Deserving of More

Chapter 17: Hibernation

Sleeper Cell- (noun) a dormant unit in a clandestine cell system

It's never like the movies. Where rebellion means an underdog, whose cause is righteous enough that they will prevail. Where everyone roots for them. Triumph against the oppressors.

It's not like that at all. Rebellion is difficult. Exhausting. And often on the losing side. Empires are empires because they are massive. They have the size and the backing to sustain themselves. And they win.

The Queen had started a campaign for Chester's birthday. It was supposed to raise "awareness" (whatever the fuck that means) about symptoms of the plague. "I Am The Change", written on our palms. To show that we know the five signs. To me, it was literally useless. Her list of "signs" was how I existed on a daily basis. Plus, weren't these the same signs she claimed to not have seen in her husband? And we're supposed to trust her with this? As some sort of expert? As if all this knowledge entered her as my king drew his last breath. Spare me. Not only that, but it took *his* birthday and made it about *her*. Big surprise there. It all sickened me.

I'd finally had enough. When the day finally rolled around, I drew a line in the sand. Instead of playing along with her crap, I wrote "This Changes Nothing" on my palm and posted that.

Simultaneously, I had other turmoil. Grace and Cara had had a brutal falling out. The details are not important. Mistakes were made. Accusations were slung. Doubts were cast. And I was left in the middle. That is the important part. And it all came to a head on that same day.

Also, to my great horror, I bore witness to video of Veronica, subjecting Mike to her campaign. I could hear his discomfort in the tone of his voice, but that didn't matter. No one would notice that. All they would see is how wonderful it was. And then I watched the other Generals follow suit. I figured it was all for show. But what a show it was. And a lonely place to be for me. A lone voice on deaf ears.

March 20th. The worst day in my little world since July 20th.

As for my anti-campaign... as my friends tore me in two, there was a lot of behind-the-scenes praise for my bold move. Agreement.

Until there wasn't.

Instead of addressing me privately, someone I thought I knew chose to speak her mind. She told me I was disrespectful. To Veronica. To Mike. And worst of all, to Chester. And that coming from me, "of all people", it was shocking.

Well that was the point. And since she knew me so well, maybe she should've asked herself why I was making such a statement instead of winging around the word of my nightmares. As if I took everything lightly. Or was after attention. I hate attention. It makes my symptoms flare. So, if I am bringing attention to myself on purpose, sit back and think about that before snapping to a judgement on a situation that is unfamiliar.

In my all ready emotional state, this was too much. I was ripped in half by two close friends. My guts spilled on the day the king should've been celebrating his 42nd birthday. And now, what remained of me was being crucified as a villain. For all to see.

And what did I do?

I took down all the photos. Deleted all the comments. And stayed silent. I was a coward. So I was a coward, a villain, and disrespectful.

My bed saw a lot of me that day. Me and my tears. I felt as though everything had crumbled for me over the span of a day. I felt like a failure. Like everything I had done for nearly five months was gone. And it was painful. But wasn't everything?

After the grief had passed, I was angry. What was I even doing? Why did I bother? All it got me was damaged or destroyed relationships, a reputation in shambles, and demons so severe that I could feel their chilling presence in my ribs.

I'd decided to quit. To give up. There was no point for me anymore. At least, it felt that way. I was overwhelmed. I was shaky all the time. Tears always threatening to fall. The darkness creeping ever closer. I was no longer a leader. I didn't deserve my title or my bars.

I stood outside the huge wooden doors of Mike's office and tried to catch my breath. I couldn't comprehend that this was how it would end. Half of my life in service. All I'd known as an adult. I was slightly worried about what I would do now. But maybe I could focus on school. Make something out this stringing together of words.

With air in my lungs, I reached for one of the doorknobs and caught a glimpse of my finger with my most recent tattoo. Chester's initials, as musical notes on my ring finger. It had absolutely nothing to do with romance and everything to do with commitment. That promise I made about finding the truth, no matter what. No matter how ugly. No matter the cost. It had sure gotten ugly and had cost me plenty. But how could I betray him? Let him down? None of what happened was his fault. That wasn't fair to him. I had an instantaneous change of mind, heart, and plan as I finally pulled the door open and went inside. I wouldn't quit. Not completely.

"Oh hey Minerva!" Mike warmly greeted me as his assistant showed me in.

I sat stiffly in the chair across from him and we looked at each other for a beat.

"I need a break, sir," I flatly told him. I watched his shoulders drop.

"A break?" he asked, his dark eyes blinking in puzzlement, "And you can still call me Mike."

"Yes. A break, *sir*," I emphasized to make my point, "I am overwhelmed by recent events and no longer feel that service in so many areas is in my best interest." I hope he got my hint.

"Oh," disappointment evident in his voice, "I'm sorry to hear that. You are a great asset to all the projects you're involved in. You're a good soldier. One of the best."

"Well this soldier has battle fatigue," I retorted. He nodded.

"I can understand how that could happen."

"With everything that happened," I huffed, "I should be throwing my bars on your desk and demanding my pension." He took a deep breath.

"And I wouldn't blame you if you did that." He held eye contact with me. "I don't want to lose you as a soldier or an asset. But I don't want you so burnt out that I lose you to the plague." I felt a flush come over my cheeks and found myself unable to look at him.

When I finally did manage to look up, I saw that light in his eyes that meant he had an idea.

"Do you know what a sleeper cell is?" he asked.

"Of course I do," I replied.

"Can I make you one?"

I was momentarily stunned.

"Really?" He nodded.

"It's the best solution I can think of," he began, "You'd still be an asset to... our side project. Just on the backburner. We'd call on you when we need help. And you can keep your job. Your commission. Your title. Just go about life. Get good grades in school. Write what's in your heart. Maybe have coffee with friends." He smiled, and I knew what he meant by that. "But most importantly, take care of yourself. You can't pour from an empty cup. So, you don't have to be in the thick of it anymore. How does that sound?"

I nodded, knowing it was the right choice. To serve my king publicly in the army and to serve my king in private by laying low and recovering from all that had happened.

I stood up to leave and Mike approached me. He adjusted one of the Lieutenant's bars on my collar and smiled gently at me.

"Still come and see us at the coffee shop, ok?" he whispered. I nodded again before turning to go. "Lieutenant," he toned it heavily, so I would turn around, "He's still proud of you. Even if you don't think so."

And so I sleep. Literal sleep to keep the demons away. Figurative sleep to keep a promise. My wakening will come. And the Empire will tremble.