The Resistants

Chapter 31| Dylan

I guess I could say that I didn't see Derek afterward. Nor did I see Connor, TJ, Lisa, Drew, and Dylan...

*****

My eyes stung, and a dull pain ached in my head. My stomach churned in starvation, begging for food. The early morning sun was beginning to rise, for my thoughts became into a sleepless night. It had been surreal, that Derek was alive, as well as Drew and Lisa. And it had absolutely been surreal everything about Dylan. The way he tried to kiss me, the way he got drunk, and way he acted with such brutality. And what had Derek meant when he said that the tasks were an illusion?

I figured that I was going to be able to sleep until I found some answers, so I kicked myself out of bed. My eyes, which had been now used to staring at the ceiling, struggled to adapt at the darkness.

Soundless and gentle as a cat, I twisted the golden knob to the left, and opened the door, closing it shut behind me. To be precise, I didn't know where I was going. Somewhere, I thought. Somewhere with answers.

I walked in tip-toes, as I lost myself studying the intricate designs of the carpet. Then, I felt someone in front of me, as if I had bumped into someone. I looked up sharply. "Derek!" I said with a gasp. He was holding a yellow file, his eyes fixed deeply on it. "Sorry." He mumbled, looked up from the file and pursed his lips, then continued studying it. He grazed past me, his though shoulders brushing mine.

And then, I reacted so rapidly, that I even surprised myself.

"Derek." I seized his muscular arm.

"Yes?" He spun on his heel, my grip tight on his arm.

"Why are you alive?" I asked, my voice firm, though I thought it was a dumb question when the words escaped my mouth.

"I told you already." He said bitterly, my eyes now adapting to the dimness of morning light.

"Don't you think I deserve an explanation?" I asked, thinking about how he was behaving.

"You already got one." He spat, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"And was that clear enough to you?" I said, my eyes darting all over his cold expression.

"Yes." He said through gritted teeth. Derek yanked his arm off my grip, and walked down the hall, his head lowered, reading the file.

He was acting more bitter than usual! It was very simple to give me a good damn explanation!

I stomped back to my room, and slammed the door shut. I kicked a velvet ottoman that laid by the door in frustration. Then, I slumped myself on the bed, and screamed out the hysteria inside me onto the pillow; pulling the cloth hard enough so it ripped.

I pulled myself off the bed, and in the early morning light, I made my way to the bathroom. I swung the door open in desperation. I leaned my arms on the sink. I stared at the creamy-white concrete of it, and swallowed a wholesome of dense saliva down my dry throat. I looked up, and the reflection on the mirror made me cringe. Purple-gray shades of fatigue rimmed my bloodshot eyes, and my face was white, and my expression was startled, as if I had seen a ghost. My lips were a pressed stern thin line, and I broke away from my reflection. I looked down at the sink again, turned the water on, and splashed it on my face. Water drops fell down my chin and nose, and I looked away from the white-splotched mirror, as if white paint was splattered on it.

I dried my face with a towel, and got out. I paced back and forth. Why was I so nervous? I was worried about Dylan, nervous about Derek, and uneasy with Drew and Lisa? Why, Why.