wade hailsham | four | fin

w a d e.

Sterile room, and Dr. Paul’s icy hands on his bare belly: “Been eating right?”

“Yes,” he said. He was amazed at how his stomach always started cramping when the medical staff decided to take interest in it. It was as if his own body were rebelling against him without warning, acting out in hopes that he would get in trouble.

Believe me, he thought, I would save you if I could.

“I got a note that said you’ve been slacking in training— feeling well?”

Wade had to stop himself from saying something like Heaven forbid that Organ Sack #5 isn’t in peak condition when you decide you need it. It has been two years since the truth came out, since he and the others learned their purpose. Organ donors. Honestly, how high of a demand could there be for something like that in a single district?

“Trouble sleeping, I guess.” In fact, it was the opposite. He was tired constantly, and when the Institution’s psychologist suggested it could be depression, he agreed to take medication for it. When they didn’t help and he began to notice that his joints had been aching a lot and that his fatigue was probably caused by something other than depression, he had just lied and said he was feeling much better.

Some days, he couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed. And some days, his fingers ached so badly that he couldn’t hold a pencil, certainly not a spear. So, yes, his training had suffered. Boohoo.

“Do I need to set you up an appointment with Dr. Darcy again? She could get you back on those meds.”

“No thanks,” he said— couldn’t let them know he was defective. That’s what had really happened to all of those children who were “adopted” when they were growing up. Made a lot more sense why sickly little Katy was adopted before the rest of them, in retrospect.

“I think I’m just... trying to make the most of my time, you know?”

Wade buttoned his shirt back up, trying not to wince in pain, while Dr. Paul regarded his question without ever looking up from his clipboard: “Your body needs sleep. You need sleep—” Ah, the afterthought. Gotta love being worth less than a slightly sleep deprived kidney.

“Affirmitive,” he replied in his best mock impression of Mother.

The hallway was lined with chairs which were now empty. He hated doctor days, since they brought them in by alphabetical order and Wade came last. It was always like that in everything they did: everyone else was done, then he got to start.

Damn them for giving him this name.

He found Luke in the courtyard, a deck of cards occupying his attention until Wade sat down next to him.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Luke asked, “You gonna live?”

Wade sighed and pushed his face into his hands. “You’re not funny, you know.”

His best friend smiled in the way only he could. That crooked grin that did such a wonderful job of shielding his true emotions from the world. Wade found himself fixated on the boy’s lips for a moment.

“On the contrary,” Luke sneered, shuffling his cards expertly, “That’s, like, the one thing I’m good at.”

It was a pity that he didn’t see his worth. Or, if he did, that he was so keen to keep it hidden.

“You’ve got me beat, at least,” Wade carried on, “Sir turned my name in to Doc. Said I’ve been slacking in my training.”

In truth, if Wade were going to tell anyone about his possible illness, it would’ve been Luke. But even the idea of confiding in his friend seemed a feat too dangerous and risky to complete. What if someone overheard, or what if they got into some massive fight and Luke told people about it?

No, the truth was that Wade simply didn’t want to say the words out loud. Denial, he had learned, was a powerful, powerful coping mechanism in regards to way more than aching joints and fatigue. The effects of keeping his own secret hardly mattered, as far as he was concerned, because speaking the words made them real.

As long as he stayed silent and played the game right, he would be fine. And if he did have something seriously wrong with him, then at least when they cut into him there would be a chance that his organs were fried. At least there was one way of winning. However, if he was to last much longer, he was going to have to step his game up. More training, less sleeping, no matter how tired he got. He would just blend in, serve his time like a prisoner, and be done with it.

He raised an eyebrow to Luke, already knowing his knees would hate him for what he was about to suggest:

“Race you to the training room?”