Alone

Chapter: 17 // heal •

Dear Diary,

I didn't sleep last night. I'm sure no one did. I couldn't help but think for every breath I have taken, so far, Carl was taking his last simultaneously, and that's what will indefinitely break me for as long as I live. But not everyone here knows yet, and that's been the second hardest thing; is not having anyone to confide in. I hope Jesus forgets to train us, this morning. I hope he forgets what he almost came to my door to tell me last night, too. I hope Ron leaves me and my head the hell alone.

"Is anyone home?" I see two of Jesus, I blink; now there's one. I rub my eyes, it's probably just the sleep deprivation settling in.

"I'm up for it."

"If you're tired we can do this another time." Please.

"Really, I'm up for it." I feel Ron eyeing me, and my raised eyebrow tells him to drop it. I try and search my mind for a place that makes me angry, the problem though; there are too many to start. Carl. Jesus instructs Ron to lunge for me; I sit on haunches, spring up and connect the crown of my head with his jaw. "Priscilla," he stumbles back, I take his head and box his ears, strike it with my knee; he genuflects, clutches his face. "Priscilla!" I strike him on his back with the length of my forearm across his upper spine and he collapses with a pained grunt, I raise my foot to kick him--Jesus grabs my arms and pulls me up off the ground, drags me away from a hors de combat Ron, lying on the ground clutching his head and groaning. I'm physically exhausted, from head to toe; I plop down on Jesus' trailer steps and try to catch my breath, but it feels like I'm having a heart attack.

"You could've killed him, had I not stepped in." He says, his expression grave and unchanging.

"I did what you showed me," I reply defensively, overlap my arms across my chest.

"I specifically instructed you not to physically harm him, I instructed you to simulate blows. Simulate." He adds the other "simulate" for emphasis, though it does not make me inclined to value or recognize its prominence; it merely makes me annoyed.

"You still don't see it." I scoff. He lifts an eyebrow at me, and I've set him thinking.

"See what?"

"That I'm ready for this world. The training; it's nugatory. I just held my own--I've been holding my own. You're just using our old exercises to keep me in your circle, to be the one who I survive on account of. I'm tired of surviving on the account of someone other than myself."

"Priscilla--"

"I can't survive for you. I learned everything I know from you, and everything I didn't I've learned from myself. There has to be more than just your way, Jesus, it's why we're not we without it. Why we're not we with it." I'm still sore when I stand, but it's not my thigh, anymore; it's the fleeting physical byproduct of fighting Ron. I walk lamely towards Ron who is lying in the grass, extend my hand to help him up and in spite of the undeserved beating I had just inflicted on him, he grabs my hand.

"The hell was that for? Thought we were on good terms." Ron whines around the icepack he holds on his jaw.

"We are. I just did it to prove a point. Guess I got a little out of hand and I started thinking of..." Carl. I started thinking of Carl. "I'm sorry." I turn my back to him, chew on the inside of my cheek to suppress my tears from brimming over.

"Is it your parents?" He says, sounding empathetic.

"Yeah. Yeah," I lie. "They killed themselves. You were right about last night, about losing either way." Not a lie.

"I-I'm sorry. I should've come with; you helped me get back to Enid--"

"Wouldn't have made the difference." I cut him off.