking through.

"They aren't my friends." I cross my arms over my chest.

"So yesterday in Newt's room," he crosses his own arms back at me, "that wasn't a friendly thing? Being there while Leo cried? She's playing you."

I had forgotten what he told me in the Slammer. About Leo and Dawn getting close to the people in charge. So when there is a power seize over Alby they are in a good spot. As the days go on, Alby is only proving he is unfit to lead, which means he will stop leading soon. I forgot that they were setting up to screw me over.

Or maybe, I don't know if I can believe it. I definitely agree Alby is going to lose power, but how am I supposed to believe they are going to screw me over? I think they might like me.

"How do I know you aren't playing me?" I ask back.

He un-crosses his arms, putting his hands on my elbows. "I've watched enough people get screwed over by people they thought were their friends. That doesn't need to happen to you."

Breath quickly huffs out my lips. "Since when do you care about other people?"

"Since you getting screwed over screws me over," he continues. "Those girls don't care about you. I imagine they probably care about each other and nothing else in this Glade. If you had forgotten, you aren't exactly in the Keepers good book. Hell, I hate you most of all. But they almost let you die. They did nothing to stop you."

"Votes mean nothing." I agree.

They do. If you really truly care about something, the rules don't matter. I can remember what that collar felt like around my neck. I can remember how salty my tears tasted, and I can remember not caring. I can never forget exactly what it felt like to nearly be banished.

While I stared down Leo, who did nothing to save me.

"Exactly," he affirms.

I stand up straighter, looking at Gally. "So, to not get screwed over, what exactly do we need to do?"

~~

I'll post again soon! This chapter is cool because it's a pretty awesome turning point in Michelle and Gally's relationship. I think so anyway. What do you think he has in mind?