Ten Months Later
Titus woke in a cold sweat and sat up, setting his feet on the floor. The echo of the gunshot still rang from his dreams, the blood and brain matter flying through the air still a vivid image.
He glanced around the room making sure he resided in a safe place, thankful to see the black and grey furnishings he’d become so accustomed to. His left leg ached, and he absently rubbed it. After wiping the sweat from his brow, he placed his head in his hands and tried to calm his breathing.
It had been a couple of weeks since he’d dreamt of Simon's murder. The nightmares always left him in the same state: scared, raw with sadness, and wishing he would have died out in the desert.
However, something kept him from taking his own life.
He glanced over at the knife he'd kept from his dinner tray last night. Although not very sharp, surely, he could find some way to end it all with the instrument? He reached over and picked it up while pushing his hair back from his forehead.
Perhaps he could lodge it in his stomach, or throat?
As he considered the idea, a knock sounded on his door. Sighing, he put the knife under his pillow and pulled the blankets over his hips. Glancing at the clock, he realized it should be time for Macy's morning visit.
He said nothing, hoping she would simply go away, but she never did.
A moment later, she came through the door having used the silo master key, tray in hand, a small smile playing on her lips. The knock had served as notification that she stood at the door and would be entering. She didn’t bother waiting for an invitation, as she probably knew one would never come.
"Good morning, Titus."
He wouldn’t describe her as pretty. Her straight, mousy brown hair hung limply to her chin and her dark eyes seemed to be a little bit too close together. She stood around five-foot-two and as thin as anyone he'd ever seen. He considered her physically weak. As a Healer on SR44, her kindness overshadowed everything, and nothing but compassion shone from her eyes when she looked at him.
He hated it.
She annoyed him to no end with her smiles and good-natured chit-chat when he just wanted to be left alone to rot away in his own private hell.
He nodded. "Good morning."
She set the tray on the nightstand next to his bed, just as she had done every morning since he’d woken up after Justice had found him in the desert.
"Did you sleep well?"
She sat down next to him on the bed, the mattress barely dipping under her thin frame.
"Yes," he lied.
Frankly, although kind, Macy made him crazy. He envied her calm, quiet demeanor and the goodness that oozed from her while his life seemed like an out of control roller coaster of emotions, horrible thoughts, and terrible dreams.
She narrowed her gaze at him. "I think you're lying to me, Titus."
He sighed. Her ability to look beyond words also bothered him, and he’d wondered more than once if she possessed the gift of clairvoyance.
"Tell me about the dreams."
Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers through his hair again. He should probably get it cut, but on a list of things that needed to be done, the chore ranked very, very far down in priority. He could barely make it through the day—mundane tasks like eating and showering felt like work to him. He didn't have the energy to worry about his out of control hair.
"It was about Simon again."
He hated that he wanted to confess to her, to open up to her, but he couldn't help it. Macy had been his rock and confidant since he’d regained consciousness when Justice had brought him back to their bunker, and he loathed that she had the ability to draw him out, to make him want to talk.
In fact, his feelings about her changed without warning. He disliked everything about her, especially the fact that she wouldn’t just let him be. Yet, he still relied on her to help him hold on to the thread of sanity in his grasp, and he tried to remain polite. Sometimes he did; other times he heard the vitriol in his voice, but he never regretted speaking to her badly.
Never in a million years had he expected to meet up with another SR44ian, except a Savior who wanted to end his life. When he’d woken for the first time in the bunker, he’d gasped as Macy's light yellow gaze had met his—as if someone had taken a yellow tulip and hit it with just a splash of bleach.
Unwittingly, he'd found more of his own kind, and a small sliver of hope had grown within him.
"Was it the same one? The same dream?"
He nodded.
He'd had the dream what seemed like a million times, and each time, it felt as real as the day it had happened.
The temperature had been somewhat cool that day, the sky dusted with thin, wispy clouds.
Micah, the leader of the Platoon, had summoned him and Simon to Sophia's home. Titus remembered the feeling of unease that had come over him as they drove up to the small abode, but his gut always clenched and he broke out into a sweat whenever he had to deal directly with Micah. He found the male to be barbaric in his practices to further their race, and frankly, Titus had thought of him as unstable and crazy. His actions, such as his obsession of wanting the Saviors dead, and working with a Colonist, of all people, to make it happen, had only solidified his feelings about the male.
"This doesn’t seem right," he had murmured to Simon, his head aching from the bottle of wine he'd consumed the night before.
Simon had gazed over at him lovingly and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, Titus. He'll just yell and scream for a while, then we'll figure out what he wants us to do. We'll be fine, just as we always are."
After parking the car, they’d walked to the house and knocked on the door. Micah had answered, seeming more agitated and upset than normal.
“What took you so long?” he’d snapped.
Simon had shrugged. "We came as fast as we could, Micah."
Micah had glared at both of them, his eyes dilating and his breath coming in short bursts. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.
It all happened so quickly, yet Titus remembered every detail with such clarity, as if he'd been watching a slow-motion movie.
Micah had reached behind him and pulled a gun from his waistband. He’d leveled it at Simon’s head and wrapped his finger around the trigger.
After the shot had sounded, Titus had heard nothing but the beating of his own heart as it slammed in his chest. The bullet had come out the back of Simon's head and his body fell to the ground. Titus' flight or fight response had kicked in, and he’d taken off running.
The roar of his blood rushing through his ears had dulled the sound of the gunshots, but he had felt the burn as the bullet hit his thigh. He’d run until he couldn't run anymore, and then walked until he’d collapsed, the fear and the weight of his loss his only companions.
He glanced over at Macy. "It was the same as always. I've told you about it before."
She nodded and placed her hand on his leg. "How is your leg feeling today?"
"It's sore."
"Did you exercise yesterday?"
"Yes."
His relationship with the Saviors had improved. Blake had forced him to start working out, and he had to admit, after the first few weeks of excruciating pain, he’d begun to somewhat enjoy their two-hour sessions together. Slowly but surely, he was getting back into shape, and yet, he detested their efforts almost as much as he hated Macy.
Hudson had talked to him about losing his mate and offered suggestions for coping, which basically boiled down to finding things he liked to do. Kade had shown him the Internet, and he enjoyed looking at YouTube and watching the humans. Some of their antics made him smile, and he definitely had a new appreciation for cats. That had led to a great bond between him and Neptune, Abby's feline, who came to visit him every couple of days.
Liberty had suggested he read some books, and that had become his favorite thing to do. When he read a good book, he was able to get lost in the story and forget his life and his pain for a bit. He found the humans’ behaviors on YouTube funny but strange; yet, some of them could certainly create amazing stories that took him to different worlds and made him experience new situations through the written word.
Macy gave his leg another squeeze. "Let me do a healing on you, okay?"
Sighing, he nodded and lay back down, knowing that arguing with her would be futile. The more he agreed with what she said, the faster she’d leave him alone.
She knelt on the floor next to him, placing one hand on his leg, the other on his chest. Bowing her head, she shut her eyes, and he did the same.
While living on SR44, he'd never had the need for a healing, even while fighting the war that ravaged his planet and ultimately destroyed it. He considered himself very fortunate.
With a slight jolt, he felt Macy's energy within him. He focused his own soul on hers as she floated about his body repairing muscle damage in his legs and pectoral muscles. A few minutes later, he felt her hovering above his heart. What did it look like? Were the physical aspects congruent with his feelings—cracked, broken, and black with sadness?
She could never tell him, as she never actually saw within him. Her energy simply traveled through him, mending what needed to be fixed.
She left his body and he opened his eyes.
Macy sat back on her heels and rubbed her forehead. He'd heard that giving a healing to someone exhausted the Healer, but he'd never heard her complain or even comment on it.
She gazed up at him and smiled. "You worked out hard yesterday. Those muscle tears were somewhat significant."
He nodded as she stood.
"Make sure you eat, Titus. It's important to keep your strength up."
She left the room, her blue cotton sundress hanging on her thin frame like a bulky curtain.
He glanced over at the food, not particularly hungry. Macy had been right—he should eat, but he didn't even know if he wanted to live.
His thoughts once again turned to Simon. He wouldn't be happy with Titus, and he would certainly want him to go on.
Sighing, he rolled over and closed his eyes. The depression weighed over him like a wet blanket. He just couldn’t get out of bed yet, and he certainly didn’t want any food.
However, he promised himself that he would eat something for lunch, but deep in his heart he had a feeling he’d break that vow.