SONDER (IV): tmr thomas

33: I should be there

We land. I wait at the door, my legs tucked in against my chest. Hopefully, someone comes, because I can't be alone right now. However, hopefully no one comes because I can't let them see me biting my lip, or my pink cheeks. The shame is on my skin; it is impossible to miss. It is inherent to me now.

Eventually, Dawn comes over. I don't know if that is better or worse. She skips her way to me. Her smile is volatile, turning into a frown with every step and then bouncing back as she is high in the air. I couldn't tell anyone, but she is beginning to unsettle me. Physical illnesses are nothing new and the gruesome has never bothered me. It is the fact that I can't see the horror that keeps me afraid.

When the rest arrive, I keep my head down. That way, I can't see Thomas. If he looks at me, if he doesn't, if he tries to say something. It is all hidden, thankfully, from me. I can't bare it.

"Are we ready?" Jorge tells us. He clicks the button on the door, and it begins to open.

Three people greet us with weapons. Two men, each with a pistol, and a woman with a launcher. The man on the right stares me down the barrel of his gun. My hands fly up instinctively.

"Don't try anything," one of the men shouts.

"You think we are shucking dumb enough to try something?" Minho counters. I can hear the anger in his voice, but I don't dare let my eyes flick over to them. Instead, I stare down the barrel of the pistol.

Jorge takes a step closer to them. His footsteps clang against the metal. "What are you guys doing?"

"Shut your munie mouths," the lady cuts him off.

I hear myself swallow, my hands still raised up in the air. Someone's fingers graze mine, but I don't look. They are undoubtedly Thomas's. Even though it isn't necessarily my best plan, I let myself focus on the panic and the gun, rather than on the smoothness of his knuckles. This is better than anything else.

"We outnumber you, hermana," Jorge warns. "You might get one of us, but we'll get all of you."

I don't appreciate that he is willing to use us as collateral. At least the most focus man points his gun at me.

I hear the man cock his gun. Finally, I let my eyes dart over. The one who has been talking to Jorge places the end of his pistol against Jorge's forehead. He smirks. "Try me."

"I won't yet," Jorge swallows.

The man smirks. With their guns trained on his, they lead us across the Berg platform. I finally drop my arms, which were beginning to get sore. My eyes trail over to Thomas, whose eyes search the platform. If there is an exit, I'm not going to take it. If we move, we get shot. That's not a risk I'm willing to take, not for anybody here.

Finally, the man takes his gun off me and slides open the long door of the van. I climb inside without being asked.

"Put on the hoods and sit," he tells me.

I listen. There are several on the floor, more than enough for us. I pass them around to the others. Brenda sits on the ground next to Thomas, (I have never been more thankful for her in my life). Once everyone is settled, I pull the black material over my head.

We ride forever. It's strange to exist with no one but myself. I'm used to dotting over others in times of stress. The darkness reminds is lonelier than the shaft ride up to the Maze. There, I had people who I perhaps didn't know, but that I at least knew existed. This panic is personal.