The Music Room

Homecoming

*3 Weeks Later*

Crossing the border into Ohio on foot, I leave the corvette in good hands, those hands being Doxx. Many of the cities have begun the process of being cleaned up, such as having the streets cleared, and damaged buildings repaired. I look around, and realized that I was close by what once was the main city of Toledo. I steal one of the citizen cars to blend in better with the society. When I arrive at the Ohio safehouse, I see that it is still standing, and is almost exactly as I remember it. The only difference I could see, was that it had been repainted somewhat recently. My eyes begin to water, my nose burns, and my throat closes up. I realize that I'm home, but it isn't home. Home is with Donovan, with Tyler, Alex, Stephen, Archer and Danny. All of the others that I had to leave behind. It quickly dawns on me that they are all dead. I haven't seen, or heard from any of them since I was knocked out in the fighting. It is my fault that they are dead, and I had no way to save them. My chest constricts with the weight of that fact. I carry the weight of the world without complaining. My heart pounds impatiently against the bars of my rib cage, desperate for its other half. Tears slowly begin to cascade down my dirty cheeks as more of the memories of my friends flood my mind and completely overwhelm me. Tyler's proud complexion, Alex's laugh, with his head thrown back, almost like a little kid. Danny's shock after Donovan gave him the keys to his camaro, which he never got the chance to drive.
The one memory that comes back the hardest, and practically hits me like a brick wall and sends my soul through the meat grinder is Donovan's gentleness as he lightly kissed my head for the very first time.
Back before the invasion, sitting awkwardly on a fallen log on a hot day in early May, about a week after I turned sixteen, he asked if I wanted company. Shy as ever, I could only nod. He chuckled softly, and came to sit by my side. We sat motionless for several calm minutes. With his arm around me, and mine around him, I closed my eyes, feeling at peace with the world. I lean my head against his shoulder. At that moment, I feel the lightest pressure against my temple. Realizing he had just kissed me for the first of many times, I couldn't help but grin. That simple gesture of kindness proved his words of always supporting me. That tiny kiss, lasting but a moment, gave action to his words. I had hoped that his words were true before, but now I truly believed. He gave me peace, and I murdered him for it.

I sniffle and wipe my eyes on my sleeve, and pull myself back to reality. After all, it's just a house, and empty house for that matter, I should be able to handle it. Turning off the engine, I open the door, and step out. Dressed in typical citizen clothing; a Soviet uniform. I slowly walk up to the door, fighting back more tears with every step. I catch whiffs of the familiar scent of lavender. This house will forever torment me until the end of my days.
I stand before the door, it daunts me mocking me. The door itself is white, but still particularly glossy for a wooden door. A bronze handle mounted on the door gives it a splash of color. Not much, but something, this is the only color used in the soviet world. They are communistic and they have a complete utopian society. Everyone who lives in this society is drugged yet fully functional as drones. They have no emotions. They feel nothing. They don't know what they are doing. They have no love for anything. They have no art nor music or creativity. They have nothing that makes life worth living.
The house itself is nothing special; painted white with black shutters, with no porch at all. Standard house on the inside; nothing but a kitchen area, and a few bedrooms, with no actual living room. After all, the government doesn't want people to converse and actually talk to each other to avoid the whole disagreement thing and the whole getting to know each other enough to start a revolution thing.
I knock once, twice, and once more for good measure, just like I did in the past, hoping that someone would be inside and might hear me. No response is to be heard from the inside. I slowly open the door, and take one last breath of the outside air, before stepping into the short hallway.
I look inside, and see that everything that would be somewhat valuable is gone. All the art has been stripped from the walls, and are now completely bare.
My heart breaks again, realizing that nothing from the past remains here anymore. I never thought a heart could break so much.
Anticipation and anxiety begin to take control, as I cautiously round the corner into the kitchen, which is also stripped down to the basic nothing. There is no sign that anyone would have ever lived here, absolutely nothing remains. I search around the rest of the house, and still find nothing of sentimental value.
My knees buckle beneath me, as I realize there is nothing left of any of them. They are all dead and I was the one who killed them. I can hardly recall what any of their faces looked like. I miss them all terribly, even Alex, the badass soccer player who was quite honestly better than Donovan. My broken heart shatters beneath the weight of my mind.
I murdered them all. I murdered eight people all in one go. I ended their lives single handedly
I have no way of telling Donovan I love him with all of my soul. I have no way of telling any of them how much they meant to me. I have to do something to make his life worth it. I must make their lives have meaning. It was so short, too short. I could join the revolution, do what Alix wanted, and be a face of the rebellion, or I could make my own chain reaction.
Suddenly there is a loud crash from the bedroom that jerks me out of my thoughts. I regain my composure, draw my gun from my belt, and slowly tip toe my way to the source of the noise, which came from the master bedroom. My mind is racing, adrenaline pumping, as I make a long walk down a short hall. I stand at the ready outside of it, and kick the door down, holding the barrel of my pistol at a crumpled figure, with a huge head of messy blonde hair, hanging halfway out the window, only having their torso and arms hanging into the house.
"Who are you?" I yell, hoping to seem something like a threat. As they slowly roll over, I realize that something seemed familiar about them...no, My pistol lowers for just a second, as I try to think this all through, but I instantly raise it again as I come to my senses. I took a good look at him, and my heart skipped a beat within its cage. He pulls himself through the window, and slowly sits up against the wall, not caring about the shattered glass around him. He looks at me, and that's when I realize who I'm truly looking at. I stare into his bright, pale blue eyes, dumbfounded, knowing that they are the clearest, most prominent eyes that I have ever loved. I check him over from head to toe, and begin to recognize the broad shoulders, his strong legs, and his lethal build, and caring soul.
"Why couldn't you just use the front door?" I ask him exasperated.
He smoothly replies in his deep, gentle, and yet extremely sarcastic voice, "A soviet truck was outside, thought I'd be sneaky for once."
"You were never good at being sneaky" I retort, my voice cracking with happy tears.
We slip back into our old routine, as though no time had passed at all, as if the past three months weren't real, and I never believed he was dead. He laughs out loud, with his head tossed back, carefree and unafraid of anything. He opens his arms for me, and like a small, helpless, terrified child, I crawl into them, letting him hold me tightly, not wanting him to let go.
I found him, my lovely Donovan...
He is alive. He has a heartbeat.
I feel as light as a feather...
I finally feel free...