Akeldama | lrh

thirteen - fire

if it doesn't
burn a little
what's the point
of playing
with fire

-Bridgett Devoue

***
important a/n at the end

It's been a little over six hours since Calum bled out on the storage building floor, and Luke hasn't said a single word.

He's completely silent as we pack up, his face shut like a screen door and every single movement tense. Now that I think about it, everyone is silent. Nobody wants to speak, because nobody has anything to say.

Ivy is the fiercest I have ever seen her, her long blonde hair yanked back into a ridiculously tight bun, the flame tattoo on her neck shining with sweat. Her green eyes are hard and emotionless, a butterfly knife in one hand and a bag in the other as she begins to lead everyone out.

My arms still hurt from the night before, even with the makeshift bandages Ashton created a few hours ago. I really am an idiot. I've got to stop wallowing in my own self pity and try to focus on what's happening on hand.

Still, I can't get rid of this emptiness. Like a part of me has been viscously ripped away, and it isn't coming back.

Zay's still looking at me sideways, as he has been all morning. At this point I'm so numb I don't even have the strength to lie anymore. I'm just waiting for him to ask the question.

"So, Miss Nye." He says quietly, and I inwardly sigh. We're all on the move now, continuing to head north east. "What the hell happened last night?"

I shrug. "I let some stuff out. Might have broke a finger or two. But I feel better now."

"Good, I guess." Zay replies, reaching down to gently give my hand a squeeze. "Just please try not to hurt yourself deliberately. I know you're in a lot of pain, but it only makes things worse."

"I know, Zay, I know." I almost roll my eyes, but refrain. "I got the same talk from Luke last night. I won't do it again, I promise."

"Good." He slips his arm around my shoulders. "Makes me like the guy a little more."

Not being able to help myself, my eyes scan the group until they land on the black haired boy himself. He's walking ahead of everybody again, side by side with Ivy, armed with two daggers and an expression that, even though I can't see it, I'm sure says back the hell up.

His whole physique has changed. He's even more tense than before, his arms taught with muscle and his movements careful and robotic. It's scary. Like if you even were to irritate him, he'd rip your head off. I suppose that's his way of dealing with the pain, and I am in no position to judge. I want to talk to him, but at the moment there is no place and no time.

The atmosphere is different. Shifted. Gone is the easy trust, the team dynamic. Now there is only fight or flight mode.

"How are you doing, anyway?" I ask, changing the subject. Zay's still as pale as ever, his green eyes flecked with red veins, but he seems calm and collected.

"Good, actually." He replies. "I mean, I literally feel like a walking rock, but other than that, I'm splendid."

"Is it weird only having one arm?" I can't help it, the question has been bugging me for days.

Zay snorts. "Weird? I can't even pick my nose without trying to do it with my right hand, only to realize it's not there. It's wank."