Those Hollow Lies

A Different Kind of Darkness

6/20/09 - It’s late. It doesn’t matter!

I watched in shock as Roz left the room, her towel hanging loose around her neck and a slight limp in her left leg as she barked her orders at the agents who had allowed themselves to be distracted by our display. I remained on the bench, eyes fixed on the door as my mind replayed everything that had just happened. It was ludicrous; Roz had found my weak spot and exploited it to turn me into a killer! Sure, I hadn’t come close to murdering her, but I felt like I could have done if she hadn’t had been prepared for it.

I could feel the blood trickling down my face and hands, the sweat from my weary body dripping into the open wounds and stinging like crazy. Dark bruises were forming all over my body and I could feel parts of myself starting to swell. Not an inch of me didn’t ache or sting in some way or another and finally, when the pain was almost taking over, I dragged myself to my room, slamming the dial to turn on the shower as I peeled my sweat soaked clothes from my body, wincing and crying out as the fabric freed my blotchy skin.

The hot water only washed away the sweat and blood. The pain, the anger…it remained and the minute I was dry and in my sweatpants for the night I stormed to Roz’s room, not even bothering to knock and swinging the door open.

She turned around from her dresser, face contorted into one of anger until she saw it was me. My eyes took in her own pyjama clad form and I realised that I’d done a number on her too. There were clear bruises in the shape of my fingers from where I had grabbed her numerous times, as well as other menacing contusions from the times I had managed to land a solid hit. Her lip was swollen and scarring over and her right eye had a horrible swelling bruise around it.

What made my anger increase more though was the fact that my heart still skipped a beat when I saw her and the first thought that ran through my head was: “God, she’s beautiful.”

“You need to tend to your injuries.” She said coolly, reaching up to her wardrobe to pull down a first aid box.

“You tricked me.” I stated, slamming the door behind me, earning an eyebrow raise from the small girl.

“I had to get you to fight me somehow.”

“You had no right to do what you did.” I told her.

She turned to me and shook her head to herself. “Just sit down and calm down. Your eyebrow needs butterfly stitches.”

For some reason, I obeyed her, perching on the edge of her bed and watching as she unloaded the kit, pulling out creams and packets of a variety of things. “By the way, good right hook. I thought my eye was going to explode.”

“Yeah? Well I’m glad.” She looked at me, shocked. “You threatened my dad, Roz!”

“You know those were empty threats. I told you, I had to make you forget about your feelings for me and concentrate as if I were the enemy. Your dad seemed to be the trigger to make you do that.” She explained, handing me an antiseptic wipe.

“And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, explained this to me earlier?!”

“Would it have worked if you knew I was searching for a trigger? This is what I’ve been doing with you for days now. You needed to forget about everything and let your anger take over.” She pulled the stitches from the packet and reached up, running her fingers softly around the wound as she examined it carefully. “I know it’s not what most people are taught, but in the Quarter, it becomes a means of survival. That animal instinct that we humans try to quell? That is how we thrive in battle and how, most of the time, we come out of it in one piece.”

“I’ve never seen you do that to any other agent.” I snarled.

“I’ve never had to. They’ve all been taught from a long time ago. As for me, I have a natural manner to be angry. Everyone else though? They have a trigger; something they focus on before a fight that provides them with the raw anger you experienced tonight…and that you’re still getting over.” She smiled softly and then placed the stitches over my eyebrow, ignoring the sharp hiss that escaped my lips.