Page 20 of What We Brave
"Where'd you get your fucking psychology degree?"
"From the university of 'don't have my head up my ass'." He turns back to look at me, face grave. "Don't make me come back here to recover your body. Please. I can't do that again. I don't want to lose you to the shit going on in your head."
Then he's gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
I sit in the silence. I never really let myself think about after. Ialways just imagined not being here anymore. And in my imagination, everybody else just went on with their life.
How could I be so fucking delusional? I remember watching Jared's coffin come off that transport flight. I remember the pain, and the grief like it was yesterday.
I look down at the rifle on the table. Cold. Black. Dead.
I hate it. For the first time in three months, I look at the weapon and I hate it. I hate the simplicity of it. I hate that I tried to become it.
He’s sleeping in the bunk room. He’s alone.
The thought claws at my chest. Reid, the guy who drags everyone else into the light, sitting in the dark. Because of me. I didn't save him. I abandoned him.
I stand up, grabbing my gear. I walk back to the bunk, moving on autopilot. The corridor is empty. The air conditioning vents rattle.
I enter my room and sit on the edge of the mattress. It smells like dust.
My hand goes to the shelf. To the black brick.
I shouldn't. It’s a mistake. It opens the door. It lets the pain in.
But Hatch’s voice is in my head.You’re hiding.
I am. I’m hiding. And I’m done hiding.
I press the power button.
The screen flares to life, blindingly bright in the dark room. The logo flashes. Then the loading bar. My pulse is thumping in my ears, louder than the generators outside.
The screen unlocks. It vibrates. Once. Twice. A continuous buzz against my palm.
Notifications cascade down the screen. Dozens of them. A wall of green bubbles spanning weeks of panic.
Reid (2 months ago): Where are you?
Reid (2 months ago): Pick up the phone, Blake.
Reid (2 months ago): Don't do this.
I keep scrolling. The messages get more desperate as the weeks go on.
Reid (6 weeks ago): Just let me know you're alive. Please.
Then silence. A full month of dead silence. He finally gave up.
I stare at the screen, the air punching out of my lungs. I did this tohim. I left him bleeding out, and then I ignored him while he begged for a tourniquet.
And then another message.
The name on the screen hits me harder than a piece of shrapnel.
Laine.
I stop breathing. My vision blurs. I stole her fucking number. I knew it wasn't mine to have, but I needed it. I wanted it. But I never used it.
