Ruminations of a Survivor

[AuruemSaber]

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The raindrops pelt against the windows of my room as the weather takes a turn for the worse. My anxiety steadily increases as the drops continue to pelt against the window with an increasing frequency as I wait for the tell-tale sounds of a ship setting down that will signify that Alex and the rest have arrived.

It was easy to get fired up in the moment and arrange for everyone to drag themselves down to Cambridge, but now that I'm here at Ant's, I find myself second-guessing every choice I've made in the last seventy-two hours.

I've never been a leader. I dread the moment I have to head down those stairs and give a briefing, bark orders and assignments like I'm in command. I didn't rush the gunfire head-on because I wanted to lead the way; I ran towards it because I was so blinded by anger, I stopped caring whether I lived or died anymore. It's easy to do things like that when you start to think it'd be easier dead and gone rather than trudging on through a hollow and hopeless life.

But dying isn't an option anymore; no, I have a mission that needs to be completed. Completed and seen through for the sake of the only people who ever gave me a fuckin' shot in this damn sector despite knowing the things I've done.

People who could call a monster like me their friend, if not something potentially more in one particular case that threatens to shatter my heart if I sit in this comfortable silk sheet bed dawdling on it any longer. So I pull myself out of the bed and strip down for a cold shower to make myself not look like the constant mess I've felt like since...

As I stand under the icy cold jets of water raining down from the showerhead like the rain itself outside, I realise I can't remember the last time I haven't been a chaotic, bloody emotional mess. It's almost funny how I was always so angry about what my life would be like before the war. Feeling as though my and everyone else's destinies were set in stone under the oppressive boot of BMM and the Crown, and yet now I almost long for the simplicity of these days.

I chalk it up to the tricks our minds can play on us as I step out of the shower and dry myself down, and as I do, I catch a glimpse of my own body in the mirror. I can see the wince on my face as I see the scars, and it makes me think of that pained look of sadness on Kristoff's face when he saw the burns from that dreadful day of sheer chaos on Erie. And as I can smell the stench of my own burnt flesh in my nostrils again, I remember how the guilt was visible, not just in his organic eye but also in his cybernetic one. As if he felt responsible for those injuries by having three years of his life ripped away from him, and my heart breaks.

The wave of guilt I feel hit me from our conversation the other day almost makes me want to bury myself back in the bedsheets as I wonder if I was too harsh with some of the things I said.

But before I can do so, the roar of a ship's engines blocks out the noise of the impact of the rain against the windows, signalling Alex's arrival. And I realise I have to steel myself for what will come next as I get dressed and prepare myself to face down a room of former special forces operators and make demands and orders of the people that walked through hell with me back on Leeds.

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