Chatterbox: Inkwell

somewhere, maybe - a story

chapter one - theo

I brush my fingertips against my gun. It's a bad habit, I know. I'm still not used to the extra load on my hip. It's been a couple of weeks, but the weight drags me down. It's supposed to be thirty-eight ounces, but there's a lot of weight that number doesn't account for.

Strangely, they're only giving us old handguns, but I think it's supposed to mean that we're stronger than the people are. We don't need modern, powerful weapons, because it shows that one shot could take everything away from them.

I hate this, Isa, but I can shoot someone, I think. And I think I could look someone in the eye while doing it. You're better than me— you've always been. You couldn't do it. It would tear you into pieces.

"Acosta!" someone calls, and I grudgingly turn.

"Aye, aye, captain," I say with a sigh.

You'd probably tell me to shut up and accept my fate. I wouldn't listen anyway, so I guess you don't need to be here for that.

"I'm your boss, honey," Emilia says. "Get used to it."

Emilia's the type of person who's really close to being perfect, and if someone fixed that part, she'd be an actual goddess. She's smart, good at literally everything, drop-dead gorgeous and really strong. She's all so blonde-it's-almost-white hair, stunning blue eyes, smile to die for, and a tall and steady frame that's threatening but nonetheless amiable.

But despite being so, so close, she goes and ruins it by having the dumbest personality I have ever come across.

You'd hate her, Isa. You'd hate her guts.

"Acosta!" she yells again. I blink.

 "Yes, captain?"

"Patrol in ten. Hurry up."

"Okay," I say. "I'll be there." I don't ask who my partner is. I'll find out soon enough. The uniform isn't that bad, I guess. White button-ups, blue/black jeans or black leggings, sneakers or combat boots, a dress code that lets you add some individuality to whatever you're wearing. It gets a little stuffy, but it's definitely better than what you'd read about in books.

I glance at the mirror, running my hands through my hair, just to muss it up a bit. She always asks me to fix it, and it always annoys her. Sometimes she's stubborn and doesn't tell me to fix it, in which case I get to keep it how I like it. In any case, it's a win-win for me.

I touch my single gold earring. Paired with the white button-up, you'd say I look like a pirate. I do, but I can't take it off now. It means too much. Stop rolling your eyes. I can be sweet if I want to be, Isa.

I cuff my jeans above my ankles, and then tie my shoes. When I stand back up, I look around. I pin on the badge that marks me a soldier. There's some other stuff too, the walkie talkie, handcuffs, the sunglasses I tuck on top of my hair. I almost slip on my favorite fingerless gloves, but I decide against it. I can't wear the earring, the shirt and the gloves all at the same time— that's a little bit of an overload.

I start to the door, content with my appearance.

"You missed a button."

"Holy—crap—what!" I exclaim, looking at the source of the voice. "How long have you been there?"

Hunter's on the top bunk of one of the bunk beds in the room. She's been quiet— deadly quiet, quiet enough that I never knew she was there. She probably heard me whistling to old 2000s songs— the emo rock songs by edgy artists with amazing vocal ranges.

"You missed a button," she deadpans again. Her feet are hanging off the side of the bed. The bunk bed she's sitting on is the type without railing, so you have to hope you don't fall off in your sleep if you get a top bunk.

"Go away," I say. "I have patrol."

She leaps off the bed, landing on the floor with barely a sound, a feat in her black combat boots.

"Let's go, then. I've been ready for over an hour." I look at her.

"You're my patrol partner," I say.

"Yup."

"Okay then," I say, mentally groaning. This is turning out to be a fun morning.

Shut up. Stop whining, I can hear you say.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No. We have to leave."

"Breakfast is the most importantly meal of the day."

"Captain's orders."

"I've been offered the role of captain three times, Acosta. If need be, I can complain to the higher-ups and Emilia will be kicked out. Let's go have breakfast." I know she's good, but I've never seen her in action. Actually, I haven't actually heard her talk much, either. She's the kind of girl that can get anyone to do anything with a glare.

"But— there won't be anyone patrolling now." I don't know why I'm still arguing with her. I'm hungry. I skipped dinner last night for training, something I really, really regret choosing to do.

"Theo, everything's regulated enough already. They just do patrols to keep up appearances. Come on, let's go eat breakfast. I'm hungry." She walks out the room, and I can do nothing but follow her. So, with a sigh, I trudge after her, pretending not to be curious abotu what's to happen next.

—

I pick at my scrambled eggs with a fork. They're the type that are pushed into a square, that only form when you add water. They're gross. I've finished everything else—sticking with the bad girl has its perks, like better food than usual—but the eggs don't find their way onto my fork.

"Do you plan on eating those?" she asks. Her fingers are thrumming on the table. Her food's long gone. I know I'm taking forever— she's told me that a few times.

"Do you want them?" I counter.

"Not at all," she says, looking away. I continue picking at my food. I don't want to leave yet.

"Do you give every patrol partner this treatment?"

"Nope," she says, but I know it isn't because I'm special. Her mood is flippant. I just got the luck of the draw. She doesn't elaborate further, but I expect no more.

We stay there like that. I count the seconds— one, two, three... one hundred forty-seven, one hundred forty-eight, one hundred forty-nine... four hundred twenty-eight.

"Come on, she says on four hundred twenty-nine, standing up abruptly and picking up her plate. "We'd better get going."

I nod, offering to take her plate to the kitchen wash basin for her. She declines, and I feel stupid for asking.

As we find our way out the door, walking down the city street, she's quiet. I indulge her easy silence. It feels wrong to break it. She speaks, then, low and sincere.

"I love the city. I know I'm not supposed too, but I love the city and I love the people. It feels like you don't have to be anyone, and you don't have to be no one. You're just here, and in the city that's enough." I don't know what to think of her.

We keep walking, though. Deep into the heart of a broken city. A city once powerful. When you look around, you see a broken city. But when you close your eyes, its brokenness seems peaceful. When you listen to the city, when you really really think, when you let yourself feel, it isn't so broken any more. And if you're broken too, the city patches you up. Even if it isn't permanent.

"Tell me about yourself," I say. It isn't a command though, it's a question. But she obliges, taking a brick off her walls.

"I have a sister. I do this for her." I nod. I can understand that. "You?" I blink

"What?"

"What about you?"

"Oh. Uh... I have—"

Theo— You're in the back of my mind. I can hear you.

"—had a sister."

Theo, you can't do this to yourself.

Please go away, Isa. 

Theo—

Go away, Isa.

Isa's quiet then, but she's coming back.

"She's my everything. I do this for her." Hunter nods.

'"Where is she?" I don't answer that question.
"What's your sister's name?"

"Noora." She rolls the r and makes a long o sound. It's not an english name like hers is. "What's your sister's name?"

"Her name was Isa."

"Was?"

I shake my head. "She's dead. I'm okay."

She shakes her head.

"It's okay not to be okay." I snort. "I'm serious, Theo. There's something bothering you, and you aren't even trying to fix it." Her tone isn't accusing, but it feels that way.

Hold on, Theo, you're saying. She's trying to help you, okay? I don't say anything, just touch the gun at my hip. She nods.

"You never want to touch it again." I look at her, meeting grey eyes. Understanding eyes.

"I never want to touch it again," I say.

–

Yeah, so that's chapter one of Somewhere, Maybe. I guess I should give you some context as to who I am. My friend was on here and told me about this about a year ago, and I joined for two days and never touched it after that. I'm trying this out again, though. This is a dystopia. I have a vague idea about what's happening in the next chapter, but I'm not sure about the whole plot. Currently, our main characters are Theo and Hunter. Emilia isn't a main character, though she might end up in the story again. You guys will have to figure out Isa and Noora eventually. Anyway, I hope the story doesn't come off too violent. I can take out the part where Theo discusses shooting someone if need be, but besides that there shouldn't be much violence. Isa is already dead by the beginning, though Theo isn't quite coping with her death. There is a decent amount of violence in my drafts, but I'm taking it out for the sake of sharing the story. You guys can call me Raina if you want— it's a little pun from my username, and it's the name I'll use personally— but I'll take any nicknames. (It's not my actua name, don't worry.) I'll take any criticism. I hope you enjoy the story. THEO IS BI. HUNTER IS LESBIAN. HOMOPHOBES BEWARE.

Thanks,

Raina

P.S. I haven't really proofread this. I'm not exactly passionate about or proud of this, so typos and feedback would be helpful.