Michelle 43

Remind me, what is small talk?

I was supposed to be getting to know this girl, but I can't manage to speak. What is normal? This place has kind of stolen the idea of the calm before the storm. It is just the storm, as far as I can tell.

Instead, I stand here screwing a nail into the door frame, glancing at her out the window.

"Hold it steadier," I grunt to David.

I can hear his breath hitching on itself as he tries to hold the door in place. It's difficult work, but not too awful.

"You have the easy job," he says it with a smile, and I can only hear the disdain in his voice. "You pretty much have no work to do, just screwing stuff in."

I shrug, paying him no mind.

"Wouldn't mind screwing around with her if I were you," a boy cackles from inside the room, where he nails in the border to the window frame.

I find my feet moving in closer to him, and before I know what is happening, my fist collides with his face. His face feels cold against my burning hand, and his bones crunch as the back of his head smashes into the white wall behind him.

"Shuck, what are you doing?" He demands.

My fist burns, but not the kind of ache that indicates pain. My fingers crave sustenance that comes in the form of violence. The boy was nothing but an excuse.

David pulls me back from him, leaning into the back of my body. "The favour I owed you Doug. It's even now, alright?"

"I didn't owe her no favour," he pauses, before wiping the blood from his nose. He spits, spraying the clean wall with the colour of his pain.

"Well, you owed, and now we're even," David takes a hold of my arm dragging me off.

I rip myself from his grip, yet I follow him outside anyway. "Don't drag me off from places."

"Stop moving," he instructs, essentially pulling me into the room next to us and shutting the door.

He takes my hand in his, looking at my knuckles, but I rip the hand out of his grip. "I'm fine."

"I don't care about your hand," he takes it back, holding it firmer this time. "I'm checking to see if there are bruises. In case he decides to tell Alby, you'd better hope there is no evidence. How could you be so careless?"

"He started it," I want to shout, but my lips have only learned how to mutter. Why does David think everything is about himself? That guy made a dirty joke, one about me, so of course I'm going to hit him. Does David expect me to take it silently?

"Doesn't mean you had to finish anything Mich," he interjects. "Why can't you ever be the bigger person?"

"Did you just call me Mich?"

Satisfied that I have no bruises, he let's go of my hand from his fingers. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a handkerchief, attempting to rub off the blood that has already dried in the heat.

"So what if I did?" He doesn't look up at me, concentrating on the blood splatter on my already red knuckles.

"My name is Michelle," I tell him.

"Yeah, and Michelle is a mouthful. You know, most people around here go by names. You think Fry's actual name is Frypan? Most people call me Dave anyway."

"Dave?" I ask, glancing him over.

He nods, taking it seriously. Letting go of my fingers, he grabs his pouch off his belt, dumps water onto the handkerchief, and continues scrubbing away at my fingertips.

"I like Dave," he begins. "Feels more me than David."

"David is your name," I continue.

"Yeah, but I don't know him." He reaches the cold material between my fingertips to wipe the blood off of them. This blood is nothing. My shirt has been severely stained with the red colour from when I was attacked by those Baggers. No matter how much he scrubs, the blood will always be on my hands.

"Of course you do."

"I don't," he tells me. "David was the dumb shank those Creators sent up at the very beginning. He was the one who woke up the first night screaming murder, and was the one thought he'd been alone forever. We aren't the same person, he and I. I'm Dave."

"And I'm Michelle," I tell him.

"You shouldn't be." He actually looks at me this time, and I can feel his words deep into my heart. "Who is Michelle?"

"What kind of question is that?"

He presses on, blue eyes staring me down. So deep I feel like I'm drowning, and I hate that I get lost for them in a second. In that moment, the one that I choose to ignore, I don't feel like Michelle anymore.

"Michelle, what are you so afraid of?" He asks me.

He isn't cleaning my hands anymore, which I only realise as I see his eyes crease when I pull my fingers from his grip. I'm not afraid of anything. Quite the contrary, things just seem to be afraid of me. Like those Gladers who surround me, and the girls, and Gally. As long as I can remember, I have feared nothing. I have stared death in the face: unblinking and waiting.

So why do I feel like I'm lying when I stare at him?

"You know you are safe here, right?" He asks.

"That is the biggest lie anyone has ever told me," I begin to say, feeling my teeth rattle at the force of my own voice, "and I have heard a lot of lies."

I wait for him to correct me, but he leaves me space to breathe. I don't understand why, nor do I understand how. This is the part of the story where he argues with me, and denies my claims. Where he reassures me that I am being ridiculous, though I am not, and then where he promises to protect me from every and any danger that dares step in my way. He must realise that I am waiting for his response, but he still leaves me space to breathe.

I don't need space. My body is incredibly tiny, and I only know how to fill the small amount of space left for me. Quick quips and jabs, and the like.

"Michelle, I am not lying to you," his tongue burns in his mouth with hidden words, and I wonder what he has to say. Why can't he just tell me a straight answer?

"I have never been safe here." I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. "I was locked in the Slammer when I got here, and then locked in the Slammer again, and then sentenced to death, and then locked in the Slammer again. I have nearly died, been blamed for things I didn't do, and been forced to spend everyday with a bunch of guys who can do nothing but oogle me. Correct me if I am wrong, but I have been alone this entire-"

"You have not." He stops me there, and I am surprised. "You have not been alone."

"No one has been there."

"You are wrong," he continues. "The Med-jack girl, Leo? She has fought for you tooth and nail at every corner. Bothering Alby, pestering Newt, and being just a pain to me since you got locked up. You know how many shucking Keepers she bothered trying to get them to change their votes? How many times she begged Alby just to let you out?

"Nevermind that Gally has stuck his head out for you. Made a fool of himself in front of the other Keepers, gave Alby a good report on your behalf, and kept his mouth shut about all the times you've had attitude? Do you not realise what people have done to help you?

"What I've done? I nearly got crushed the first time we talked, just to save you from that stupid building? I've given up favours, I've lied to the Gathering's faces, and I've gotten into fights to protect your reputation. Did you ever think about the lengths I went to, to help you?"

"I never asked you to." I mean it, and I only feel slightly bad when I watch him flinch. "I never asked for any help. I didn't want you to help me."

"That's not the point. I gave it, and so did they, because they care about you. You know what you are?" His voice raises, and I realise I've never seen David angry. This isn't anger, though. His voice is louder, but it is scratchier, and his eyes are glossy. His squints his nose as he tries to calm down.

"What am I?" I demand back. My voice, is one of angry.

"You're in denial. You can't accept that you have friends." He says it as if it is so factually, I ignore the way his eye twitches, and his shoulders heave.

"That isn't true."

"Yes it is." He exhales, and I watch the red tinge leave his cheeks. "You can't deal with the fact that not everybody is out to get you. I've seen it before; you are afraid of vulnerability. If you trust people, they can betray you. I can't speak for Gally, but Leo won't. I wouldn't either."

"I'm not afraid of trusting people," I counter. "Did it ever occur to you that you aren't trustworthy?"

"I am plenty trustworthy." He argues with me. I didn't realise we were next to each other until I can feel his breath in my face. "You just refuse to like people."

"Prove it." I dare him.

His lips are salty, but soft against mine. This is not what I had in mind.

He pulls back, his eyes staring at me delicately, waiting for me to hit him or scream in his face, or whatever he expects is coming next.

I step away from him, my mouth at a loss for words, as I walk out the door.

~~~~~

I mean, oops?

Do you like David? Personally, I think he is such a lovely bean. So wonderful. So nice. But also, should he have kissed Michelle? Was he right, or was she? Let me know in the comments!

I'll see you soon in Ella and Observing.