[CONTENTID1] CHAPTER FIFTY SIX - FITTING IN [/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2]

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It was hard — fitting in, that is. Kyungil wasn’t like Julien or Yongguk, in the sense that just because I, too, was a leader, did not mean he would turn over his crown and follow my orders.

And it wasn’t that I’d asked him too, just like I hadn’t ever asked Julien or Yongguk. But Kyungil was adamantly clear that he was the leader there, at that camp, and he called the shots. His word was law — there was no room for argument or discussion. This called a lot of problems — conflict. 

My people were used to follow orders, after all, most of us had military backgrounds. What they didn’t appreciate, however, was following the orders of someone they neither knew nor trusted — but needed nevertheless. Kyungil had food and water and shelter, and more, and so we needed him. Following his orders was a small price to pay, in my opinion.

Unfortunately, not everybody agreed.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Jinwoon whispers, though not really, to Chansung. He throws a glance over his shoulder, where myself and Hyoyeon are sitting, before looking at the other male again. “One of them doesn’t have a hand and one can't even see! How the hell can they help us?”

“Like they have for the last two weeks. Jinwoon, keep your voice down,” Chansung hisses, elbowing the other male. “You know what will happen if Kyungil hears that you might doubting his decision.”

“But I am doubting his decision,” Jinwoon affirms. “They’re going to get us killed, I’m telling you! The fat one is already eating too much of our food. What do you think the scavengers will say when they get back, huh?”

The scavengers.

Minho told me that they have designated people that go out and hunt for food. They disappear for a week or two at a time. We’ve only been here for about thirteen days, they’re due to arrive soon — if they’re not dead. Minho also told me that if they don’t return within two weeks, they’re pronounced dead and new people are appointed as scavengers.

“Either they’re real ing loud or we have impeccable hearing,” Hyoyeon jokes. I glance at her and chuckle under my breath, peeling the potato in my hand. Hyoyeon stops chopping the already peeled ones to run a hand over her protruding stomach. “Come on, baby. Be born already.”

“You still have, like, ten weeks, Hyo,” I remind her. “Don’t rush it.”

She sighs, “I know, I just — dammit, I’m sick of being pregnant. It’s tiring and it makes me feel useless.” I put the peeler down beside me and turn to her, placing a hand on her arm.

“Hey — you’re not useless,” I assure her. “You’re carrying a life inside you — and untainted, pure one. You’re probably the most useful one out of all of us…after Jae oppa, of course.”

She snorts, “He is useful, isn’t he?” We both return to our jobs. She sighs again. “We need to find more women, Taeyeon doesn’t count as one and the three from here are…they don't like us.”

“They don’t trust us,” I correct her. “There’s a difference. And why would they? We’re a group of strangers, we outnumber them — well, not anymore since Youngmin died — and most of us are stronger and more skilled than them. They’re afraid. It doesn’t mean they don't like us.”

“Still,” she mutters, looking at said three women who are busy doing everyone’s laundry. “We have too many males and not enough women to pair them up with.” She stops chopping agains and turns to me. “I mean, hasn’t it ever hit you that our guys are full of raging hormones and fear and anxiety with no means of releasing it all? I have Daehyun.”

I purse my lips and nod thoughtfully, “That’s true. But we’re all too busy fearing death and striving for survival to worry about .” She smirks and I roll my eyes, nudging her playfully. “Well, everyone except you and Dae.”

“Hey, a girl has needs,” she grins, winking at me. “But seriously, we need to find more women — useful ones. We can’t be the only ones, surely.” I shrug a shoulder. “What about you? Have your eye on anyone?” She nudges me playfully.

I shrug again. I haven’t really thought about my aching heart, not since I lost Jackson. Though there is Sehun, who continues to perplex me, confuse me and make me feel a certain way which isn’t all that comprehendible. He’s a mystery — I hate mysteries.

“Not really,” I reply after a few moments. 

“I kind of ship you with Jae,” she admits and I quirk a brow at her. She shrugs. “I dunno — you’re just cute together. Okay, Youngjae is cute. You’re just you.” I snort a laugh and elbow her arm.

“I thought you shipped me with Julien.”

She pulls a face and quickly shakes her head, “Andwae! I did but not anymore. He’s changed — he’s angry and cold. And mean. Have you heard him go off at the others? If we get kicked out of this place, it won’t be Sehun’s fault for once. It’ll be Julien’s.”

I tut and shake my head, completely agreeing with her. “He’s in pain. I don’t completely blame him for the way he’s been acting.”

“It’s been over a year, Hyerim,” she says. “Of course I understand that the pain will always be there but that doesn’t mean he can continue to be angry.”

“I’m still angry…” I mutter, looking down. “I’m fuming. I’m hateful.”

“But you don’t take it out on others,” she insists.

No, I just take it out on myself.

“Still,” I sigh, lifting my eyes to scan the area for the others. “He’s lost almost everyone.”

“He still has the Kwangmin and Karim,” she humphs, going back to chopping the potatoes. “He should be grateful for that. You’ve lost a whole lot more than him but I don’t see you going around blaming people for things that were — and still are — out of their control.”

I stay mum for the next few minutes, wordlessly peeling the remaining potatoes before sliding them over to Hyoyeon.

She finally breaks the silence.

“But I kind of ship you with Kyu oppa and Minki, too,” she blurts out. At my incredulous expression, she explains: “You and Kyu oppa have always had a special something, a je ne sais quoi. I can’t quite put my finger on it. And Minki, well, he’s hot as .”

“But he’s crazy,” I remind her, my eyebrows almost touching my hairline.

“Yeah, but he’s hot.” She looks at me as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She laughs a little, bumping shoulders with me. “You take what you can get these days, Rimmie.”

“So if you didn’t have Dae, who would you go for?” I ask, if only to entertain myself. She purses her lips and allows herself to look around the room. “Doesn’t have to be in our group.”

“But it would be,” she states, flicking her eyes back to me. “In all honesty, I don’t know if I could ever fully trust anyone outside our group — our original one, that is. Not to the point that I’d leave my life in their hands.”

I can’t stop the words from leaving my lips.

“Do you…do you trust Sehun?” I ask and she furrows her brows slightly.

“Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?” she replies and I quickly shake my head. “I mean, sure, sometimes it worries me that he’d choose you over the rest of us…it worries me to think that in a certain situation, he’d let me die. But — I mean, I can’t help but trust him. I can’t help but love him, or the idea of him. The idea of familiarity. If that makes any sense at all.”

I nod slowly, “I think I understand what you mean. You trust him but more because if you don’t allow yourself to trust the people you’ve known the longest, you’re afraid you may never be able to trust anyone, ever again.”

She nods back, “Because, sometimes, I don’t even trust myself. I need the person beside me to reel me back in when I’m on the verge of the cliff.”

I take in a deep breath and slowly release it. 

Hyoyeon laughs. “Wow, that got real deep, real fast.”

“That’s what she said,” I joke and she rolls her eyes, chuckling as she shakes her head. I slide my eyes down to her stomach and put a hand over it, it with my thumb. “You’re a lot of trouble, baby. But you’ll be worth it — I know it.”

Hyoyeon smiles warmly and puts one of her own hands over mine, squeezing it lightly. “I think it’ll be a girl.” I flick my eyes back up to meet hers and raise a curious brow. “It’s just a feeling — but a strong one.”

“Yeah?” I chuckle. “I think it’ll be a boy. My eomma used to say you can tell by the way the bump is shaped.”

“Mine used to say that if it’s difficult, it must be a boy,” she muses, looking down at her stomach. “It’s been difficult but not terribly so. It must be a girl — she’s considerate of her mama who’s trying to survive a zombie apocalypse.”

I can’t help but laugh heartily, rubbing her hard bump.

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