“No, I’m not. I haven’t been since you left,” I say.
“Say died,” he says
“Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? We finally get to see each other and you’re acting like this,” I say annoyed.
“Because I’m trying to help, you need help Quentin to look at you---”
“I need help because of you! I need help because for three years I had to drink myself to sleep every night. I need help because, before that, I didn’t talk for seven years—
“Except for me—”
“Except to you and you’re dead---and no I don’t have any friends, or a girlfriend, because I’m messed up and I’m weird and this---this right now, this is as close to normal as I can come, and I cannot—can not screw this up because this is my one chance to try to get away,” I realize I’m sobbing.
“See? You’re running away. At least I left for good. at least mum and Ginny knew what became of me. you, you’re just blowing away in the wind,” he says, “you’re letting them think you’re staying, but you’re not. you’re running.”
“Yes, yes I’m running---I’m running as fast as I can from being like Ginny’s dad and most of all from being you,” I say, “and I’m going to get away and I’m going to be---somebody good. and I don’t know how to do that, because I think we can both agree I didn’t have anybody to show me how, but I’m trying okay? I’m trying to run.”
“But you fell,” he says.
“Yes, I fell,” I say.
“I did something good for you, you know,” he says.
“what?” I scoff.
“I left. if I stayed, you’d still be there, following me around like a puppy, going to bars with me every night, picking up girls, god, I’d have corrupted you well, but I didn’t. I left,” he says, holding up his hands helpfully, “I left you to become this.”
“This isn’t so bad,” I say.
“No, you could be worse, you could be incapable of social interactions, untrusting, and an alcoholic---oh wait---”
“You’re wrong,” I say, backing away from him. I feel hands on my arms, somebody is pulling me free. “I’m not running away.”
“It’s okay, come on back now.”
“Oh? What is it you’re doing?” he asks.
“Flying,” I say, then I take hold of the arms and let them pull me free.
“Come on back, please wake up, please don’t be dead,” a cadet would go and die on me I told Ebbel we weren’t missing a couple and here he is lying two miles down the trail cold as ice probably dead.
“Thank you,” he wakes up rather abruptly, tears leaking from his eyes. he wipes them away. “Sir---I tripped. I’m sorry sir I---”
“Cut the ‘sir’ crap, are you all right? lie down, damn it,” I say, pushing him back down. he has a nasty bump on the back of his head and it’s rather bloody.
“Yes, sir, I’m all right, now, sir,” he says, urgently, trying to sit up again as I push him down.
“You’re going to medical, first off, second off you’re lying here till I can---determine if you get up,” I say, checking the back of his head. it’s not still bleeding just a little bloody from the bump. “What time was it when you tripped---why are you crying?”
“Sir—it’s---the pain,” he says, wiping his eyes again, “Sir I’m all right to stand.”
“Well, not just yet,” I say, looking at him curiously. He’s big for his age, a big boy, poor thing a bit too thin too. His eyes are the same sort of grey as mine, he’s the sort of kid I used to look at, wonder if he was mine. Now I know who my daughter is. But he’s somebody’s son. Somebody who isn’t sitting here with him as she’s crying on the forest floor. Why do I have to be so sentimental? “Come on, what’s wrong?”
“I just---when I was passed out---I felt, I felt like I used to feel when I was drunk,” he says, then he clarifies, “You know when you’ve had so much everything makes sense at the time but you know it won’t later?”
“You’ve been drunk enough to know that?” I ask, surprised. I try to remember when I started drinking? Eighteen? Twenty? When I realized I had a three or four year old who was learning to talk and none of the words were ‘daddy’? yeah, about then.
“My step-dad was a drunk,” he says.
“Sucks,” I say.
“Yeah, our mum left him,” he says, “So it’s all right.”
“You got any brothers or sisters?” I ask, gently.
“A little sister. And I had an older brother, he died,” he says.
“How’d he die?” I ask.
“He hung himself, in our flat. I watched. I was six, he was sixteen, my sister was two. She was in the other room. asleep. I came out because my brother was up, and he was getting the rope ready. He told me to watch, said he was going to show me a trick. So I sat there, and I watched, and then I tried to talk to him, and he didn’t talk back, and his eyes were sort of bulging, and he didn’t answer me. and I sat there, and I waited, as he told me to, waited for the trick. I thought the trick was gonna be that he was gonna come back, but he didn’t. my mum came home, I guess. I just remember her screaming and screaming,” he says, his voice is flat, emotionless.
“Good reason to drink,” I say, nodding. In comparison to my reason, my reason being that I’m an idiot. A lonely idiot. But an idiot.
“Not really,” he says.
“What happened?” I ask, I don’t know what else to say clearly this kid should be talking to somebody about this---somebody qualified in---mental health or something. not me. but here I am. sitting in the forest with him. his dad left, apparently. And I’m somebody’s dad so that sort of qualifies me to be here as a surrogate. I feel an odd kinship for the boy.
“I didn’t talk for the next seven years, not till I started drinking,” he says, “My sister she could---she knew what I was thinkin’ and I did well in school. The funny thing about it---I don’t’ remember that. not talking. I only know, cause one day I came home from school and asked my mum if we had oranges---get that orange, and she just stares at me. and I ask her ‘what’ and she says ‘You haven’t spoken since Ian died’ and then she just started cryin’. But the thing was, I don’t remember ever not talking. I remember them not hearing me. I’d wonder why my mum would just stare at me when I said things. Or she’d cry a little when she tucked me in at night. thing was, I thought I was talking. But I wasn’t making any sound.”
“That’s---the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say.
“So I get to be screwed up, then?” he asks.
“A little bit,” I say, staring at the poor crazy, damaged kid. Who did that to a kid? What sort of sicko leaves his six-year-old to wind up like that? leaves him? I didn’t have a choice, I wanted to be there---I had a choice. I wasn’t there. my daughter wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for me. and I made her exist for me not to be there. what sort of sick horrible lonely stories did she have? All because I wasn’t there?
“Don’t cry!” he slides a little closer to me, sitting up because I’m not bothering to stop him.
“I’m not crying,” I say.
“It looks like you are---I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told you I’ve never told all of that to anyone, I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t have told you,” he says.
“Yes, yes you should, that’s exactly the problem you should everyone should,” I say, “And we don’t---we don’t hear each other, as you said, we aren’t making any sounds even when we’re crying out. because we’re alone.”
“I wasn’t alone,” he says.
“No, you were very alone, not like me, not like my alone, you were alone in your own head, and it took a while for you to find your way out,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand, “What’s your name?”
“Leavitt, sir,” he says.
“No, you’re the first name,” I say.
“Quentin,” he says.
“Okay, mine’s Rebellion,” I say, “Nobody calls me that anymore, nobody.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
“So call me my name,” I say.
“Rebellion,” he says.
“Thank you, Quentin,” I say, “you’re a good man.”
“I’m not even a man,” he says.
“You’re twice the man than me,” I say.
I send that idiot looking for our three missing cadets and where do I find him? sitting on a tree stump crying. one of the cadets is with him, but he too is bawling his eyes out.
“What is going on here?” I ask, making them both jump.
“He hit his head, I’m sitting with him until he’s all right,” Harris says, standing up, letting go of the cadet’s hand.
“Why are you crying?” I ask, disgustedly.
“It’s the orange blossoms, can’t you smell them in the air?” Harris asks, but he doesn’t look at me, he looks at the cadet.
“Sir, I know I can,” the cadet smiles, a sweet, boyish grin, and squeezes Harris’ hand before releasing it.
“Did you hit your head as well, Sergeant?” I ask.
“No, sir, I’m quite well,” Harris says.
“Report to IDMT—hell I’ll take you myself,” I say, “Harris, keep looking for Card and Tom.”
“Yes, sir,” Harris says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“Sir, I feel well enough to rejoin the others,” Cadet Leavitt says.
“We’re getting you checked out,” I say. first I’ll take this one to IDMT, then I’ll go find the other two cadets. If you want something done right, clearly you have to do it yourself.
Chapter 11
“G
ood morning, ma’am,” he says, innocently.
“Answer the question, cadet, where have you been?” I ask.
“Leave them alone—he’s been with me,” Thorn walks up, looking hungover. “I required Cadet Tom and Cadet Card’s assistance in returning with Cadet King from IDMT.”
“Sir?” I ask him annoyed that he couldn’t have appeared before I gave a very imposing rant. “How did they assist you?”
“If you must know,” he takes my arm and pulls me closer, “They helped me get free of that maniac you have working in medical! What is the matter with that person? he drugged me up!”
“Oh, yes, Dr. Truth Juice, I’d forgotten he’d left the academy, something about malpractice, you didn’t actually ask him for something did you?” I ask.
“No—yes, but I should be able to ask for pain killers without getting drugged!” he says.
“You shouldn’t have been hungover,” I say, turning back to the Cadets, who are waiting for me.
“Cadet Card, rejoin your flight, everyone else, go get showered off. we have a drill in twenty minutes, MOVE.”
“Cadet Card you are not to report to the brig tonight,” Thorn calls.
“What?” I ask, surprised he’s overruling Ebbel.
“He saved me from that maniac,” Thorne says, “the least I can do is get him out of something he didn’t deserve in the first place.”
Damn it damn it damn it. I do something decent for Thorn after messing with his head and convincing him I’m the antichrist, and the ruins all my fun. Now I’ll just have to get thrown back in.
My reasoning is twofold. One, he actually did me a good deed and stuck his neck out there for me when he could have gotten in trouble, and saved me from that serum administering sociopath. Two, if he is the antichrist, we might as well not antagonize him by sending him to prison when no walls can hold his fiery spirit. See? Win-win.
“Thank you thank you thank you for saving me,” Logan has yet to stop hugging Tom.
“Of course, me and this silly beggar, looking over your shoulder when Wilde was talking to you,” Tom says, rolling her eyes at me for the last bit.
“I know it’s just funny—I used to do it to Thorn all the time—and my mum drove them mad,” I say, smiling at the memory. My mother screaming ‘how many Titus’ are there??” and me pretending to count invisible people. Happy times.
“Did it?” I ask, dryly. I don’t have a mum to drive mad so that’s a bit annoying to me. He can’t help it, though, he’s lucky. At least his mum was about to be driven mad.
“Thank you thank I was so scared and that awful man! You weren’t kidding, he was at us, right away with the juice,” Logan says, horrified at the memory.
“He had Thorn on more of it than you, the man was delirious,” Titus says.
“It took us half the walk just to have him talking in complete sentences,” I say.
“Well, Peter, anything fun happens while we were gone?” Titus asks as the boy hurries to catch us.
“Other than the MTIs ranting about the two of you going missing, no,” Peter says, “It was long and hot, I’m sure you had a much better time.”
“Not really,” I say, thinking of Titus’ offer of a kiss earlier. An offer I actually want to accept he’s just so---wild. He’s wild, that’s what he is. Untamed.
“Thank you for keeping an eye on things, how did the Tims fare?” Titus asks.
“They were slower than usual, but I heard them whispering last night before you got in so I don’t suppose they got much sleep,” Peter says, opening the door to the showers for us. we all shower together, just like we all bunk together. that isn’t awkward at all with wild teenage hormones. Of course, we’ve all been sterilized, after gender-appropriate samples were collected. The operations aren’t always successful, but the odds of two opposite-sex people who happen to have had a thousand to one failed operation, aren’t very likely. So we all bathe and eat and sleep together one big happy hormonal family.
“I don’t suppose,” Titus says, as we file in, going to our lockers and beginning to take our oxygen tanks than our clothes off, hanging them on hooks in our lockers.
“Lucky you got yourself out of the brig,” Tyrell says, knocking Titus on the back of the head. Titus does not look amused, but he turns smoothly.
“I honestly did not think I would,” he says, holding up his hands innocently.
“Yeah, well, nice for you anyway,” Tyrell says, still looking annoyed.
“Where’s Leavitt?” Liesel asks, seeing the other two flight leaders. She’s half undressed already, just her bra and compression shorts on. completely unashamed, she addresses the two boys. I envy her that a bit. so far as I know neither one of them has offered to kiss her. that makes this process that much more awkward. I sigh a little and undress anyway.
“I was running about breaking people out of IDMT, I’ve not seen anyone,” Titus says, he has the good manners not to stare at me, not looking away awkwardly either, just calm, professional. It irks me, I like him more for it yet he feels like---such a bad idea.
“He got lost during the run as well,” Tyrell says.
“He did?” I ask. He looked nice, a tall shy quiet thing the sort of boy I should be attracted to but am not, “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know,” Tyrell says.
“I heard Wilde and Harris talking—Ebbel walked him to IDMT,” Darla says, passing us, completely naked. The boys and Liesel all give her an appreciative glance before continuing the conversation.
“Oh, right, keep an eye on things for me, will you Peter?” Titus asks, putting his grey t-shirt back on and picking up his oxygen tank.
“You’re not,” I say, as he turns to run back out of the showers.
“Oh, I am,” he says.
If saving one MTI and cadet from the Dr. Truth Juice got me out of the brig, maybe saving another will get me back in. Hope springs eternal. Even if it does mean missing the enchanting adamite ritual going on in the locker room, still. I had a nice talk with Tom earlier and she may think about kissing me now. I’ll certainly think about kissing her.
“There is nothing wrong with me, I feel wonderful, I have nothing to tell you, just have a look at him,” Ebbel practically shoves me through the door of the examining room at IDMT. I’ve never been here before and I honestly don’t need it now. I could carry on with the day just fine, my headaches a bit but I’m sure I’
ve had worse knocks.
“Are you sure now, m’ boy? We could always get you in here, get some nice juice, make sure there’s really nothing wrong with you,” the doctor rasps, sort of chasing Ebbel around the room.
“I could not possibly be more positive I’ll send someone along to collect him have a good day,” Ebbel says, backing out the door and closing it in the doctor’s face.
“Here, my boy, let’s get you settled down and see what’s wrong with you,” the doctor says, studying me through thick glasses.
“Nothing---I just tripped and my oxygen tank hit my head, that’s all,” I say, sitting obediently all the same.
“That’s what they all say nothing wrong---we’ll get to the bottom of this now, here’s some juice, m’boy, just a little juice,” he says, coming over with a syringe.
“No, I’m really fine,” I say, a bit unsure, “I don’t need a shot---”
“Let me be the judge of that? Who’s the doctor here? Who’s got the truth juice? I am, I do, sit still m’boy,” he sticks the syringe in my arm. I wince a little then my head begins to spin.
“What’s really wrong now?” the doctor kneels down in front of me. “You can tell me now, m’ boy.”
“Nothing, nothing now,” I say, “I feel better, now that I’ve talked Rellion.”
“Who?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter---he heard me,” I say, leaning back into the bliss of nothing. it would feel good to sleep. Really sleep.
“Interesting, interesting, here’s some more juice, you’re liking the juice aren’t you m’boy,” he asks.
“No, no I’m finished, not one more drink,” I say, shaking my head. this feels like getting drunk. When you’re just starting to get drunk and you know it hasn’t hit you yet but you’re loose and feel the buzz.
“You want a drink, m’ boy? What you want, something to go nicely with the juice,” he goes over to a cabinet and opens it. It’s filled with bottles of liquor.
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