I’m not half what i wish i was
Julianna walked to the far side of the sports hall, her steps uneven but deliberate. The quiet hum of voices behind her slowly faded as she stepped through the door leading to the bathroom near the showers. She was glad for the solitude; the noise in the gym was grating at her nerves. Her thoughts had been spiraling since she woke up, and being around everyone only made it harder to keep herself together.
She closed the bathroom door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she took a deep breath. Her hand instinctively brushed the bandage on her arm, and she winced. She couldn't let herself linger on that right now. She'd already spent too much time obsessing over it.
Her eyes flicked to the mirror above the sink, cracked in the corner but still functional enough to reflect her tired face back at her. Dark circles hung heavy under her eyes, and the dried blood smeared across her cheekbones from yesterday made her look more like a monster than a human. She let out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh.
God, I look like hell.
She stepped closer to the mirror, pulling the scissors they'd scavenged from the infirmary out of her back pocket. She held them up, inspecting them like they were some sort of foreign object, before glancing at her hair. It was a mess—long, tangled, and streaked with dirt and dried blood, despite her attempt at showering yesterday.
"Alright," she muttered to herself, gripping the scissors tighter. "If I somehow live through this bite, I might as well be more practical." she sighed.
She tilted her head, gathering a chunk of her brunette hair in one hand and awkwardly angling the scissors with the other. The first snip was rough, uneven, and sent a clump of hair fluttering to the sink below.
She paused, staring at the result. "Huh," she said aloud, her voice flat. "Well, that's... something."
It wasn't good, but it wasn't awful either. Her confidence grew marginally as she continued cutting, the scissors slicing through her hair with deliberate, almost meditative precision.
The apocalypse didn't care what you looked like. It didn't care about vanity or presentation. But this wasn't about appearances. It was about function. Her hair had gotten in her way when helping Taissa yesterday, and she wasn't about to let it happen again.
When she was done, her hair hung just below her collarbone, choppy but manageable. She ran her fingers through it experimentally, her scar on the back of her neck now fully visible. She paused when her fingertips brushed against it, the raised skin a stark reminder of a time when she wasn't nearly as lucky in life. Her first close call, and probably not her last.
She tilted her head at her reflection, squinting at herself as if seeing a stranger.
Her hair had always been a medium length, the ends styled in soft, heated curls, a detail she used to care about. But now, it wasn't going to be an asset. It would only get in the way.
"Okay," she said, her voice quiet but steady, as if trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.
She stepped back, wiping her hands on her jeans before tossing the cut hair into the bin. She wasn't sure why, but it felt good. New. Symbolic, almost. Like she was shedding an old part of herself, the version of Julianna who thought she'd have a boring life. Who never spoke up, or defended herself. College, maybe a decent job, probably no new friendships.
As she exited the bathroom and made her way back to the sports hall, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of a window. Her new look wasn't just about practicality—it felt like armor. A way of saying she wasn't the same girl who failed to save her father all those years ago.
She rolled her shoulders back, a newfound confidence creeping into her posture as she reentered the gym. Jeff was the first to spot her, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the bleachers.
"New look?" he asked, smirking in that infuriatingly Jeff way.
Julianna smiled. "Yeah, because your peach-stained shirt is such a fashion statement."
"Fair point," Jeff conceded, but he gave her an almost approving nod before turning back to his peaches. She didn't know how he still had some left, but he was always a slow eater.
Across the room, Shauna glanced up from where she was sitting, her eyes flicking over Julianna's hair before she gave a subtle nod of acknowledgment. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make Julianna's chest feel a little lighter.
Misty, ever the observer, bounced over with wide eyes. "Oh my God, you cut your hair! It's so functional! Did you do it yourself? Because if you ever need help, I can—"
"It's okay," Julianna interrupted, smiling widely at the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine. I got it."
Misty blinked, then grinned. "Well, it looks great! Very practical. I'm proud of you."
Julianna shook her head, but there was a real smile tugging at her lips. She could feel the others occasionally glancing at her, their expressions ranging from curious to approving.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't mind being noticed. If anything, it reminded her that she was still here.
The group sat scattered across the sports hall, their voices bouncing off the walls in sharp bursts as they debated the next step. Everyone was there—huddled in clusters, leaning against walls, sitting on the bleachers, or pacing around the gym. The bags of weapons they'd scavenged lay in the center of the room like some unspoken centerpiece, a reminder of both their luck and the cost it had taken to get them.
Julianna sat cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against one of the bleachers, observing the chaos unfold. Her arms were loosely crossed, her thumb absently tracing the hem of her sleeve—a subtle grounding gesture she hadn't even realized she'd developed. The bite was still on her mind, but she'd decided for now that worrying herself into oblivion wasn't going to help. She was alive. She hadn't turned. That had to count for something.
"Three days," Natalie said, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her tone blunt and almost dismissive. "We leave in three days. I don't care how much planning you think we need. If we wait any longer, something's going to happen, and we'll miss our chance."
Shauna frowned from where she sat on the floor next to Jackie. "Three days isn't enough time to prepare. If we rush this, we'll die before we even make it halfway."
Van, sitting cross-legged next to Taissa, chimed in. "Yeah, but if we wait too long, we'll just burn through what little food we've got left. And, you know, the infected problem isn't exactly getting better."
Julianna let out a quiet breath through her nose, letting her eyes dart from person to person as they spoke. The arguments weren't entirely logical, but she understood where they were coming from. Everyone was on edge, grappling with some combination of fear, exhaustion, and desperation.
"Okay, okay," Misty said, waving her hands as she stepped forward, her energy vibrant. "Let's try not to spiral, guys. Remember what they said on the radio? Kansas City isn't going anywhere. We don't have to kill ourselves trying to get there right this second."
"Misty, it's not about rushing," Natalie shot back. "It's about not wasting time. Every day we sit here is another day we're vulnerable."
Misty turned, her hands on her hips. "And every day we don't prepare is another day we're vulnerable when we actually leave!"
Julianna could feel the tension rising, the voices growing louder and more clipped. She cleared her throat softly, but it wasn't enough to break through the noise.
"Guys," Jeff called from the bleachers, where he was slouched with his arms draped over his knees. "What if we just, I don't know, vote on it? Isn't that what normal groups of people do when they can't agree?"
"Oh, like you'd know what normal groups of people do," Julianna mumbled, unable to help herself. Her tone was dry but light, and it earned a quiet snicker from Van.
Jeff narrowed his eyes at her, but there was no real venom behind it. "I'm just saying. It's better than yelling over each other like it's a bad soap opera."
Julianna straightened up slightly, brushing her hair behind her ear as she glanced around the room. "...Actually, he's not wrong." She hesitated, glancing down at her hands for a moment before speaking again. "A vote would probably save us, like, an hour of arguing. Just... decide how big the group should be and when we leave. Start small."
There was a beat of silence as the suggestion sunk in, and then Taissa nodded. "Fine. A vote. Let's get it over with."
Everyone shuffled into a loose circle, and Julianna found herself wedged between Misty and Van. Misty, as usual, was buzzing with energy, practically bouncing on her heels. Van nudged her shoulder lightly as they settled in, murmuring, "You good?"
"Yeah," Julianna said, her voice quiet but steady. "Just processing."
Van gave her a crooked smile. "You're handling it better than half of us."
"Again, low bar," Julianna muttered, though her lips twitched in what could almost be considered a smile.
Misty, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "This is so democratic of us! Like a little apocalypse government."
"Misty," Shauna said, her tone flat but not unkind. "Don't push it."
One by one, the group began to vote. Julianna kept her gaze steady, watching as hands rose and fell with each question.
How large should the group be? Six, maybe seven, most agreed—enough to cover ground and defend themselves but not so large that they'd burn through supplies too quickly.
When should they leave? Three days won by a narrow margin, though the tension in the room was palpable. Shauna looked annoyed, Jackie looked anxious, and Natalie looked like she was ready to leave if someone so much as breathed wrong.
As the voting wrapped up, Julianna leaned back slightly, letting out a soft exhale. It wasn't perfect, but it was progress.
"See?" Jeff said, leaning back against the bleachers with a smug grin. "Was that so hard?"
"Shut up, Jeff," half the room muttered in unison.
Julianna shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. For all their dysfunction, there was something almost comforting about the group dynamic.
As people began to break off into smaller conversations, Misty turned to her with a grin. "See? That wasn't so bad! And I think we really nailed the whole 'organized decision-making' thing."
Julianna raised an eyebrow. "You mean the yelling and passive-aggressive comments?"
"Exactly!" Misty chirped, completely unfazed.
Julianna let out a quiet laugh, the sound surprising even herself. For a moment, she felt okay.