Leo 41

I don't know what to do, except sit in the hall outside her door.

Though technically it is not her door, at this point the med room essentially has been taken over by Ella and her consistent seizures. Today it was in the Garden. Tomorrow it might be when she is sitting on a windowsill, or when she is eating, or worse.

Alby is supposed to come by and I am supposed to talk to him. It ought to be Clint who explains the situation. Clint has more expertise than I do, and he also is the Keeper of the Med-jacks. It can't be on me to tell Alby exactly why Ella should be permanently moved into intensive care, and to, on top of that, explain why she should abstain from the very first rule of the Glade: Do Your Part.

It should be Clint, but I represent Ella at the Gathering. I mean, technically Zart and I do, and he has slightly more authority, but she is technically my jurisdiction.

Not that any of that has any significance. Ella just has had her third seizure in less than two weeks.

I move to my feet. This can't keep happening. I've got to do something, and I am not powerless. I march myself into the cabinet, staring down the bottles inside. I don't recognise the colour, but I know what I am looking for. Ella needs an antiepileptic drug. She would need broad-spectrum, since we don't have any means to scan her brain. Maybe we have clonazepam, or felbamate, or lamotrigine, or valproic acid, or zonisamide. Of course, we could even use a combination drug. I mean, pretty much all of those things have terrible side-effects from blindness to skin-shedding, but I am running out of options.

"We already checked," I glance behind me, to see Clint staring me down.

Jeff isn't in the room, and I rarely see Clint without Jeff. Sure, Jeff without Clint is a common appearance. Clint occasionally talking to other Keepers in hushed tones, but I've never seen Clint alone.

In two weeks, Clint and I have never had a private conversation.

"There isn't-"

"We haven't got any drugs to stop seizures." He continues over top of me. "I mean, we are lucky we have adrenaline."

"Do you think we could ask for something?" I ask. "The new shipment is in two days."

He shrugs his shoulders, as he turns to head out of the room. "I will try."

Of course he makes no promises. Clint is smart. Those people who put us here care nothing for the small girl with epilepsy, who lies in a bed asleep.

Without her, the whole world is grey. From the dull floors, to the dirty walls, to the paint chipping off of the windowsill. How can she be all the colour in the Glade? I barely even know her.

All that I know of, is her innocence.

Clint is gone, which means I am alone. Alone in a room with a girl who is passed out against a bed. I can't look at her anymore. Not when her skin is losing its beautiful brown colour, for one much more grey. As much as we move forward, we always circle back to this. Circle back to Dawn running to the arms of a boy who will get her killed. To Ella, seizing on the ground, the soil on her skin the only colour to her. I don't want to speak too soon, but Michelle has managed to keep out of my hair.

I stumble out the door. In the end, we become what we used to be. Constantly divided, we girls break into pieces as disaster fills our skin. Only reuniting to shatter against the cold floor of the Glade. I never expected it to be ease, but I wanted it to be something.

It's not a story of dreams and hopes. I dream for us all to be together. I dream for Ella to sleep without being forced to by an illness that rots in her skull. I dream of Michelle laughing, in a way that is playful and not mean.

I dream of beautiful Dawn, safe and smiling at me.

My feet slip down the stairs, unable to stand sturdy on a single step. My legs are liquid, the same as my brain. Maybe I'm slipping on the juice that spills out my ears and on to the floor beneath my feet.

What was I supposed to be doing? I can't think straight.

I open the door, and see Newt staring at me. Eyes of confusion become eyes of worry, become eyes that are brown and nothing else. He steps towards me, closing the door behind him.

I don't need to tell him it is Ella again. He takes hold of me, bracing his arms around my bones. Though we are the same height, he is stronger than I could ever be. How can someone who looks so frail, and who limps so badly, carry me up the stairs?

It's when his hands are stiff that I realise I am shaking. Oh God I am shaking. The world is crumbling around me, and all I can ever do is shake.

I can't breathe.

"Leo, you need to relax," his voice is quiet, as he helps me around the corner. Knocking the door open with his elbow, he sits me on the covers that a strewn about messy on the bed. My feet give way, and I slip. Grunting, he holds me before slipping me on to the bed.

I hold myself up straight, because that's how lungs work. Inside my chest is a diaphragm, and it is what makes me breathe. It controls the air pressure in my chest, and if I can just get my diaphragm to move I will breathe again.

"Leo," he kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. I can't stop shaking.

Breath bursts from my lungs in a short pocket of air, and before I can intake half of what I need, my lungs are cut off again. It's like a hiccup, only afterwards my body forgets how to live.

"Leo," Newt continues, gripping onto me tighter, "Leo, she will be fine."

I want to shout at him. So that he can hear me, because all I can do is shake and look at my hands folded in my lap. Brows furrowed, hands shaking from both the panic and the rage at my body for not being able to do what a body can. How can my brain take for granted what health it has been given, while Ella is an epileptic?

I want to shout in Newt's face that it isn't okay. Michelle is moody, out of trouble but brewing for something bad. She is a pot left to simmer too long, and it is my job to cool her off. Sooner or later, Ella's seizures are going to kill her. Dawn is with a boy, even though it is dangerous, even though she could be with someone less, someone less boy. And I am worth nothing. People think I'm shucking it up with Gally, but no one cares to say anything because I do not matter.

I can't protect the people I am supposed to, and I can't even look right for people to see me. No one will ever look at me the way Minho and Dawn steal glances. I wish they didn't steal glances. I don't know who I wish to be, but certainly not me.

Newt is on the bed and he pulls me down to lie next to him.

I hiccup a breath again, and I can imagine the colour my face is turning. Imagine the colour my dry and peeling skin is dyeing. Newt tries to hold the shaking inside me. With his hands, he pins me down against the bed. Not in an invasive way, but in the way that makes me remember that I am actually on planet Earth, and that there are actual things that matter, believe it or not.

Like funny speech, and blonde hair, and laughter. So much laughter. There are moments between all the disasters, where I am sitting with Ella in the grass, and I can't help but smile. Where Jeff and Clint duel with scalpels as they roar with laughter down the halls. How Dawn tries to scale a wall, and I shout at her with a joke on the tip of my tongue.

Of course the good doesn't fix all the bad, nor does it outweigh it, but they coexist.

That, is what stops the shaking.

I'm still sticking to the bed in a pool of sweat. When I stop moving, I feel Newt's hands tense. Unsure when it is safe for him to move them off of me. Newt doesn't like physical contact, it seems. I don't know that I do either. Except maybe I do know, because when Jeff taps me on the shoulder I can't help but feel like I am truly a Med-jack. When Dawn is tired and she leans on me, I feel as if I am tangible and real. Not just a thing that exists as an object in others' lives. As if I matter.

"I'm fine," I manage to exhale it, but my voice comes out more as a whisper.

Newt quickly retracts his arms, sitting up straight. I can't look at him. My eyes are trained on the doorknob. It is dulled from use, but exists in my vision and I can't blink or turn away. My tongue is beginning to get the hang of things, but my eyes can't even seem to blink properly without tearing up.

It seems Newt is the opposite, because while he manages to move around, quickly sliding off the end of the mattress, he can't seem to speak. He shuffles.

The light in the room comes from the window in the corner. It is dim, but casts a soft white glow on the room. The light may be harsh, but it is real. Newt straightens out his shirt, before running his hands through his short hair. Hand wiping over his eyes, but resting on his chin in a way which he thinks.

I can't move to ask what is wrong, but I care so much. The sheets of this bed smell like soap, and feel soft against my face. I can hear the sound of Newt's shirt rubbing against himself as he stands, facing the wall and thinking.

Outside of this room, is disaster. Disaster is a dying girl, a girl who could be killed for doing anything, and a girl who could kill for anything. Outside is not inside. Inside is Newt, who can think all he wants, but he can't steal this second of calm from me.

"I'll tell Alby what happened," he says it clearly, only letting his eyes dart over to me for a second. "About Ella."

I can't nod my head, because I can't move. So I wait for him to say anything else.

"I'll tell Clint about you," Newt begins. "You aren't working tomorrow. Not because you can't handle it, but because I can't..."

He trails up, and I manage to crack open my mouth. My lips taste like the tears that dripped silently from my eyes, and the hair that is strewn about my head.

"What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. "It's complicated, Lee."

I accept that for what it is. Everything is complicated. Maybe one day he will tell me. Or maybe I will stop over-extending myself another day.

"Just, stay here," he continues, actually letting his eyes stay on me. There are tears in them. "Just for tonight? It's my room, but I'll just find somewhere else."

I shake my head slowly. "I'm not taking your bed."

My voice sounds like a frog, but Newt doesn't care.

"Alby won't notice," as if that is all he cares about. As if I am only worried about being banished.

"You aren't sleeping on the ground." I tell him firmly.

He pauses, looking at the bed, and looking at me. "Isn't that where you've been sleeping?"

I don't answer, rolling onto my back. Yes, that is where I've been sleeping. Where I have nightmares that aren't nightmares. The sort of dreams where people die, but I know it's a dream. Every time I lie still, knowing that it may be pretend but when I wake up it'll be real. Ella, Dawn, Michelle; they will be dead. Or I'm just late for a gathering, and suddenly I am in trouble, and I am kicked out of their meetings. Or I accidentally give someone adrenaline again.

I haven't been sleeping, so much as closing my eyes and waiting. Especially these last few nights.

"I'll find something Leo," he grabs the door handle, opening it and looking back at me. "Get well soon."

It's not a command. When I look in his eyes I know for the first time since I came to be, someone isn't ordering me around. Newt is begging.

~~~

Aren't they cute? If only something could dramatically stop that... if only something bad was about to happen... Dawn and a goodbye