One Of Us

Chapter Eight

Virgil spent the afternoon tracing a straight path back and forth along his carpet. It was the same one he always used when he paced; he'd worn a matted track into it with sock-clad feet that by now was several years old. He trooped from the foot of his bed to his desk chair and back again for what felt like hours, the motion serving as a futile effort to mediate between the two halves of his mind that had been shouting at each other for the better part of the day.

On the one hand, he could tell the truth. Maybe it wouldn't even be a big deal — maybe everyone would just nod and move on like they'd known all along. Roman would try his hardest to understand. Patton would be supportive. Logan would take it as objectively as he could. Over the past year, they'd made a point of promising to accept Virgil in spite of his faults. What was one fault more?

But on the other hand, maybe the best choice was to stay quiet. He had been indirectly lying to all three of the others since... well, since he'd first come into existence. A lie of omission, right? Leaving something important out? If he confessed, they could stop trusting him. They could kick him out. They could take everything away from him; the happiness, the acceptance, the love.

No. That wasn't rational. It was a worst case scenario fueled by years of paranoia. Putting this off was only making Virgil miserable; no matter the outcome, it almost seemed better to get it off his chest now before he lost his nerve.

So he stepped out into the hall and took the same twists and turns through the mindscape as he had that morning, his heart beating louder the closer he got. Again, the walk felt far too fast. He rounded a corner, and suddenly Logan's room was there, hanging in his line of sight like one of the Doors of Death. It's fine, he thought, twisting at the hem of his hoodie. It's fine. Just knock. It's fine.

Virgil raised a hand, sleeve pulled over his knuckles, and gave two short knocks on the plain black wood.

"Yes?" came a voice on the other side.

"It's, uh... It's me. Virgil."

A brief pause, and then: "One moment."

Virgil stood there with bated breath as a series of sounds issued from behind the door — the scrape of a chair, the thud of a book sliding back onto a shelf, and a dozen other noises he couldn't place. Waiting was agony; he was seconds away from taking off down the hall and not looking back.

Then the door swung open, and there was Logan, eyebrows raised and posture perfect. "What is it?"

"I was just wondering," Virgil said, speaking as slow as he could to keep from fumbling with the sentence. "If I... hypothetically had something to tell you —"

Logan stepped aside to let Virgil in without hesitation, gesturing toward the edge of his bed for the second time that day. "You know how I feel about dealing in hypotheticals."

"Yeah, no, I —" Virgil stopped, breathed, fixed his gaze on a brass telescope by the window. The light beyond it was dim as the yellow sun burned through dull reddish leaves. "You said you were here to listen."

A curt nod.

"Right," Virgil said, willing himself to cut to the chase. "So I... I thought I'd tell you something."

Logan just watched him, hands folded in his lap.

"I'm..." Like a band aid. Come on. "Okay, before I say anything, just take a second to remember all the friendliness and acceptance that's been going on lately."

"You do know how forgetful I am." Logan's sarcasm did nothing to comfort him.

God, why was this so difficult? It was just Logan. He should have been the easiest to talk to; he didn't issue the same supportive pressure as Patton, nor did he exude intense encouragement like Roman. Just clever, sharp witted Logan. You can do this.