Sacrifices

Chapter 3: The Road To Righteousness

"Well hold on, my darling

This mess was yours,
Now your mess is mine"

-Mess is Mine, Vance Joy-

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Five minutes.

That's all the time she allowed herself to waste. To crumple to the floor and succumb to the utter and all-consuming panic. Her hands clutched at her ribs, nails digging into her sides as she heaved and screamed and cried. Overwhelmed by the reality that Danse was likely already dead.

Her world blurred and the bleak walls of the bunker came crashing down on her. Pinned beneath the weight of her hysteria, she retched and choked on bile. For a fleeting, desperate moment, she entertained the idea of breathing in and letting herself asphyxiate on the filth in her mouth.

Breathe, just breathe.

Her mind eased her racing thoughts. Slowly the room stilled and she was left a pathetic mess, weeping on the floor and drowning in self-loathing. This was selfish, a waste of time and above all else, it was not about her.

With the reminder that Danse's life was dependent on every second she wasted, Jackie pushed herself to her feet and urged her limbs to stumble through the irrational haze. She staggered across the room, aimlessly groping for a plan, and dragged a dirty sleeve across her face. Except it only furthered her dilapidated state by smudging her cheeks with grime.

Don't forget to breathe. Mindful breaths.

It had been years since Jackie had struggled with anxiety so intense that it triggered panic attacks. But waking up in that goddamn vault had brought about a new kind of hell for her mind to wander in. Often in the months before joining the Brotherhood, she had found herself pressed into a dark corner, stricken with fear, unable to move or breathe or think. Terrified that some horrible creature or the perversions of man that called themselves human beings would find her and she would die alone and forgotten in this shithole.

Once she started traveling with Danse, she had been able to keep her anxieties at bay for a time. He reminded her of Nate and despite the heartache it brought her, Jackie didn't feel so vulnerable in Danse's presence. A sense of normalcy had begun to return and with each passing day she reclaimed a piece of her sanity.

As much as she tried, she couldn't keep her demons stuffed away forever though. On a frostbitten night in midwinter, they had stopped to set up camp, hunkering down in a crumbling building for the evening. That night, Jackie had awoken in a panic. She'd jolted awake, cold sweat trickling down her back, convinced that this was the end.

"Danse?" she called out to him, hearing only faint rustling from somewhere beyond the shadows in return. She clenched her sleeping bag in her hands, her heart hammering away in her chest. "Danse!" again she cried his name only for the rustling to crescendo into horrid hissing and screeching.

She desperately groped around for her weapon, her Pip-Boy, anything to help fend off whatever was lurking in the darkness, except she came up empty handed. This was it. She was going to die, torn apart by some wretched wasteland creature, feasting on her innards as she screamed in vain.

Suddenly loud crashing and the sounds of grinding metal filled the air.

"Soldier?" It came out forceful and frantic as Danse clanked through the room, "What is it? What's the matter?"