CASTAWAY ⚓ R.C, J.M

E L E V E N

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Y O U ' R E A R O U T L E D G E

Y O U ' R E A P O G U E

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Breathing wasn't easy. Breathing was difficult. It took so much energy to heave in deep breaths and when you already felt drained it took that much more energy. Sweat dripped down Harley's back and framed around her face, slicking her flushed red skin. Her usually bright eyes were clouded with fear and confusion and fogged up with tears.

Today everything was a little too much for the temporary Routledge girl. If she had the choice, she would fall back into the ocean, curl up and drown so that she didn't have to feel the constant disappointment, wistfulness, and despondency that had rooted in her brain and grown in her chest. There was an uncertainty at how long she could have a hold of those emotions or how long it would last for.

How long did it take to get over your parents abandoning you? How long did it take for the frustration of not remembering or knowing things to fade? A few weeks? A few months? More?

On autopilot, Harley got dressed and stepped into the kitchen with a hardened expression. She still looked rather pale. Harley didn't notice John B sat on the couch or the other Pogues sprawled out with him.

A smooth bowl filled her hand, she was going to make cereal or maybe a salad. She didn't know or care, as long as it was edible.

She spun away from the cupboard not expecting to see anybody behind her. She startled almost jumping out of her skin. The bowl slid from her loose grip and crashed against the floor, clay shards exploding over the floor.

"Hey are you okay?" John B reached out, but Harley evaded his touch.

"I- yeah. Yes. I'm-" she realised what she had done. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Sorry. I'll clean it."

She crouched down and started picking up broken pieces. John B was quick to follow and reach out to stop her grabbing the jagged pieces so carelessly. He wasn't quick enough.

"Ouch!" Harley dropped the pieces she had a hold of as she cradled her bleeding palm. "Ow."

"I'll clean up," John B explained. "You go get that patched up with Pope. Dude the first aid kid is under the sink."

Pope came over and helped Harley up careful not to get blood on her clothes or the floor. He led her into the bathroom and got her to sit on the side of the bath tub.

"I'm really sorry. I guess I'm not feeling one hundred percent today." Harley murmured whilst Pope pulled out the kit and started muttering to himself what he had to do.

"It's cool. John B has out there sorted and I've got you sorted." Pope smiled.

Harley hissed as he wiped away the blood with a bit of antiseptic and bandaged her hand.

"All done. How does that feel?"

Harley grimaced, "Better. Thanks, Pope."

Pope scanned over Harley for a second taking in her slightly dishevelled appearance and ashen skin. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, before asking, "You didn't faint or anything right? No seizures?"