Bound by Glass

17| I Really Don't Like Heights

"Where are we going?" I asked as Vace stalked through the... well, at a lack of a better word: rebel base.

He opened a trunk placed near the wall in the middle room, rummaged through it and threw me a long-sleeved dark shirt. "Put that on," he commanded, "I hope that'll fit, it's the only spare we have."

I regarded the dark shirt. It seemed to be made out of a sort of synthetic material. It was collarless and its only decoration was a small stylised emblem on the chest—I guessed it was the symbol of the Globes. The rest of the shirt was plain and loose fitting.

I spotted some small holes in the chest and abdomen area, but they were hard to notice.

I shrugged and pulled my light brown cotton shirt over my head, placing it on the table. Goosebumps appeared on the bare flesh of my back and stomach, a small shiver passing over my exposed skin.

I quickly pulled the shirt Vace handed me over my head, and the goosebumps disappeared immediately. I instantly felt warmer.

I moved my arms a bit. I decided I was going to keep this shirt. It would come in handy in winter—still too many children died of the cold. This could be used for the sickly. I made a mental note to find and bring some additional clothing items of this material when I went back home.

If I went back home.

My neck got warm, and I turned around. I caught Vace staring.

"What," I said, placing my hand in my hip. The loose fabric of the shirt bundled around my wrist.

Vace was silent for a moment, scraped his throat and he said: "I thought you were bigger."

I hope your girlfriend doesn't feel that way as well, I thought, and immediately mentally slapped my inner Jaedie.

She loved these kind of easy scores. In a way, she influenced me with those kinds of things. I was never really fond of those kind of jokes, but the way Jaedie muttered them under her breath when someone said something like that, always brought a grin to my face. Even more if the person didn't notice we were laughing about them.

I looked down at my shirt, which I seemed to be swimming in. The sleeves reached till over my fingertips, and the hem till halfway my thighs.

"I've had worse," I concluded, recalling some clothing items I had owned over the years. Boots with rags stuffed in them to make them fit, socks used as gloves, jumpers which were basically dresses...

You name it, I'm sure we would've tried it all. It's not like you can choose what kind of clothing you get on a raid. Still, once you grew out of a piece, it went to the next person who could wear it.

If you were lucky, at least. Most of the time you wore the same items for years, even though the once oversized shirts didn't even cover your wrists anymore.

I tugged up the sleeves, but the moment I lowered my arms again they slid back down. I sighed and awkwardly started rolling up the mile-long sleeves.

Vace inspected my shirt, and after a moment he stepped towards me, crossing the room in just a few big strides.

"Here," he said, pulling my dagger from his waistband, "Fix it."

I ceased my attempts to roll up the sleeves properly. Vace held up the dagger by the tip of the blade. Gingerly I grabbed hold of the hilt of the dagger, surprised by his change of attitude.

"I want it back as soon as you're finished," he said, and let go of the blade.

Ah, there it was. It didn't seem like I was going to get it back permanently any time soon.