Deserving of More

Chapter Eighteen: Debt

There are voices. Many. So loud. They blend together. What they say to me individually, I no longer know. It is indecipherable amongst the din.

Inside sources. Outside sources. Doesn't matter. It is all just noise. Maddening. Deafening. Noise. It echoes as it bounces around the empty shell of my soul and I feel it reverberate in my ribs.

There is Grace. And Cara. And the Generals. And the Queen. And the voices of the Resistance. And the loyalists. And the fickle.

I battle them all. Though I was promised sleep. I still wage war, though only within.

The demons are the loudest. They drown out everyone else whenever they please.

I feel beaten. Figuratively and physically. There are no bruises to show, but the pain makes itself known. Aches in my bones. Tightness in my chest. Pain in my stomach. Scars that itch at the slightest touch.

I avoid everyone when I am like this. I stay quiet. I do not reach out. I will not be a bother to anyone; especially to those I care for the most. My silence is my way of protecting them from everything that I am. I am unlovable. A waste of space. A failure. A coward. And I am unworthy of my rank.

Everyone asks what they can do. Truth is, I have no idea. I don't know how to drown out what I hear. I don't know how to be convinced that I am not what I think I am. The world at large has shown and continues to show me that the demons are the ones who are correct. That I am a terrible person, and I deserve what I get. Cara describes it as me being the universe's punching bag, but I think I am just a walking sack of shit.

"You are not a walking sack of shit."

An extra voice. One I know well. The only one who can be heard over everyone else. Not surprisingly. Everything goes quiet when he speaks.

"Aren't I, though?" I reply to him, never lifting my gaze from the floor.

"No fucking way," he responds, and I hear his footsteps grow closer. "You've been avoiding me." It's a statement, not a question, but I reply as if it were the latter.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I have." The end of my sentence is more of a gulp than a stop. I find myself absolutely terrified for reasons I cannot place but I don't even have to look up to know he's there. I can feel him. Just as I feel him while I am awake. His presence is still as strong as ever.

"If anyone knows about demons, I do," he tells me, his voice still gentle, "You don't have to hide. Please don't pull away from me." Tears burned my eyes.

"I deserve your love least of all," I can barely whisper, "I have let you down and failed you more than enough to earn your wrath."

Gentle fingers in my hair.

"You haven't let me down. You haven't failed me, either." I felt him sit beside me. "There is still truth out there. You're not finished. You haven't given up. You are taking a well-earned rest, Lieutenant."

"I don't deserve that title anymore, but the Generals won't take it from me. They, and all the Soldiers I know, disagree with my assessment."

"So do I."

I sighed. "As for the truth," I continued, "I know. I have seen it. I have heard it. I am dealing with the consequences. I am just not sure what to do with it. How to turn it into words that others will understand. How to make myself understand it when there are so many questions I will never have answers to."

"I'm sorry I couldn't flat out tell you," he said gently, "I wanted to. But that isn't how it works. Most things you have to find yourself."

"I know," I replied, "And I try. Very hard." I swallowed. "I fail, but I try."

"I wish you didn't see it as failure. It's not failure. Every plan, every mission, has setbacks. Taking care of yourself doesn't mean you've given up." His fingers slid between mine and he squeezed my hand. "You'll find everything. The truth. The words to tell it. There's no deadline. No clock. No timer."

I sighed.

"I just want to get this right," I started to tell my king, "Nothing ever goes right for me. This is the one thing I want to get right. For you." I finally managed to raise my eyes and look at him. "You deserve everything. More than I have. So you will get it all."

"Can I ask you about that?"

"About what, Your Majesty?" He glared at me momentarily. "Chester," I corrected.

"Your loyalty. On the surface, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I want to hear why. What made you like this?"

I looked into his shining brown eyes, and the words poured out before I could sort them into thoughts.

"My loyalty to you comes from you," I told him, "Who you are, as a person, saved my life. Most of my life has been rough. Difficult. Demons. Plague. But I fight because of you. Your fighting taught me to fight." He squeezed my hand. "I quite literally owe you my life. And I have nothing but that life to repay you with. I tell Cara all the time that I see this as a life for a life. I pay my debt by giving you the life you saved."

He turned my hand over in his, making the tattoo on my finger upright.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, staring down at my fingers.

"Yes," I replied, "It's a symbol of my commitment to you and the truth I promised you I would find."

"What if someone wants to marry you?"

"That is highly unlikely." I watched him scowl at me. "But if it happens, against the odds, anyone who wanted to marry me would understand why that is there."

"You don't owe me anything," he informed me, slightly shaking his head.

"But I do," I countered, "I owe you everything. And I am trying so hard to pay you back." The tears began pouring from my eyes. "And I am failing."

"No wonder you think you're failing," his tone was full of sadness, "You have set an impossible standard for yourself. No one could live up to that."

"I am trying."

"Well stop."

"What?"

"Stop!" he commanded, "You can't keep going like this. It will wear you down to nothing. If you insist on this "life for a life" mission of yours, then live a life. Don't cut it short by reaching for unattainable perfection."

"But-" I started to protest.

"I know you won't give up," he continued, "And I'm not suggesting it. But I am telling you to rest. Give yourself a break."

"But-" I tried again.

His expression grew stern as he made eye contact with me.

"Stand. Down. That's an order, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir." I knew to not push any farther. I was finally convinced that resting and giving myself a break was the best choice, even if I didn't like it. The proverbial weight being lifted quickly turned to exhaustion. I could barely keep my eyes open.

The next thing I felt was the familiar weight of blankets. And gentle fingers in my hair.

"Sleep, my sweet babysister," he said in a near-whisper, "I'll be right here."