Whitewashed

Moral Combat

Chapter 5: Moral Combat

As soon as I know Tommo is out of earshot, I let out a small choking noise and drop to my knees.

Had I really just stabbed someone?

Again, it is almost funny, the fact that THIS bothers me above all else. I had almost died and I’m breaking down because I hurt someone.

But I am a good girl… I AM… I …was.

I had fended off these feelings while my body was still pumping adrenaline through my system, then they were pushed away while I was challenging Tommo.

Now I have nothing left to stop the breaking of the dam, the opening of the floodgates.

Looking down at my hands, I feel like the warm blood still covers them even though most of it had been washed off by the rain while we were carrying Haz. Why do they still feel hot and slick? There is no more blood, not visibly at least, but I feel it. I FEEL it.

“Ozzie?” Little Man’s pre-puberty voice reaches my ears through the screen door, solidifying my emotional dam, and I instantly go to wiping my eyes with my wrists, not wanting my hands to touch any other part of my body.

“In here!” I mean to shout, but the words come like a whisper.

“Ready to see your room?” his dark head pops in, hair plastered down due to the rain.

“Yeah!” I get to my feet and staggered sideways, towards the couch, trying to sound excited. Picking up my purse, I follow him out into the haze of water. “Which way?”

“Right over here. Haz found furniture for it, but Prints is the one who forfeit a lot of his crap,” Little man glances over his shoulder at me every so often as we walk. “Well SOME of his crap. Think of it like a house warming gift.”

The kid produces a key from his pocket and pops the lock, swinging the door open and throwing me both metal objects.

“That’s yours, but just to let you know Tommo has the other one,” he says off handedly, referring to the key, and flicks on a light, revealing what will become my new, second ‘apartment.’

My eyes scan over the office portion of the building, taking in its emptiness, still dirtiness, but emptiness, “How is it that you guys get power to these warehouses, but not other ones?”

Like where Haz keeps Belladonna.

“That’s a question for POGs,” he jabs his finger over his shoulder. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“Right, sleep well,” I nod, ready to have a look around and forget the past half an hour.

Little Man, before disappearing into the still raging but slowly fading storm, laughs, “Sleep? I don’t NEED sleep! Ha!”

I smile at his puerile statement and turn away from the front door as it shuts behind him. My grin doesn’t take too long to fade.

To keep waves of disgust and terror from drowning me, I decide exploring is a good alternative to sulking. Unlike the other building, this one only has a single bathroom and two offices off of the main entry, which is a hallway. Before opening any of the others, I close the lock around a latch on the inside of the front door.

Call me crazy, but I had almost died about fifteen minutes ago. I’m not about to let people walk in and out of here freely.

Behind the first wooden barricade is the bedroom. A twin sized mattress is on the floor, a dresser without a leg, propped up by a brick, against one of the walls, and a beaten up table against the other.