To Be A Killer

Chapter 75: Lifeboat

Anxious, jittery chatter fills Janine's farmhouse. I can hear snippets of different conversations from around the living room, all the runners talking about the different things going on in their lives.

Because of yesterday's mission success, Janine has allowed the runners to have a celebration of it in her home. She even allowed us to open up a bottle of some good, expensive sounding wine. And a lot of people liked that, since alcohol is hard to come by, and good alcohol is nearly impossible.

I wouldn't know if it's actually good though. I declined the offer of whatever brand it was called and am simply sipping on a cup of water instead, watching as everyone else giggles and talks about what we've done and what we plan on doing.

I think this celebration is a bit premature, to be honest, but I realize just as well we should celebrate the small victories. Plus I've been told by a few others that this is also a celebration for me, since I'm back, and immune to mind control, and, in their eyes, I'm slowly getting better-less and less nightmares, fewer and fewer breakdowns with each passing day.

They think because they simply said they don't blame me, I'm suddenly better, all the trauma gone as if it never even happened.

I scoff. How stupid of them.

But I let them celebrate. I let them think I'm fine. I let them come over to me in my little corner and tell me how glad they are that I'm back. Even Cameo came up to me and said I'm more than welcome to take back my Head of Runners position when I'm ready.

But I'm not ready, and it was Janine who stripped me of my title. I'd rather it be her to tell me when I get it back, if I get it back. I'm not even sure I want it back.

I've never been a leader. I never wanted to be a leader. I'm a good follower, a good runner. I do my job well but only when I know what I'm supposed to do. I do what I'm told...

I proved that at the AMTB as a runner and Torrencer, at Mullins as a runner, and as a soldier for Moonchild.

I'm not meant to be in charge.

So I stay quiet. I don't let anyone know what's going on on the inside. I don't let them know how guilt still threatens to eat me alive, how I still hear their voices in my head, how I still hear Moonchild's voice in my head. Only Sam knows about that, but even he doesn't know how a part of me misses her.

It's weird. I hate her. I absolutely despise her, but I still miss her-I miss that feeling of happiness. I feel sad and happy when I think of her. I feel disgusted yet content when I think there was a time I felt no guilt.

I feel too much.

"You look like your head's about to explode."

I look up at sea green eyes, the owner of the pair standing in front of me, glass of wine in her hand, barely drank.

"Why do you say that?" I ask, voice flat, and Summer smirks.

"You forget we're from the same place. I can see straight through you." She hands her glass out to me. "I think you need it more than I do."

"I don't drink."

"You do tonight."

I stare at her for a long moment, before sighing and taking the glass from her. I take a sip of the red liquid, rolling it around on my tongue. It's sweet, oddly enough-fruity almost. I swallow, then take another sip, ignoring the thought that I will most definitely regret this when I'm reading my Bible tonight.

"Why did you come to talk to me?" I ask. "We aren't exactly friends, no offense."

"None taken. And I come over to you because you and I both know this celebration is stupid and irrelevant. We haven't won. We've just tipped the scales in our favor. We both know what happens when we celebrate prematurely; We're caught off guard. And we end up losing more than we gained. We can't go into our next mission thinking we have this."