A Modern Myth

by Clara Wake

  “I guess,” he shrugs. The right side of his face is completely numb. He feels so alienated and frail. He doesn’t want to be there, and most of all he doesn’t want to go back to his room – more ammunition for the squad to fire at him. His shoulders drop and slump as he lays on his back and runs his palm over his head. The small few inches of hair tickle his skin.

  “I’ll come by every day, okay?” Jake promises, nodding to him and smiling brightly before tapping Nickolai on the leg, and moving his way through the room. “See you tomorrow, little phoenix.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Weeks walk by, even a couple of months. Nickolai gets the most rest he’s ever had, and eventually the swelling dissolves and the stitches are removed. Although, they didn’t stop the scarring to his face, Fortunately, for Nickolai’s his right eye is not damaged.

  He manages to entertain himself through magazines, TV, and a tennis ball that Jake snuck in. Throwing it at the wall and catching it. Even in the middle of the night while he can’t sleep – haunted by nightmares of the event and terrors of this place. – he’d be throwing the ball at the wall. Constant rhythm of banging from the wall for hours throughout the night.

  It drives the nurse’s wild and sometimes mad, but they let him have it—even though they end up jerking awake because of it. They storm into his room and scold him for doing it. It only has him snickering at them and putting it beside him on the bedside table. Sometimes, Nickolai can be one hell of a cheeky boy. A side that is a rarity to see, if at all.

  While Jake is there, they talk about their favourite books and how far in they are— like a contest, but Jake gives Nickolai a raincheck on the challenge since most of the time. He only has the one eye to read with.

  “You should be heading back soon,” Jake announces with a hint of joy in his tone. He then throws the tennis ball to the back wall, and catches it while Nickolai eats, and he eats.

  This is the first time since he’s been in Earth’s squad that he’s eaten regularly and a lot of food, instead of what Jake can get his hands on without being seen or caught.

  Nickolai doesn’t reply, he just continues to eat, ignoring the statement of having to go back. He realizes just how bad it is back there now that he’s been here. Able to rest, to eat, and do as he please. The second he goes back, it will be orders barked at him, insults left and right, and no more food. Hungry once again. It makes him cringe. His scar has mostly healed; it is still tender, but it is healed enough. He can see with his right eye, and there is nothing stopping him from getting back into training.

  As described by his nurse, he has a Hypertrophic Scar, slightly raised yet firm. It is very red and pink now, due to the increased blood flow, but eventually, in a few months or even a year, it’ll become paler. Yet, right now? It is very noticeable, as if he needs something else to his face for people to stare at.

  With that, the Captain is there and summoning him back to the unit. “Get back to your room, Nickolai. That’s enough holiday time for you,” he tells him and walks out while Jake has ducked down, hiding behind the bed and out of the Captain’s line of sight.

  “I’m going to miss my three-a.m. wake-up calls,” His nurse moans, slightly teasing him but she genuinely would miss having him around. He’s a pleasant person to be around, charming, kind and shy, but the more you got to know him, once he let his walls down. He is such a character.

  “Hopefully I don’t see you in here again,” she adds, smiling at him with a sincere and bright smile before heading out of the room and leaving him to gather his things and head back to the Hell he came from.

  What was that? Two months of a life of luxury. He got to play games, read more books than he could in a month down here. He got so much to eat, and so much rest. Was it a taste of life outside these walls? The freedom to do as you pleased? Sure, he was healing and practically confined to a bed the entire time, but anything is better than the building he is about to return to.

  He wants to turn his heels and walk back to the infirmary, but he knows he can’t. He knows he or the others don’t deserve such freedom.

  He stalls, making his way back slowly. He knows where to go, but he wants to enjoy the last glimmer of freedom he has left.

  Standing outside, he stares up at the sky; the sun is setting and painting the sky with a beautiful orange and purple glow. It is stunning, and for once he witnesses a flock of birds flying above. If only they knew how lucky they are.

  He knows any minute now; the Captain will storm out of those doors and drag him in by his ear.

  Even though Nickolai knows Jake will do anything and everything he can to keep him out of harm’s way, fear starts to tremble his bones.

  Finally, he steps inside the open doors and moves into the hallway and sees them all sitting on the sofa waiting for him.

  His bones become erratic upon seeing them. Stopping at the door frame, he watches them before slowly making his way towards his own room. At least, there is a small bout of safety.

  “Hey! Welcome back!” Tyler greets him. This is the first time he’s directly spoken to him, and it has Nickolai to a halt, instantly striking a baffled expression.

  He doesn’t say anything, only gives him suspicious shifty eyes, and furrowed eyebrows. He’s cautious, and clearly distrusting of every member of his own squad, Jake being the exception of course.

  “You proved yourself, pointy. No more trouble,” Aiden chimes in and nods. He gives Nickolai a very serious expression as he shifts aside slightly, making room for him to take a seat with them.; as if he’d been dreaming of that day since the moment he arrived.

  Nickolai turns his nose up at the offer and shakes his head becoming frustrated. “Thanks, I’m just going to my room`1” he points towards his closed door, and slowly steps towards it. Suddenly Aiden jumps and pounces up from the sofa and blocks Nickolai from entering his own room.

  “Hey, come on. Don’t be like that,” The older boy commands, and shrugs at him; standing before him and keeping his eyes on Nickolai’s. Sometimes, even he would get lost in those odd eyes, both colours so vibrant and stunning. He’d become stuck on which to focus on, but right now it’s his right eye; illuminated by the sore red and pink scar surrounding it.

  “I just want to go to my room,” Nickolai repeats softly, holding in the burst of rage that itches beneath his skin. Shaking his head at him, how could Aiden even begin to think of being accepted by him after everything he’s done? He’s fractured his ribs, beat him to a pulp, starved him and made him believe he truly is pathetic. The list could go on, and yet here he is, looking for appreciation.

  Jake is on edge, literally on the edge of the sofa’s armrest, ready to launch up if Nickolai needs it. His heart is erratic; he has no idea what is going on, or that this ambush is even happening. He can’t stand the tension that thickens the air and the looks on their faces. Nickolai isn’t a fool; he won’t fall for such a mirage.

  “Come on!” Aiden wraps his arm around Nickolai’s shoulders and pulls him towards the couch. “You’re finally one of us!” he announces, as he pushes and forces him to take a seat in the middle of the largest sofa.

  Sinking in, Nickolai keeps his arms and hands to himself and closes in.

  The silence is deafening, and the fear bubbles within his veins. He chews the inside of his cheek, before bouncing up and attempting to get away, but he’s pulled back down by Tyler who is on his right and Syrus on his left. “Hold him down,” Aiden orders. “This is the Governor's orders, and we are happy to oblige,” he starts, as he gives the boys restraints to hold him down, before looking up to see Jake clenching his fists. “We don’t need a medic,” he tells him in a very low and malicious tone.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Jake.” Syrus calls out, before colliding his fist into Nickolai’s cheek and smirking proudly.

  Jake blinks slowly as his throat tightens. Tears start to strain his eyes, and with that, he bolts towards the door and rushes outside. Panting and trying to control his rage. He has to do
something, he can’t let whatever the hell is going on to happen. His heart contracts heavily in his chest, but it soon drops the second he hears Nickolai screaming in pure agony.

  The sound rings through Nickolai’s ears and shakes his entire body; it reminds him of the daunting time, the Governor shaved off his crimson thatch. His body is vibrating and shrouded in fear as the pain tears his skin. The machine drilling and penetrating the broken, and recuperating casing. Tracing over every raised and shattered layer. Tearing it apart once again but saturating the layer with dark and black lines. They are tattooing his scar.

  Haunting cries escape his lips until Tyler traps them with his palm, smacking it against his lips and applying pressure while Aiden holds his face still and sinks the needles into his tender skin. Each stroke and thread of the needles breaks the casing and paints his face; the machine constantly humming with each applied pressure. They draw and trace over the tender scar, creating a black defined and unique shape hiding the scar. As if it were never there.

  That is what they’re told to do—to hide the scar, and make sure it isn’t noticeable. The Governor is strict and very stern on what she wants. Why? They are never told. Just told to do as requests and to never speak of it again.

  His tolerance for the pain has come to a sharp end. Dizziness starts to overtake him, and his body can’t handle it anymore. It isn’t long before beads of sweat start to erupt from his forehead and his body become extremely feeble. He slips into darkness; he can’t take the overbearing pain anymore.

  “He tapped out,” Syrus alerts Aiden with an anxious tone. Aiden returns his observation with a heavy shrug of a shoulder and continues to colour the scar in.

  Hours fade, each of them taking turns. Making sure the ink sinks and settles into the fresh recuperating skin; the ink rejected it and thus took a long time to grasp the skin – proving to be quite time-consuming and irritating.

  More hours pass, and Jake holds his breath each time he tries to go back into the hall. He is helpless. The guards, the Captain and most specifically the Governor wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he goes to them. He is on his own, and he can’t blow his cover. If he did, he’d be left for dead - and that’s not an exaggeration at all.

  There are moments when he almost runs in there charging with a bat swinging and a battle cry, but he holds himself back, bites his tongue and forces himself to hold it together. He won’t be doing either of them any good if he goes through with it. The more he traces his thoughts and mind around the situation, the more he starts to prepare himself and Nickolai for the aftermath. On his feet, he gathers himself and collects some aftercare cream to help heal the tattoo. It’s used in almost every tattoo parlour and sometimes found in most homes as a remedy for rashes and burns. Easy to get his hands on as a Medic, thankfully.

  The sky turns black, and the stars glitter and littered the sky. Jake is still waiting.

  Ready after gathering all the essentials to help Nickolai hidden in his pockets, Jake impatiently waits to duck his head in to see where they are. The image of him lying there, almost lifeless, as they ink his petite face etches in his mind and creates a burning after image. He’s never felt so helpless.

  Anger ripples through his veins, each clench of his fists and jaw attempting to bottle the rage sinking within.

  He cares about Nickolai, unlike anyone else in this shithole. For once, he cares about someone; and he isn’t going to lose him. Not by the hands of the Governor. Sure, he may only be two years older than him, but he has so much hope and faith in Nickolai. It is almost impeccable. To Jake, Nickolai is like a phoenix, no matter what you do to him, how hard you break him, he’ll always come back. – he’d rise above and that itself had him purely astound by his determination at such a young age.

  Jake sees so much personality, character, and life behind those odd-eyes. Something most people didn’t dare to see or fail to see. While they see failure, weakness, and abnormalities, Jake sees strength, courage, and purpose with heart and soul. He sees Nickolai for exactly who he is. He’s so young, and he has so much going for him. Jake’s dream is to make sure Nickolai survives this journey and for once to be free.

  “I think we’re done,” Aiden breathes heavily. He places the machine down, the buzzing finally at a halt. Each of the boys look over Nickolai, his face red and swollen.

  “Let’s throw him in his room, and call it a night,” Aiden insists before they all gather around and pick up Nickolai’s limp body. They shuffle to his room and throw him down on the floor. “See you tomorrow, loser.”

  The early hours of the morning chase the night; the clock is ticking, and the scent of blood is roaming the air. The moonlight soars through the windows, the only glimmer of hope and light pools across the floors.

  Jake has not slept at all; he made sure everyone was fast asleep before he slipped into Nickolai’s room. His heart drops finding him face and stomach down on the cold concrete floors of his own room. They didn’t even have the decency to put him on his bed. It aggravates him so deeply, as a hiss rolls from his lips.

  Carefully, Jake places a pillow beneath Nickolai’s head and gently shakes him, attempting to wake him up from his solitary slumber. For a moment, Nickolai almost looks peaceful but Jake’s eyes soon lock on the fresh ink, seeing the corners and edges surfacing and the redness flushing his face.

  “Nicko,” he carefully whispers, trying to control his volume. While most of the boys, sleep like a rock – he is used to Nickolai’s light sleeping patterns.

  Feeling the sudden shake of his shoulder and the subtle soft and sincere whispers, Nickolai soon flutters his eyelids, slowly waking up. His eyebrows furrow, flooded with a giant stinging sensation on his face. His right hand immediately moves to press against his cheek, where a pained gasp hisses from his lips – Remembering what happened.

  His eyes soon seal shut, tightly attempting to numb the increasing pain. His head throbs and his mind is numb. He shifts slightly, wishing to be able to touch the right side of his face, but he knows not to. Eventually, he flickers his eyes up to meet Jake’s concerned gaze., fixated on his every move.

  His left ear twitches as his eyes focus on him. “What happened?” He slowly mumbles, giving him that soft and baffled expression; he always searches for answers.

  “The Governor ordered them to hide your scar,” he answers quickly, as best as he can, while trying not to wince at the scar. They did their job; it looks like Nickolai was drunk and got a very regrettable face tattoo. Only he’s eight years old, so, that story won’t fly, at all. Who the hell does The Governor think she is?

  The humming of the machine still drills inside Nickolai’s mind, like the annoyance of having a song trapped in your head all day. He’s dazed and sapped at the radiating pain to his face, and the pure fact, that this was ordered. He soon moves slightly and closes in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He’s never felt so abused, belittled, and ashamed. He’d been trained to deal with such scenarios, yet he’s done nothing to stop it. Why, He knows why? Because no matter what he would have done, it wouldn’t have stopped it from happening.

  “I got this for you,” Jake says, attempting to spread some positivity, and shows him a large tube of cream.

  “You place it over the ink three to four times a day for around two weeks,” he instructs him, with a caring and tender tone. The guilt traps in his eyes as he watches him.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything,” Jake finally admits defeat and caves as he speaks, swallowing the eruption of sorrow and guilt lodged in his throat.

  “You couldn’t,” Nickolai tells him, taking the cream from him and spreading it on the fingertip of his index finger and carefully smoothing it along the scar as carefully as he can. The cream, cold and soothing, gives him a small sense of relief, to breathe without anticipating a spark of pain to sprout from the edges.

  “No, but I want to smash their heads in,” Jake tells him with a small smile spreading his lips a
nd tilt of his head. He only wishes that the scenario that played in his mind happened. How amazing it would have been to give them a taste of their own medicine.

  Nickolai chuckles softly, “Don’t do that, unless I’m able to see it happen,” he points out, as he continues to trace his fingertips over the burning wound, spreading the cream over it and making sure not to miss a single inch of it.

  “Noted,” Jake chuckles. His smile brightens, he’s so glad Nickolai was okay – he is the phoenix he believes him to be. “Are you okay, little phoenix?” Jake must ask, to soothe his drilling madness and concern.

  “I’m fine, thanks to you again,” he replies. He owes Jake a lot, but he doesn’t realize that being his friend is all he needs – and for him? That’s all he needs too.

  “I got your back; I’m not just as your medic,” He insists, his tone switching from a cheeky tone to a more serious note before he picks himself up and sighs deeply.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he tells him, before rustling Nickolai’s growing hair and messes it further with a snicker.

  “Tomorrow,” Nickolai repeats and shuffles from his sitting position on the cold floor to his bed, where he is finally left alone to let the dark thoughts claw and sink through his mind. This is how he is treated, and no one cares. Only one person. Is he built for sin?

  Standing in front of the mirror, Nickolai’s hands ruffle, pull, and sway his hair. Fingertips entangled in the dark crimson locks.

  Trying to hide the scar on the right side of his face, however, he struggles deeply. Very heavy and loud sighs slip from his lips, as he bites back the tears that rumble in his chest.

  His hair isn’t cooperating with him at all. He tries his best to pull and sweep his long fringe from the left of his face over to the right. His hair only disobeys his intentions and falls straight back to the left side, and he’s left growling and grinding his teeth. His small face becomes red with rage.