Cyberpunk 2077: V

Prologue: Chapter 9 - A Small Connection

Life somehow got better and worse.

Maybe it was the fact that Marnie and Amanda were mothers; but they were the only ones after the incident with V's car and personal affects who started treating her like a person. V was almost positive it was Amanda who'd written her into the patrol rosters. Zach didn't like it (she'd overheard him ranting about it when she was listening in on an elder's meeting in secret), but Amanda told him off. Said that V was the best salvager in the clan, and if anyone would be able to get back and warn the clan if something bad happened on patrol, it would be her.

Hearing that caused a strange tearing sensation in V's chest. All of this, those kind words, things she longed to hear; based on a lie. It made V feel small and filthy.

Marnie didn't become chatty all of a sudden, but her demeanor towards V changed. She didn't stare at her with the cautiousness one had when dealing with a potentially dangerous wild animal anymore. She also didn't flinch away from V. Again, V had only dreamed of this...

But it was all a lie.

The rest of the clan seemed torn in what to think. Wary looks, suspicion; V got it all. It was still weird feeling eyes on her constantly, even if that's what she had been hoping for all those years. Everyone seemed to be watching her, studying her; really searching for...something. V wondered if they were really seeing her for the first time, and wondering why it was, exactly, they all hated her or treated her the way they did. The one person she knew didn't have those thoughts was Zach. V knew when he was looking at her. A chill would slither down her spine suddenly, followed by the feeling of two pricks of heat on her neck. V hated how much of a weak creature she became when she felt that gaze. Her shoulders would physically slump and her neck droop, as if trying to curl in on herself like an armadillo.

Why did Zach hate her? She didn't murder his family. She wasn't holding the rifle that shot his wife and killed his unborn child. She didn't set the trailer on fire. Why? Was Zach so traumatized that anything, anything that could possibly be a scapegoat for his hurt and rage would suffice? Even if it was just a baby found in the desert?

As the days went on, V found herself pushing the guilt and caring about what the clan thought to the wayside. Even her plans for the future were put on hold. Partially on purpose, and partially because her brain wouldn't let her physically think about anything other than Jake.

She kept replaying in her head the way it felt to be wrapped in his arms. The color of his eyes haunted her, tantalized her, telling her that they were the blue of the ocean she'd read about and longed to see. No one else in the clan had blue eyes. They were unique, yet another thing that separated Jake from everyone else. V would sit and think of his hand on her cheek, gently brushing the tears from her eyes, and how he'd held her face in his palm, letting her draw on his comfort. His strength. He was the only reason she was still standing. 

The next two weeks went by, it felt, in the blink of an eye. Every three days V would fulfill her patrol duties, driving off to the cave and Jake. There was never anything significant reported by those she changed out, and so she gave herself more time to spend with Jake rather than actually patrol. The elation she felt when she pulled into the parking spot and ran up the dusty path to the cave made her feel like she could fly. And seeing Jake waiting for her, getting stronger and healing filled her with happiness. But there was always a dark sadness lurking. Once Jake was healed enough, he would be gone. Forever. But V chose not to think about that yet.

The first thing Jake would ask each time was if she'd eaten, and if she was hydrated. V lied to first time, and he looked her squarely in her eyes, challenging her. Then she'd slowly pulled out the food she had saved for him, and he ordered her to sit and eat with him. It was nice, sitting side by side on the cot, munching on some freeze-dried cactus. Their shoulders touched, and V had to keep herself from leaning into Jake. The small touch was more than enough. After that they checked on his wounds. Luckily when Jake had been shot in the arm, the bullets had gone straight through, leaving flesh wounds. They were clean and nearly healed. The raw wound in his side was healing nicely as well. The cotton clothes boiled and soaked with whiskey had been doing a fine job, even without painkillers or any more antibiotics Jake seemed to be doing all right. No more worry of infection, or sepsis. V'd ended up cutting part of the coyote skin and sewing it over the hole she'd cut into Jake's uniform to seal it off, joking that he was starting to look like a Nomad. He'd chuckled at that.