Displaced

Timber - Forty-Three

My mother always told me to never go to bed angry. At the time, I'm pretty sure she intended for it to be romance advice. In all actuality, it applied to every relationship, because that night I went to bed still mad at Chevelle. It killed me inside. The hardest thing to do was lay there and pretend I was asleep as she quietly crawled into bed. Lara was between us, but it might as well have been burning coals or sharp spikes because both Chevelle and I went as far to the edge as possible. There was a mini-tug-o-war with the covers, before I finally gave in and let her just have them.

I'd have rather just slept on the couch, but that would piss off the Achlivans. Then again, she could have already been changing her mind about me. Just because she said she wouldn't throw me under the bus, didn't mean she couldn't sing a different tune. After all, she did think I was a traitor.

How could she even say such a thing to me? I was gunning for survival here, not joining the crowd and becoming some kind of a puppet. She didn't even give me a chance to explain more about why I was even considering the position. Something about what Paul had said really struck me deep down in my core. I had the opportunity to help people, actually help them. All by listening, caring, and helping them get more comfortable with everything that was happening. There was nothing wrong with that – at all. Did she not understand that I lived to make people happy?

Learning things would be useful for both of us, as well. I could figure out how to get back home, what was going on in the first place, and a number of other things to help us make it by in the bizarre system being thrust upon us. Because as far as I could tell, there was no kind of government in place. No government meant no leadership, and we could soon be in a whole world of hurt if there was no one around to enforce things on our level. Sure the Achlivans could try, but we needed one of the poor, pathetic humans to step up and keep things organized as well.

Not like I wanted to be that guy, and I doubted they'd let me anyway since I was a guy. At the same time, what if someone like Rumor tried to be in charge? The way Paul spoke, it sounded as if she already had a lot of leverage as it was with her Luminaries group. Someone else needed to nip her mission in the bud and fast. Perhaps I wrongfully hoped Chevelle could be that person, and that was the problem. I was putting too much faith in her and her involvement in the happenings of our captivity.

There were others I could talk to, there had to be. Talia would have been on my side. At the very least, she'd have listened to everything I had to say before ripping my head off. One of the things I loved most about her was that she digested all of my thoughts before telling me if I was stupid or not. Talia didn't hold back to spare my feelings, something a lot of my exes had in common. In that regard, Chevelle and she were a lot alike. I could appreciate that about my new companion, but the girl needed to learn how to cool her jets before she landed herself in a world of hurt.

Would Talia agree with me? I couldn't help but wonder. Of course, if she was the one I got stuck with for this crazy adventure, my whole attitude would be different in general. I wouldn't be scared, or anywhere near as worried as I was. Procreating like rabbits didn't seem like such a bad idea when I thought about doing it with her. Granted, I didn't want to be a father at twenty-one. I always told myself when I met the right girl, I'd be all for starting a family. Definitely did not expect to meet her so soon.

There was always the possibility that I was deluding myself in fantasy too. I'd been known to do that on a number of occasions, especially when it came to women. My first girlfriend, I was pretty convinced, was my sun, moon, and stars. I was also thirteen, so I think that's normal for any kid that age. After her, I wasn't quite so gullible with girls.

Talia either had to be "it," or she was amazing at weaving her spell of seduction. Or maybe the whole thing was on my head. The stress was making me put her on some kind of a pedestal so I could make it through all of this with some of my sanity left intact. But would a person doing such a thing be aware of it? How could I be sure?

You're going to confuse yourself and get a headache, I chided. Sleep, I needed to focus on sleep. There would be another babysitting session, and I doubted Paul would be freeing me of it as early as he had today.

But I couldn't sleep.

My stomach ached, and so did my heart. Guilt. I had been a total a jerk to Chevelle, there was no way around it. Sleep wasn't something I did well normally to begin with. Add in extra emotions stirring inside of my already busy head, and I was screwed.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Just needing to say the words and get them off of my chest. She had to be asleep already. Her breathing was far too heavy.

Needless to say, I was surprised when I heard her respond.

"You're forgiven."

Those two words went a lot further than hearing an apology back. Would it have been nice to hear one? Sure, she'd been pretty vicious to me too. Actually, she started it. At the same time, I knew she meant it when she said she forgave me for being a butthead. That's what I wanted the most – forgiveness. To know I hadn't completely messed everything up. The rest would come over time. She would do things her own way and on her own terms. I respected that about her, admired her for it even.

Chevelle had a lot more guts than I ever would.