I Am Not Junco Omnibus: Books Four - Six (3 page)

I think today I'll choose… to die, yeah that's it. Today is a good day to die.

But maybe tomorrow I'll choose to die instead.

It's so stupid. Nothing makes any sense at all.

"Faith, Junco. Sometimes you just have to muster up a little faith that things will get better."

But they won't get better. I know this. I feel it inside me, in every molecule, every atom, every subatomic particle that makes up my body. I feel the wrongness of everything. "Faith is a waste of time."

"Mostly," he replies. "Yes, mostly it is. Faith always takes second chair to action. But sometimes, Junco, you're the only one playing the song and you've got no one else there to rely on. In those times, faith really does help. So you have to have a little faith."

"That's funny, coming from you." I peer up into his eyes. They are a lovely blue-green now. Not the blue like when he's in his Archer form. The need to know suddenly overtakes my prior urge for a fight about faith. "Were your eyes green as a man?"

He lets out a small laugh. "Yes, very green. Are they green now?"

I study them. No, not really green at all. More like aquamarine. I've never seen such eyes in all my life. I gather myself and continue. "You seemed pretty happy when I said my faith was gone. Now all of a sudden you want me to find it again?"

He releases me abruptly and sits up in the bed. "Will you get up, or shall I make you?"

I take a moment to think about it but he doesn't wait. He shoves me off the bed and I plunk to the hard tile floor, a sharp pain radiating up my spine as my hip takes the brunt of the force. He's in front of me now, pulling on me, and then I'm standing there, Gideon's boxers almost falling down my legs.

I tug them up self-consciously.

Lucan laughs. "You smell, you look ridiculous, and you need to sit in the sun for about a week, Junco. I expect you to be well on your way back to normal by tomorrow night when I call. We have to talk and I won't tolerate your—" He stops for a moment to reconsider his word. "Quitting."

I stare at him. His body armor is made up of tiny black scales, a very smooth metal I know from touching them over the past day or so. They clink and chink with his movements. He looks like something straight out of the angel apocalypse. All he needs is horns. "Do you ever have horns?" I hear my mouth ask.

He shakes his head and disappears.

Shit, I really wanted to know the answer to that one.

Chapter Two

Selia and Gideon are sharing the apartment I woke up in, but thankfully after I take a shower and clean up, stopping several times in there to force the tears back when my fingertips find the scars along the back of my shoulders, they're nowhere to be found when I venture out of the bedroom and into the hall.

But there is a strange man standing out on the terrace talking on a comm. I begin to turn to bolt when he catches me. I stop and wait as he dismisses the call and walks back into the apartment in a rush.

I step back a little at his decisive movements.

He stops. "Sorry, Junco. I didn't mean to scare you. Gideon and Selia will be back shortly."

I nod and retreat, hungry, but not able to subject myself to a stranger no matter how badly my stomach is rumbling.

There is no screen in my room, there are no books, no devices to fiddle with, or comms. So I just sit on the edge of the bed and listen with my head cocked slightly for movement beyond my door. There's a small terrace but it's nighttime, and it's way too early to allow myself to look at the stars. I need to work up to that one or I'll be totally gone.

So I just sit in the darkness and wait.

But even after Gideon arrives—I can hear him talking as he moves through the rooms—he does not come to me. Selia says my name once or twice in a hushed whisper, but nothing ever comes of it.

And after hours of waiting I force myself to accept the truth of what is happening. I get up and walk across the room, gulp down the dread, open the door, and walk through.

They are playing cards on the terrace. Gideon, Selia, that guy from earlier, and several other men dressed in uniform. The Asian guy, the one who scared me back into the bedroom, nods at me and everyone turns.

I want to shrivel up and die at the attention.

My chest heaves as it draws in breath after breath and I'm just about to turn when Gid calls for me. "Snowbird," he says calmly. "Come join us."

I finish my turn and shake my head, then make my way into the kitchen to find food. There's a very nice autocook—the kind we had at our house back in Council 3. We always had maids and cooks and housekeepers, so my dad never cooked and I only did on special occasions—Christmas and stuff—or when camping, but I'm a pro at autocooking. My finger traces down Gideon's menu on the side of the machine and I choose seafood. The salty smell of the ocean outside has piqued a craving.

I stand still, dreading footsteps.

But none come.

The machine beeps and I set my meal on the countertop, then walk around and set myself on the tall stool. I eat it all and still, no one comes to bother me.

And when I'm done I just sit there and stare. I can hear Selia asking to come check on me, but Gideon says no. A very forceful no.

Selia does not argue.

So I sit by myself.

And come to the conclusion, after many loud and boisterous bursts of laughter from the poker-playing group later, that these people do not care one way or another if I join them on the terrace.

So I slink back to my dark room, crawl under the familiar covers, and count the seconds until I fall asleep.

When I wake his name is on my tongue once again.

Isten
.

The tears spill out before I can stop them, but I get it in check. I need the count, I tell myself.
I need it, I need it, I need it.

"You don't need it, Junco."

I do. I need it.

Gideon slips into the bed beside me. "You can't go on like this. You have to snap out of it, Juncs."

Silence from me.

"Just let the tears out. You need to cry more than the counting."

I shake my head. "I do not want to cry."

He breathes out with my words. "Please don't do this."

I sniff away the unwanted runny nose. "Do what." It's not a question. It's a half-hearted attempt to stall what needs to be said.

"It's a sickness, Junco. You know this. How many conversations have we had about it?"

"Too many."

"Is that why you wouldn't come outside?"

"No," I lie.

He sighs and turns me around. "You can cry, ya know. No one will stop you."

I know this. I've cried lots of times since leaving the camp behind. I've cried in front of my whole team, Tier, Ashur, Lucan. They've all seen me cry.

But this is different. I
want
to count. Those little counts, the heartbeats, those were nothing compared to what I need to count now. But two weaknesses is one too many.

So I will not cry. And I will not count what I need to count until I get rid of all the crying urges. Because once I start, I won't stop.

"You can talk about it if you want."

I don't want. I cannot even imagine what will come out with the words. Something bad, of that I'm sure. "Where's Tier?"

"On Amelia." It's the same answer I get from Lucan when I ask him.

"Why? Why is he hundreds of millions of miles away when I'm right here?"

"I'm not sure, Junco," he lies. I know Gideon well. And that was a lie.

"Go away."

He does go and as soon as the door closes behind him I am up and moving towards the window. I stop myself before the sky comes into view. I stop.

I am stopped.

But I look, and lean forward a little, stretching to catch a glimpse.

And when I do I smile.

Because they're not there.

And then I laugh. They're not there! It's cloudy!

Gideon's boots move away on the other side of the door and I don't even care that he just caught me. I don't care. I feel the dark place inside me. It's back. That motherfucking bitch has opened up my dark place and I will get her for this. I will not rest until I have wreaked evil and destruction on everyone who had a part in it.

That bitch violated me.

Violated me. For two years.

I know who I am. I know
exactly
who I am.

And soon, everyone else will too.

Chapter Three

I stay in my room until it's almost time for Lucan to return the next day. The urge to cry is almost one hundred percent in check now. I've overcome it, like an immune system might overtake a foreign invader of the body. This makes me laugh as I stand out on the terrace. What the hell happened to my antigens, for fuck's sake? That bitch—

Stop, Junco. Just let it go for now.

I breathe out and the anger spews into the air like a disease.

There are no poker games tonight. Gideon gave in and made the luxury palatial apartment off-limits to the guards. That's who all those guys were. Just guards. It seems so silly to have been afraid of them. I mean, I could probably take them all at the same time if I really wanted to apply myself.

Stupid, Junco, they're here to protect you, not fight you.

Right, I know that, too.

I'm better now. Better than I was last night, that's for sure. I don't even have the urge to look up at the stars, it's not time yet. Soon, but not yet.

"Oh, I'm so pleased, Junco!" Lucan is standing next to me with a smile on his face.

"Pleased about what?"

He locks his arm in mine. "You're outside, dressed, fed?"

I nod.

"Excellent. That's excellent."

"What am I, a toddler? Some small child who gets a gold star for not wetting herself?"

He laughs. "Oh, you
are
back." He stops to laugh again. "I was so worried about you, but see? Gideon was right, you cannot be coddled too much. It's counterproductive—counter-intuitive was what he said, actually—to be coddled."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Everyone wants to be coddled once in a while."

He nods. "Yes, that's true. Do you require more coddling?"

I smile. "No, I've had enough, thanks."

He remains silent as he gazes out at the ocean. It's lovely here, really it is. I mean, who wouldn't want to recover from tragedy in a place like this? Paradise. This is paradise. The beaches are white, the water is a stunning blue-green, and the temperature—mixed with the gentle wind that the Sargasso Sea is famous for—is perfect.

Gideon’s penthouse apartment has a view that almost makes you want to cry when the sun sets and there aren’t that many people here on our atoll, most of them live on the other neighboring islands, so it’s nice and private.

It’s funny when I think about it. Ironic maybe. Because one of my last memories of my old life on Earth included a silent wish to spend some time on this very same massive artificial floating island.