Running Scared

The first morning among our new comrades was as I expected; uncomfortable and trying. I hadn't realised that this would hold true several days into our union.

I would have been fine if it weren't for Margery, who sighed so consistently while being around us that I thought she was going to deflate altogether...not that I'd have minded.

For some reason, she seems most annoyed by my presence. With Grahame, I've already seen her laugh; a short lived thing that sounded more like a bark of expendable energy than a reaction of merriment. I can't shake the feeling that she holds a strong dislike for me, there's always an unmistakable growth of surliness when I drop beside Grahame if she happens to be talking with him or if I enter the same space she's in.

Grahame has that gift though, the ability to be liked by anyone who gave him the chance, no matter what their disposition. I'm envious of his easiness, or his appearance of ease. On more than one occasion, I've seen him cast a worrying glance my way, no doubt fretting over my continuous but unwavering struggle to get at least one person here to like me.

It's not that I haven't been attempting to become a less blunt, sweeter version of myself either. The key to living in close quarters with other people is to get along, an admission that took me until day three to accept. Since then, I've been smiling, nodding, asking non personal questions to the others but it is not something that comes naturally to me, nor apparently a few of them.

Stephen and Julian, I now know, are identical in looks but not personality. Stephen is the louder of the two, freer with his laughs and open with his views. He was the nightwatchman on our first night here, the one who jokingly warned us of Margery's morning wrath. He holds the answers to the world in his eyes, whether he wants you to see them or not. I can already read what he is thinking from sight, he doesn't have to open his mouth to explain anything although he most definitely will.

Julian, on the other hand, shares his brother's closely shaven hair and furrowed brow, the dark skin and broad shoulders. They are two sides of the same coin but Julian is shut off, preferring to lock his opinions away in his own mind. He's not unkind, just a dialed down version of Stephen. Quiet, thoughtful, more observant in what everyone else is doing. Where Stephen possesses little to no self restraint, Julian has enough for the both of them.

I wish I could get myself to act with them as I do with Grahame - well, maybe not exactly as I do with Grahame, just less stand offish. I feel like I could really get along with them if we all just knew how to exist with each other. It still seems as if we're bumping off one another, in the midst of figuring out the best way to interact. Stephen is too jovial, Julian is too silent, I am grasping at how to meet them in the middle.

I rarely see Margery for too long as she prefers to leave the cave and gather supplies like firewood and food, whether it's rabbit or pheasant or wild mushrooms growing in a patch only she knows. This isn't a disappointment to me though, it's a good alternative to having to watch her, watch me.

George is something of an enigma to me. He doesn't strikes me as the sort of person who would flee his city but what would I know? He mostly keeps to himself, slouching in a dark nook somewhere, constantly leafing through a worn out book, the spine practically disintegrating in his hands. I already decided outright that George and I will hardly become best friends and he certainly doesn't appear keen to step out of his comfort zone, as skittish as he is. He looks as if the wind could carry him away, and that he sincerely wishes that it would.

Which leaves Roger, my strongest bet and the most likely person to form a sort of bond with. He is all smiles, all the time, no matter who. Whether it be the bouncy Stephen, the pensive Julian, the hostile Margery, cowering George, charming Grahame or indeed even me, he always offers a comforting smile, complete with twinkling eyes and a pat on the back. He is the sole person in this entire group, with stiff competition from Grahame, who is universally welcomed. Margery can't even conceal her admiration for him, though she does this through actions rather than words. I just cannot imagine her being able to put up with anybody else.

There is no question about it; Roger is the leader, the father figure, the pat on the shoulder that we all need. If I can somehow show him that I'm willing to be a team player, I may gain acceptance from the others. Well, maybe not Margery but I can live with that.

The only trouble is that you can't pin him down for long. He's always busy, flitting from one chore to the next, limping about with his homemade staff in hand. He never slows down, only reappears on the evening for dinner before retiring to his bed to ready himself for it all again the next day. I've been finding it hard to get a sentence out before he apologetically shuffles off to the next task, promising a later that never comes.

This whole thing wouldn't be too bad if I could just make myself useful but they all insist that I should take it easy, do the chores that won't be energy consuming. Every morning now, I've been walked to the stream by Julian or Stephen, who either stand guard silently or talk my ear off depending on who it is, while I dip, plunge, scrub and squeeze everyone's dirty laundry in the water.

I barely see Grahame now, too. They have him out all the time, off with Margery to hunt animals or check our perimeter. I only see him at meal times and on the night, when he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. This is the time where all I can do is stare at his profile in the fuzzy glow of the fire, hating him and envying him until the sun rises, where I can finally put it all aside and become rational again because he's just doing what is right. For us, all of us.

Somehow though, somehow I've become...lonely.

"How are you doing?"

He breaks me from my reverie, of course it's him. Come to check that I haven't yet drowned myself doing the washing. I notice Julian, today's overseer, slipping into the trees, not wandering too far but distant enough for me to forget about him for the moment.

"Still pregnant, as far as I'm aware." I reply, pretending to wipe sweat from my brow, not bothering to glance up. "Who would have thought moving from one location to another, then back again would become such a challenge?"

He chuckles, doesn't catch the acerbic note in my voice. He's usually more aware, something has him distracted.

"Well, the clothes aren't going to wash themselves. It's taxing stuff." I continue, desperately wanting him to hear my unhappiness, yet all the while wishing that he didn't need to.

"Amelia..." he says. For a moment, I think that he's caught on but then I realise he's just calling for my attention.

I relent, squint up at him past the sun reflecting off the stream, finally seeing what he wanted me to the minute he showed up.

He is now beardless.

I lower the shirt I've been washing, tilt my head at him to see from another angle. Yes, there he is - my Grahame. Grahame from another time, another place. The Grahame who hadn't yet grappled with an Enforcer to save me, or walked out into the rain to get away from me, or fed me the last morsels of our supplies. The Grahame watching me now is once again naive, apprehensive, twitchy as he waits for my response. Wide blue - no, more intense than that - bluer than blue, cobalt eyes popping at me from his skull, blinking rapidly with the swish of his eyelids. Nothing in them except the desire for approval.

All because he finally got rid of that damned beard.

My mouth twitches, desperate to smile. There's something almost sad though, something terrible about this Grahame out in the wilderness.

"About time, " I say, coughing to clear my throat, to keep my voice steady. "How did you do it?"

His face flickers, bringing us back to now, right here. "Margery helped me, she borrowed a razor from Stephen. I couldn't do it myself without a mirror."

I don't know what shocks me more; that he's suddenly close enough to Margery and Stephen to be able to say their names so effortlessly, or that he trusts Margery with a blade on his throat.

"Oh."

It's all I manage. I don't want a hint of the jealousy I'm feeling to creep into my voice. He spends more time with them now than he does with me, stuck doing the same thing every day. It's not what he would choose though, it's not his fault. Ridiculously, there are tears pricking my eyes but I'm not quick enough to scrub them away before he notices.

"Amelia? Are you - are you crying?" he asks, stooping down, arms already outstretched. I dodge him though, shake my head.

"It's nothing! I'm just emotional right now, that's all. Babies do that to you apparently, according to that stupid book."

Grahame rocks back on his heels, giving me space but for all the world looking like he'd rather not.

"You're reading the book?"

I roll my eyes and fix him with a scorching glare, blindly reaching for some more laundry to wash.

"Of course I am. I don't have much else to do around here, do I?!"

"Oh, I..." Grahame begins awkwardly but exactly what he is, I do not find out. His fingers rub at the smooth skin on his face, brushing over the scar, once again his most dominant feature.

I give up waiting for him to finish his sentence, choose to savagely beat a wet shirt against a flat rock instead. I start to think that maybe I've done something wrong; Grahame is still perched on his feet, squatting in an odd crouch, his fingers all the while feeling along his jaw, staring unseeingly ahead.

"I imagine you have a lot to do, you should be going." I sniff, spreading out the shirt in the sun to dry. An unusually nice day for early March, even if the water bites at my fingertips. I blow on my hands, warming them with my breath for a second, to show Grahame that I don't care. What about, I'm not sure, I just need him to think it.

He quickly stands, turning to leave before changing his mind just as hurriedly. I raise my eyebrows questioningly when he drops back to my eye level.

"Come on, Amelia, don't be like that with me. We've come too far to start quarreling now." he says urgently. "Sometimes - " he breaks off, nervous all of a sudden.

"What?"

Grahame breathes deeply and looks me squarely in the face. "Sometimes I think you like - no, that's not the right word...that you, you want to have something to focus on. Something negative. Whether that's the Community or the Enforcers or living with this group or - or me."

"Grahame - "

"No, let me finish." he requests, pressing his palm into my cheek. His voice slips low, conscious of Julian still somewhere in the trees. "I'm not going to desert you, Amelia. Never. I'm doing this so that I can learn - learn how to live in this place without needing help. Once the baby is born and we can provide security for it, we'll leave and we can look after ourselves, and I'll teach you everything I know about hunting and edible plants and, I don't know, building a successful fire!"

This is it, this is when I feel my walls cracking. He hasn't forgotten me, hasn't been running through the forest with his new friends without a second thought. He wants us to find our own lives. He must catch a glimpse of what I'm feeling because he smiles softly, brushes a thumb tenderly across my lip.

"Teach me things now." I ask eagerly, truly excited for the first time as long as I can remember.

"I will, " he laughs, his eyes crinkling. "Just not yet. I need to learn a lot more myself before I can take on my own student."

I pull back so that his hand drops between us.

"Why not? Just something to start me off, so I have time to practice."

He shakes his head and stands again, shooting me a look of regret.

"A lot of the stuff is physical - "

"I'm pregnant, Grahame, I don't have a broken leg."

"You're vulnerab-"

"I swear to god, if you say I'm vulnerable, I will wring your neck with these trousers." I warn him, brandishing the sopping garment threateningly, shaking water into my eyes.

"Well, when you're in a less fragile state." he tells me simply. "I promise, you'll know everything I do, I just want you to get through this pregnancy first."

Our heads turn to the direction of the trees when we heard Margery calling for him. A sinking feeling is coming over me.

"I don't want to go." he admits, leaning down to press his mouth into my hair. Somewhere in our conversation, the dynamic between us has changed again - in a good way. "But we both know I need to."

I nod glumly because he's right. This is the best opportunity for him to gain experience, to collect information we can use when we're finally away from this group.

I'm still sorry to see him retreating back into the forest as Julian silently rejoins me, clutching a new bundle of dirty washing for me to clean, a gift unquestionably from Margery.