White Lies

Part 1: Chapter 7

Marco's POV:

   I had politely made myself out and stepped outside to give them room. I looked over the copies in my hands, still shaking my head in disbelief. It wasn't until a good ten, fifteen minutes later that the door slowly creaked open. Thomas's eyes were full of tears, starting to roll down his cheeks. He clung to the doorknob as if it were the last thread to connect him to his normal life. He shut the door, leaning forward, resting his head on it for a moment.

   I hesitated, soon sighing and giving in, raising my hand to his back, rubbing up to his shoulder which I gave a comforting squeeze. I slightly pulled him back, "Come on Thomas". He seemed a little thrown off that I had knew his name, but sobbed, "W-Will I get to see them?" My silence only brought up another question, "..To at least call them?.."

   That I did not know the answer to. What went on in the lab was beyond the service members' knowledge. I nodded nonetheless, "Of course. Can you walk?" He nodded a little, but didn't budge. I tugged on his sleeve, starting down his front steps but he resisted, lifting his free hand up to his face and dropped his head, soon letting out a small sob.

   I turned, "Thomas, get on my back.." He didn't move. Normally, I'd grab a hold of the person and drag them along myself, or throw them over my shoulder, but I didn't. I just leaned back into him, repeating, "Thomas, please. Get on.." He finally did so, reluctantly. But once he was on, it was as if he didn't want to let go.

   I couldn't stop my emotions, I felt empathy for him. What am I doing? I spoke up, "Being honest.. You have it easy. You'll be okay, your family is safe". He sniffled, only crying more into my shoulder, his hands gripping as best they could onto my chest plate. I could tell he was listening though, so I continued, "My mother, you see, was the only one there for me. My parents were divorced. My father made some friends with some of the service's officials. As a kid, I was athletic, good in school.. My abilities were impressive, of course, for a nine year old. He told them all about me.."

   Thomas lifted his head a little, managing, "Isn't that good?.. He was proud, wasn't h.. he?.." Shaking my head, I couldn't help but to feel anger bubbling up, "They paid him. They paid him for me, and when my mother refused.. They killed her". That seemed to silence him, "My father was just using me, Thomas.. For money, for rep.." Why am I telling him this? I don't know this kid, yet I talk so familiarly with him.. Why?..

   There was silence. His breathing was shaky. I could tell he wanted to burst out again, but he tried holding it back. I calmed myself for my sake, but not as much as for his, keeping my voice soft, allowing him, "It's alright. It's not good to keep it in anyways.. You can cry all you want.."

   I couldn't help but to remind myself of my mother. My words as her own.

   He did as told, at first with a whimper, yet soon dragged out into a cry. He cried. And cried. And cried. I adjusted him on my back, lifting him a bit to keep him from slipping.

   His sobs went on for some time. I was waiting until he tired himself out, but it appeared that that wouldn't be happening for a while.

   I took it upon myself to ease him into doing so, humming lightly. It vibrated my neck a little, which his head was nuzzled into for soothing warmth. Thomas settled, growing less tense, his eyes closing. He sniffled a bit here and there, though it wasn't long before he was dozing off.