The Fence

Chapter 81: Innocence

I don't know when the last time I just laid down was. The last time I just allowed myself to stare up at the dark sky, the almost winter breeze ruffling my hair. Nothing presses me to move, my schedule non existent.

My head rests against a rock-not the most comfortable thing, I know. I gaze at the midnight scape, the stars still glittering over my head, despite what had just happened. Some people say that when someone dies, they become a star among others in the sky. I'd started to count the limitless amount of stars that I could see, but I almost fell asleep-like counting sheep.

"Hey, Kirbena," Troy murmurs, his voiced hushed. Perhaps he thinks that I may be asleep.

"Oh, Troy," I reply, finding it inside of me to sit up. "How's Jeremy doing?"

"He's getting there," Troy sighs. "He's got a long way to go, but if he gets through the shock, I expect he'll make a full recovery."

"That's good to hear."

"I know Donte was a little bit hard on you earlier, when we were retracting the bullet. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"You think?" he adds. He runs his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, small curls being pulled by his hands. "I heard you say that before. You said 'I'm fine, I think'. How are you really?"

I survey his pale blue eyes, friendly but sheltered. "A gun was just smashed against my skull."

"I imagine that was hard for you."

I lean back again. "You know what was hard for me?" I ask, my tone dark. "Watching my squad mate, my friend, get shot in the head. That was hard. I'm alive. I'm breathing. She's not, and she wasn't even given the chance to fight like I was."

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose after he takes a seat next to me. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," I breathe. "You didn't know her."

"I did know her. Merida was a good person. She cared a lot about all of you."

I feel a knob forming in my throat. "Stop."

"What?"

"You're going to make me cry again," I sniffle, rubbing my cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

Troy leans back too, using his arm to prop his neck up. "Okay."

"Was there a point to you coming over here?" I clear my throat, my voice raspy from my prior crying.

"I just wanted to check on you."

"Last time I checked, you were a surgeon. Not my psychologist."

Troy lets out another sigh. "Bena, I've got problems of my own. I never want to talk about them, but I've realized that talking about them makes it easier."

"So let's talk about you, then," I mutter, my voice becoming exceeding annoyed. "What are your problems? Did you get shot? Your friend? Your other friend?"

"You don't have to talk about Merida, or Jeremy," he begins. "We don't have to talk about guns, or plans for the future. We don't have to talk about yukos. Just talk about something, because no one seems to notice your pain and that you could've died tonight."

"I think that everyone's noticed, actually," I reply. "They just don't know how to approach me. You were the first person who dared."

Troy lets out a halfhearted chuckle. "Perhaps."