@venerdi
There are still bandages around Eli’s chest, hidden behind a ratty black tee shirt that he dragged over his head this morning. But the danger now is less the healing wound in his flesh, and more the weakness it’s left him with. His limbs feel shaky, muscles less stable and his chest tight, an absence of painkillers allowing him to feel every residual ache.
But he’s alive, and he’s at a place he used to call home, the closest thing he has now to safety. It’s more than some of them can say, and the oppressive cloud that follows has been hanging over the estate for days. There’s just not much he can do about it from his bed, and if improvement will only come when he forces it then he’ll do whatever it takes to shed that weakness.
The estate’s quiet today, but if he’s wondering about the location of a redhead, it’s not the one he comes across first.
“Hey. My girl Friday.”
If he smiles then, it’s more just to see her alive, even if he doesn’t know that well can truly describe any of them. Everyone’s eyes are punctuated by dark circles, lips pressed into hard lines, and he can’t swear his own expression isn’t the same.