In my Blood

CHAPTER 35 - Seagulls

Long strands of hair fall to the dusty floor beneath me as Brenda examines her work, glancing at me from different angles. She finally places the scissors down on a table and smiles at me. 

"All done," she says with a happy sigh. She hands me a small slice of a mirror to look at, one that had broken off from a larger mirror she found when we first came here. My (y/h/c) hair flows healthily down to just below my armpit, with slight layers at the front. I notice a quiet exhaustion hidden deep behind my eyes, like a pain I've had burrowed for a long time. It feels like that sometimes. 

"Thanks, Bren," I grin. "It looks really great."

"Should still be long enough to tie into a ponytail," she says, brushing out the ends of my hair with a battered hairbrush. 

"I would offer to cut your hair, but I'm probably terrible at it," I admit with a giggle. 

"That's alright, I kinda prefer it longer anyway," she replies, picking up the mirror and looking at her shoulder-length black hair with a small smile. 

It's been six months since WICKED invaded the camp at the Right Arm. 

The last time we were at that campsite in the mountains was the day after they came. When we all agreed to save Minho - even Vince - we set off an hour later. There were only about fifty of us left in total, after some died from the fight and others fled the Right Arm in fear of another invasion. I look through the window of the small warehouse room, to the rusting, lone ship in the docks. 

Choppy waves lap against the side of the ship while the smell of sea salt lingers in the air. Clouds cover the sky like a white blanket, but through them I can see the faint outline of the sun sinking into the ocean. Groups of people are scurrying across to the different warehouses; others saunter along the beach, throwing pebbles into the waves. I see Newt and Frypan standing by the water's edge, but can't see Thomas anywhere. I sigh, turning back to Brenda. A troubled expression passes across her face. 

"What's up?" she asks.

"Oh, nothing," I reply. "Have you seen Thomas?" 

She shakes her head, packing things away into her bag. "Haven't seen him since this morning. Why?"

"I'm just worried about him, he's been so quiet recently. Probably just thinking about Minho, I guess."

She nods understandably. "Is that all you're worried about?"

I think for a moment before looking at Brenda with an inquisitive stare. "What do you mean?"

She smiles wearily. "I know you and Newt still haven't talked about what happened that night. What you told me. It's been six months, (y/n)."

I run my hands through my now shorter hair. It feels strange. "I just... I can't talk to him about that. Not tonight, not before we're about to rescue Minho. It'd be selfish."

"If anything, now is a better time than any, just in case..." Brenda's voice trails off. She looks to the floor awkwardly. 

I nod, rolling my eyes. "Just in case we die. Yeah, I get it. Might be my last chance, or whatever," I mumble. I recall what happened on that fateful evening. "I mean, I thought we were about to die together. Who doesn't say dumb, reckless stuff when they're about to die?"

She raises an eyebrows. "Except, you know it's not dumb. Reckless, sure, but not dumb." I shrug my shoulders. "I'm just saying," she continues, "you told him the truth that night, as a spur-of-the-moment thing. And whether he heard you but forgot about it, or didn't hear you so he couldn't know, he deserves to know how you feel about him. And I think you deserve that, too. For yourself."