Years of Dying

Chapter Six

I silently walk through the deserted hallway, the lamps hung up on the stone walls have been left to flicker, and die. After all that's happened today, I can't justify not seeing Hercules. I know where he is now, and he'll be expecting me back. I also need to apologize.

     I turn the corner and land in the Captain's hallway. I take a shaky breath as I head down the corridor and tug on the doorknob for the lab opposite of the Captain's door. But it won't open. I tug on it again, but still nothing. I sigh and press my forehead against the wood and sigh. There's only two rooms keeping me away from him. Keeping me away from his warmth, and kindness. From the way he says my name to the way his hugs feel when I'm upset. Somehow, my thoughts evolve from needing Hercules, to wanting Alex. I don't understand them at first, but my brain goes against what I tell it to do and starts imagining scenes with Alex that have and will never happen. Such as, Alex playing with my hair. Alex cupping my cheek with his hand. Alex holding my hand. Alex comforting me. Alex kissing me.

     I ward away those thoughts. I can't think of him now. Most likely I'll never see him again, so it's no use imagining things that won't happened, even if a small, ashamed part of me wishes they would. So I think about Hercules instead. I think about what the Captain might have done to punish him. I think about how he's usually the one comforting me, but how I need to comfort him right now. He needs me. But I can't get to him. And there's no way for me to get to him. So I just stand there, palms and forehead resting against the door, wishing there was a way to let him know that I'm with him.

"Alexander, are you okay?" Lafayette asks, he's casually leaning against the side of a pine tree, and fiddling with something in his hands while he talks to me.
"That depends. Am I allowed to entirely change the definition of 'okay'?" I shoot back at him. Running my hands through my hair tiredly.
"Are you still upset about Jefferson?" Lafayette inquires, not taking his eyes off of his hands. I snap my head up, and stare at him incredulously.
"'Am I still upset'? Of course I am! He made me look like a goddamn fool in front of everyone, and now no one's going to respect me or listen to my ideas." I say, angrily.
"Yeah. That can be upsetting. But I was more leaning towards how you felt about him dissing John." Lafayette responds, unconcernedly.
"Of- of course I am. You know that Laf but I just- sometimes I wish I could just pick apart my emotions and lay them out on a table for me to organize." I say wearily.
"I know how that feels. But instead of moping about it like you, I've decided to do something."
"I don't mope-" Wait. What am I saying, what has he done? "What did you do?" Lafayette shows me what he's holding. It's a letter. More simply put, it's a letter that he wrote in French. "What's this?"
"Well, while we were walking in the desert, you know to this place, John told me about the time before he was taken to that jail cell, remember that? Anyways, he said he was talking to one of the guards that worked in the mines. The washer I think? For some reason John told him about our escape plan that we were working about. He said that the guy told him to write a letter in French to Washington instead of English if we were actually serious about sending him one."
"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," I say. I look at the letter again, and my last two brain cells seem to connect together in my brain. "Wait... you want to send this letter to John? How?" When I say how, I literally mean, how. Because there's no way to contact him. And even if John does get the letter, he doesn't know French.
"Okay I know what you're thinking. And I might have figured something out." Lafayette says, as though reading my mind.
"What is it?" I ask, for some reason, dreading the answer.
"Hear me out."

My name is John Laurens

My best friend has been punished and it's my fault. I suppose normally, the blame would go to the person who's caused all of this, but I can't exactly blame the Captain for my mistakes.

     I am no stranger to mistakes, they seem to follow me around wherever I go. I can't go near people without hurting them. I've hurt Hercules. I'm the one who caused all of this. Maybe, when Alex first came to the mines, if I didn't form a relationship with him, I could have kept this whole mess from happening. I wasn't exactly happy in the mines, but truth be told I'm not happy anywhere. At least in the mines, I had Hercules and Lafayette. Now, I can't even talk to Hercules. I don't want to hurt him further, so maybe I'll just try to push him away from my mind. Try to let go of him, slowly, but let go of him. Forever. The sooner I get the people I care about out of my life, the sooner they won't be hurt for my mistakes.

     I can't do this much longer. I can't exist without a purpose. I keep on looking back at my life in the mines with wistfulness. Because in the mines, I had a purpose. I had a reason to stay alive. I had Herc and Laf, and we all shared a mutual desire to kill off all the British. To rid them of this world once and for all. But now I'm working for the British. And I can't think of thoughts like that. So I just exist. For no ones benefit. Especially not my own. On times like these, when I was still living in that small desert town, I would fall back onto my old habits. But I haven't hurt myself in so long, I'm scared. I remember what it felt like when I did do it. It felt good. But five minutes later it felt horrible. But if it means that I can feel, not happy, but calm, just for a moment, isn't it worth it? I don't know. I just don't know anymore.

     I want Hercules. I want Lafayette. I want Alex. I want my mom. I want to feel happy.