The Survivor of the 27

Chapter fory two

As we're driving passed the empty fields. We end up stopping, that way we can take a break. I had been driving for about an hour. None of us saying a word.

"Mace, how are you doing? Like actually doing?" He asks.

"You know me. Isolation and no sleep." Well I just tried Jacksons method. Didn't work.

"How about feeling wise?" He asks.

"Is this like a 'because you get a truck you now have to open up' thing?" I ask. He just looks at me, smiles, laughs, and nods.

"Well it's worth it," I sigh.

"So? Feelings?" He reiterates.

"Monstrous. Dangerous. Murderous. Worthless."

He just looks at me with a face of pity.

"I've killed people, Jackson. I know I have before. But that was for my country and people that had held a threat to it. But I was forced to kill people. I hated every millisecond of it. I haven't slept in four days and whenever I close my eyes the guilt just. Overwhelms me. I can't seem to get it out of my head."

I'm now looking down at the ground. I didn't like talking about it, but I owe it to him.

"What else Mace?" He asks. I let out a long sigh.

"I can't get him out of my head. I didn't hesitate when I killed him. I'm scared, I have no guilt or remorse. I ripped his spine out and pulled the trigger. But I couldn't help but feel happy. I'm scared. I'm scared because I liked the feeling. I'm scared because I liked killing for him." We both fall silent.

"He's taken so much from me. And now that he's dead, I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my chest. He took everyone away from me. He said it was my fault and I believed him. I still do. I can't have people drive me anymore. The thought of someone taking me back there petrifies me. I can't have things touch my face and neck anymore. The shemagh and the face mask. When people looked at me and heard my voice, the fear that entered their face. I can't even eat without throwing up. Everyday at 2:30 I get a pounding sensation throughout my body and it burns. I can't even get fucking drunk anymore. Everytime someone touches me, I can't help but think," but then I just stop.

I run my fingers through my knotted hair. A tear falls from my cheek and I keep my gaze down. Not daring to look at Jackson. He probably thinks I'm a monster. He probably doesn't want me as his son's godmother any more.

"Mace?" He says in a soft carrying voice.

  I clench my pants until my knuckles turn white. He places a hand on my right hand and immediately the touch from his chapped hands makes my bruised ones ease up.

"Mace, will you look at me?" He asks. I'm only able to look at his chin though.

"Your not a monster. You've been dealt a bad hand over and over again. But you're the strongest person I know. Because after all of that, you're still trying to make things right. Besides, monsters don't feel guilty for their doings."

He was right I suppose. But the things I did? The things I'm capable of? What does that have to say about me?

"He said that he chose me because of something the general did. He said that I was already the perfect soldier and that he would make me better. But really what he meant was more dangerous and ruthless. I can't help but think that he had won."

"Wait. Like General Logan?" Jackson asks. I nod yes.

"What did he do?" Jackson asks. I sigh and look out the window.

"I'm not fully sure. It looks like they knew each other and then had a falling out. He wanted him to be a part of the chair board, but he turned them down. He wanted to get General Logan back by using me," I explain.