Clover Madden and the Order of Ivan

5) Lennon's Untimely Demise

They have been sitting in still silence for several hours, staring aimlessly out in the distance. The only thing keeping her from passing out due to hunger is the occasional wave hitting the base of the boat and splashing on her face every so often.

Each droplet of water only seems to be a traitorous reminder of how utterly damned she is. This is exactly what her mother was scared of; evil people who prey upon the weak and defenseless. And she is useless when it comes to saving herself, let alone the people around her.

Once nightfall approaches, the ocean is so vibrant that the light illuminating from the water is strong enough to hurt Clover's eyes when she looks at it directly.

"So much for running away," She hears Jane say in a sleepy mumble from beside her. When she looks over to her, the girl's eyes are halfway shut and she stretches her arms out in an exaggerated fashion to yawn before turning to stare at Clover.

"Where do you suppose they're taking us?" She whispers, the sound of Jane's yawn making her do the same in return. She then realizes just how tired she is and makes an effort to glare into the near blinding light reflecting from the glowing blue water until her eyes burn, focusing on the scorching sensation rather than the urge to yawn again.

"I dunno," Jane says tiredly, eventually resting her head on Clover's shoulder. This small action sends a wave of nausea through her stomach and she is suddenly aware of the cold, salty air blowing on her skin, making goosebumps spread on her arms. She doesn't know why this sort of full-body reaction is warranted from a simple friendly touch. She isn't scared of Jane; in fact, she trusts her a lot. They have stuck together, despite only meeting two days ago. So why does Clover feel as though she may throw up now that her friend is resting on her shoulder? Maybe she's simply touch-starved, having been given so little of it that hasn't been cruel.

Aside from cuddling up with Malcolm on the nights that his flashbacks were bad enough for him to start shrieking, she hadn't been given the luxury of human contact by anyone in a long time. And even then, she was too busy trying to quiet him, terrified by the possibility of waking Mary up too early on the wrong day. Never had physical touch been handed out to her so generously, as though a person like her deserves something so kind.

She's positive that if Jane were to find out that she's a vicious murderer the girl would flinch away from her; positive that she'd be revolted to have even touched Clover. Is she taking advantage of Jane? Maybe she is as entitled as Mary says she is.

But, even though Clover is positive that Jane should see her as nothing more than the gunk at the bottom of her shoes, the girl still treats her like a person.

Not just a person, but a friend.

She's never had a friend before, unless she counts Malcolm—though, he's really her family. He's forced to love her. But Jane isn't forced to do anything; she just does out of the kindness of her own heart. Though, she knows that even the most generous person in the world wouldn't want to be her friend if they were to find out about what happened to her mother. It's best to keep that from Jane for as long as she can, to hold onto the kindness. Nobody has to know about her past. This is her chance to start a new life—her chance to be a kid.

After a while, Clover drifts to sleep alongside Jane, heads on top of heads and shoulders hunched into each other, their sore backs resting against a stack of wooden crates. She only allows herself to sleep for a few hours, though, not wanting to risk letting her body rest deep enough for her tortured memories to drift to the surface of her dreams.

***

The following morning, the water isn't as blinding, but she can still see a shimmer reflecting off of it. Having been extremely suspicious of the food provided on the ferry, she is surprised to find that the children who ate the previous night are in fact, not dead. With that factor in mind, she stands up to grab a bowl of tropical fruit for breakfast to appease the sudden violent thumping in her head and maybe even keep her vision from blanking because of her lack of nutrition. And, yes, maybe the idea of eating something fresh, something that isn't on the brink of going rotten or scraps from somebody else's meal is just too tempting to resist. It's no secret that she's weak; she's already well aware of that pathetic fact about herself.