US (Formerly The After Effect - Book 2)

17 - U N D E R N E A T H / I T / A L L

//short and sweet//

I rise early to get the heat flowing get through me again. The sun is hardly out before I'm up with the blankets wrapped around me like a burrito. Every piece of me is freezing. It runs deep; not just the tips of my fingers and nose. Its deeper. Down to my every cell. Regardless of the fact that I'm Number Five and don't sleep much, I hardly got a minute of shut-eye.

Lying in bed isn't an option any longer, so I quickly put on my shoes and do a few jumping jacks to get my blood pumping, and then take a couple minutes to assess my day.

Do I try my hand at fire this morning? Do I meet back up with the group? Do I stick it out longer?

Crawling back to them only conveys weakness. Travis doesn't need to experience any of that; he clearly already thinks I can't hold my own, despite what I am. I want to prove myself to him that I am a fighter, that I can be independent. One day is nothing.

But it is lonely. And cold. And...quiet. So quiet.

I do wonder if he's at all concerned.

But I didn't just leave because of Travis; I have my own personal demons to sort out. I need to come to grips with everything that has happened the past few months, years, whatever it may be. I need to believe in who I am, whether or not Travis is climbing aboard. I need to claim my place in this supernatural world, no matter how I feel about it. No matter how confused, lost, and angry I am about it and everything to do with this new discovery. The pit in my stomach throbs at the thought of confronting Travis again. Just thinking of his past makes my insides churn. There's so much to ponder over. So much to wrap my head around. I want to see his side. I want to feel what he feels, even for a moment. Then maybe I'll be able to truly understand him and his motives. If only we could trade bodies for a day. I'd love to see into his brain. Hear his every thought.

Lashing out won't solve anything. It's proven to be more damaging than anything to date. My hands hold uncontrollable power I still have yet to master. I still can't put my finger on the strength behind my palms. It is deadly, and I already have too much blood on my hands to add to Earth's death toll.

The sinking feeling in my stomach is a strict concoction of hunger, chill, and absolute monstrosity. The unsureness of my every action and unpredictability of my future hovers over me like an umbrella. I don't know—

"How'd the first night go?"

It's Brink. Again. Who obligated him to be the messenger?

"Clearly, you know I'm alive. But I did freeze my ass off. In fact, my ass is still frozen."

"Good to know," he telepathically remarks.

How far does telepathy travel anyway?

"I figured you'd be fine physically. You're tough. That's not what I'm—anyone—is worried about."

I sigh and flop back into the bed. I'm not in the mood for any therapy sessions, particularly with Brink of all people. Though I do want to apologize for the dastardly thing I did to him. Of course I thought he was murdering Travis on the spot, but the fact that Brink was only trying to help makes vomit rise up my throat at my response. I nearly killed him. Killed Zeriah.

"I'm sorry," I say accidentally out loud vs mindspeak. As I go to correct myself, he replies.

"Don't apologize. We're okay. We're completely fine, actually, though Zeriah took a bigger hit than I did. The important thing is we're okay. But are you?"

Of course I'm not. I ran away. I needed to get away. I was too dangerous, too harmful to those around me. What if I hit harder than I meant to? I don't know how to even limit myself. The refinement isn't there yet. And there I was throwing my power around like it was nothing. I needed a reality check; I needed to leave.

"I won't ask why you left. I get it."

I shake my head. "But you don't get it. You don't understand."

"We've all done things we regret. It's what makes us better in the end. We learn from it."

All I can think is Don't give me this sappy crap.

"You're not the only one who's done things you're not proud of," he says.

I pull the blanket tighter up to my chin and cross my arms beneath the covers for extra warmth. "Being controlled by Damon wasn't your fault," I remind him.

"The virus wasn't your fault, either," he snaps. "But this isn't about Damon and what he did to us."

"I'm still to blame for thousands of deaths. What's worse than that? What can possibly be worse?"

I wait for a response, and after a couple seconds of pure silence, I get up, thinking our chat is over and they've started moving again. I should probably follow suit.

Until, "I never got around to telling you much about me. Ever think there's reason for it?"

I pause. He's not done speaking. So I squat back down on the edge of the mattress, clinging to any possible warmth.

"Before I was taken, back when I was still finding out who I really was, those were the worst days of my existence.

"There was this kid in my class. He was my...dummy. My experiment. I found out about my ability through him and his thoughts. It started when I sat next to him in Science. Whenever we took tests, quizzes, anything he would tap his pencil like crazy. It drove me mad. So one day, I screamed inside for him to quit hitting his stupid pencil against the desk. He stopped, and never did it again. The face he made afterward was the strange thing. He looked at me with the weirdest, contorted expression. He had heard my voice.

"My ability didn't even faze me at the time. I had no idea I could do anything like that. So I started following him around in the halls, discreetly of course. I'd get him to do pranks on people, put things in their lockers, say crazy things to others. I did it all, because he would listen and do it.

"His world got extremely dark. He walked around delirious and quiet. Paranoid. People thought he was nuts. They didn't know I'd created him to be that way. His parents eventually took him somewhere, institutionalized him. Everyone assumed he was schizophrenic, crazy. They saw he just saw things and heard things.

"He never talked to me. Not once. The only time he contacted me was the day I drove him over the edge. He committed suicide one day. Hung himself. He left a note on his bedside table that read, 'Get out of my head.' It was meant for me. I screwed someone up so much he couldn't bear to live anymore. Because I didn't know how to handle myself. My powers. My ability to mess people up inside.

"Finally, I came clean to my mom, told her I didn't know what was happening, all I knew was I was capable. That when she sought out others for a while, the government got involved. Then it went higher, to other worlds, to the universe. That's how Damon discovered me."

I'm lying here shivering at his heart-shredding story. To think he's been through tough shit, a hard life before, never crossed my mind.

"When he came to me, I actually felt a bit...relieved. He understood my struggle and put my powers to use. Training everyday, the works. Until he started using me. Taking advantage of my ability. He found out about Stella and wanted me to retrieve her for him. And if I ever did something he disapproved of...he'd bring up my past. Use him against me as a threat. That was the problem with Damon. Each of us has skeletons, which is why he became as successful as he did.

"I'm not judging you leaving, because I've been there. I get it," he repeats.

I wipe my runny nose and shut my eyes, wondering what the hell to say.

"Did running away ever help?" I wonder.

"Not really. Usually made it all worse."

I clench my jaw and grind my teeth. "I'm not ready to come back."

"I'm not asking you to."

Of course he's not. But my mother?

"But I hate being alone," I whimper.

Then I hear it. Crunch. The door opens wide, revealing the brightest turquoise light. "You aren't alone."

//what do you think will happen next?//