After Aydan leaves, I cry and cry and cry.
I allow myself to be weak, to be the girl who lost her boyfriend and sees her future melting away into nothing, not even a miserable puddle in which to see the reflection of what used to be.
I let grief, fear, anger, guilt, all my emotions, seethe in my chest. I rock back and forth, hugging my knees. I become what I’ve never been before.
Weak. Frail. Pathetic.
My hands shake with need, with the desire to lose myself in the dreamless, empty sleep of Kristen’s sedative. Pulling my fingers inwardly, I make fists and press them against my eyes. It takes all I’ve got not to jump off the bed and retrieve the syringe to see if there’s anything left in it. A metallic taste fills my mouth. Blood pools under my tongue. I swallow it even as I gag, wanting to spit out.
My whole body trembles as I fight and, suddenly, I realize that the grief and tears don’t mean I’m weak. On the contrary, they are what I’ve been hiding from, what I’ve feared, thinking I wouldn’t be able to survive them. Except I’m still here. Even as my heart shrivels and shrivels. Even as the pain tears me down, and I put myself back together just to shatter again.
It’s not easy, but it seems I am strong enough.
Just as Xave said I was.
You’re strong.
You can take care of yourself.
Strong enough to withstand the crashing waves of pain, the loneliness, the tears. Strong enough to face this reality fully awake. Strong enough to speak and shape words to make an oath against Elliot, Zara, Luke, anyone who dares call himself an Eklyptor. To make them pay for what they’ve done. Strong enough not to let my enemies cancel me out without a fight.
Strong enough to shine through this darkness and not be snuffed out like a candle.
Because I’m meant to burn. I’m meant to ignite the shadows.
And so I will.
* * *
Hours later, as I walk into The Tank, where the large area is divided into clear-wall quadrants, I do my best to hold my head high and stifle the shame that keeps forcing my eyes toward the polished wood floor. I’m dressed in my leathers which I found folded on a chair together with my keys and cell phone. My lace-up boots were on the floor next to the chair and, now, reveal my presence with a tap-tap that echoes throughout the expansive area.
The first one to notice me through the clear partitions is Rheema. She looks up. Surprise fills her dark brown eyes. Leaving her work behind, she exits the auto-repair pod and walks in my direction. I stop and wait for her, focused on her blue, grease-stained coveralls. When she’s only a few feet away, she pauses and smiles. Her eyes search my face, then, without words, she wraps me in a hug and holds me tight.
At first, I’m stiff, reminded of all the reasons why she’s still here and Xave isn’t. I squeeze my eyes shut. My throat aches as if a white-hot iron has been pressed against it. When the urge to dissolve into pieces goes away, I remind myself that being vulnerable requires more strength than shunning all my feelings and sticking my head in the sand. I relax and pry my heart open, letting the tidal wave of emotions move in and out. It takes everything I have not to fall to my knees and beg for drugs, for shadows, for death, anything that would be easier than this.
But it was my strength which Xave admired most. He told me that much. So I imagine armor plates clasping around my legs and knees, and I stay upright, return Rheema’s hug and spill not a single tear. She pats me on the back and pulls away after a long minute. With a final smile, she turns and leaves—never having said a word. One down. How many more to go?
After a few steps, I spot Oso coming out of the kitchen area. A broad smile appears on his gentle face as soon as he sees me. I stop, trying to reinforce my armor, wondering if he’ll be the one to undo me.
“Hey, little girl,” he says. “It’s a good thing to see you up.”
“Thank you.”
He seems unsure of what to say next, then he turns to what he’s comfortable with. “Are you hungry? You name it, I’ll cook it for you.”
“No, not really, but I appreciate it.”
He nods several times, then his thick hairy arm comes up and he lays a hand on my shoulder. “It may not seem that way right now, but it gets better. I lost someone, too. It’s never the same, but the pain eases up enough that you can breathe again.”
I look at his boots. He pats my shoulder and walks away. The angle of his shoulders and his entire posture spell sadness; so much so that I doubt the truth in his words.
I press forward. Kristen is in the lab pod, head down, nose practically touching the large notebook that rests on her work area. As I walk by, she barely acknowledges me. Her green eyes peer up for a second, then turn back to her work. She’s not friendly by any means, but not hostile either, which is more than fine by me.
When I reach the computer pod where James and Aydan are so deep in conversation that they don’t even notice me, I clear my throat. James looks up. When he realizes it’s me, surprise flashes across his face, but he hides it quickly. He stands and gives Aydan a quick nod that looks like a “thank you” and an “I knew you could fix her” all rolled into one.
I think a smile curves Aydan’s lips, but when I look closer, he turns away and rolls his chair to a gutted computer that rests on one of the many work tables.
“How … do you feel?” James asks.
“I’m fine.”
“You were sedated for three days. It might take a few days to feel completely normal after …” He pauses, searches for the right words.
“You don’t have to walk on eggshells,” I say. “I won’t fall apart again. I promise.”
Strong. Be strong.
James nods slowly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice Aydan’s hand become still and hover over the motherboard he’s repairing. His ear is cocked in our direction.
“That’s good to hear, Marci,” James says, then sighs. “Especially since I need to talk to you.”
I frown, feel my chest tighten.
“I wish you could have more time to rest and clear your mind, but, as you well know, time isn’t a luxury we’ve had in a very long time.”
“I know,” I say, hands locked tightly behind my back, fingers stiffening and relaxing compulsively.
“Good, give me a moment to talk to Kristen, then we’ll go into one of the conference rooms.”
He pats my shoulder and leaves. I stay back, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, looking in every direction except Aydan’s. I focus on all the pictures of geniuses he has taped to the server racks and CPUs that occupy the pod. A few of them have underlined quotes written in quick scroll. I get closer and read a few of them.
“Reality is only an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” – Albert Einstein.
“Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.” – Stephen Hawking.
As I pretend to deeply ponder each quote, Aydan slips on a pair of goggles, then picks up a soldering gun and begins to deposit a few drops of solder here and there. His hands don’t look very steady. He must be tired. My eyes flick back and forth from Einstein’s frizzy hair to Aydan’s trembling hands.
His words ring in the back of my mind.
Prove me wrong, then.
I don’t care for proving anybody wrong. I just want to prove Xave right.
“No!” Aydan exclaims, setting the soldering gun in its stand. “Crap.”
He picks up the circuit board and looks at it closely. After a moment, he straightens his back, rolls his neck and takes a huge inhale. I know just how frustrating this type of work can be, especially when you’re tired.
Aydan pushes his goggles up to his forehead and bends his head over the circuits once more. On autopilot, my feet shuffle closer to him, curiosity getting the best of me. When he notices me, his head moves almost imperceptibly in my direction. I stop, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he acts as if he hasn’t noticed me and continues to work.
Infuriating prick.
And even as I curse him, I peer over his shoulder, thinking it would feel good to lose myself into work, doing some productive hacking or hardware rigging, anything to take my mind to better places.
From the looks of it, he’s trying to replace the motherboard’s capacitor. There are a few key places where he needs to solder the leads. It’s delicate work, but nothing to cause him this type of frustration.
“If I could just …” he says under his breath, pointing at one of the tight spots where he needs a connection. His index finger twitches. A strange crackle fills the air. The back of my arms erupt in goose bumps and Aydan’s jet black hair stands on end. I frown.
Suddenly, a blue spark erupts from the tip of his finger, zaps and fries the small circuits in front of it. In one quick, freaked-out motion, he rolls back in his chair and jumps to his feet.
“What the crap?” He looks back from his hand to the now smoking motherboard. His gaze drifts to mine, dark eyes round and full of questions and incredulity.
“Something the matter?” James asks, returning from his discussion with Kristen.
“Uh, not really.” Aydan frowns at the ground. I frown at him.
“I just burned my finger,” he says.
I turn to face James and, as I do, Aydan catches my gaze and shakes his head ever so slightly. I turn my back on him without acknowledging his request. I don’t owe Aydan anything. Why shouldn’t James know there might be some power brewing inside of one of his crew members?
I leave with James, without a backward glance. As we walk, I’m on the verge of telling him what I saw but, in the end, I say nothing. Aydan may be an asshole, but his suffering is none of my business, just like mine isn’t any of his.