Project HALO

Chapter 38

Somewhere between my drunkenness and my guilt, I must have fallen asleep, because now the rising sun greets me in slashes through the plank-covered windows.

A line of sharp light rests across my eyes and awakens me. With a hand on my pounding head, I prop myself up, keeping my other hand on the wall to stop myself from tumbling over. The room spins and my vision blackens for a moment. My throat begs for water. I remember the painkillers inside the infirmary, but there's no way I'm going down there. Not if it means risking running into Frank. I'm not ready to talk to him yet. The memories are easy to block, but the tingling on my lips is harder to ignore, as well as the intense wish to do it again.

Frank was there for me when I needed a friend, that's all there is to it. He never asked for anything in return. He opened up to me without hesitating, calmed me down when I was close to snapping, but this... This I don't know how to handle.

With a heavy sigh, I sink back onto the creaky wooden floorboards and place my arms over my head, hoping the complete darkness will soften my headache.

Then the morning alarm strikes through me like a lightning bolt.

I slam my hands over my ears and groan loudly. How can they throw a party and expect people to train at 6 AM the morning after? Pretty sure that's inhumane.

It rings for another minute before I'm left in sweet silence again. The good thing about helping Phantom, but not really helping them, is that I don't have to train if I don't want to. Today I don't want to. If firing a gun could help my headache I would, but it would only make it worse.

Instead of joining Phantom's training session, I sneak downstairs and listen if anyone is around. By the sound of cutlery and beeping microwaves, it seems like most of them are in the kitchen. I take a chance and dart into the infirmary. I need some painkillers for the constant pinching behind my eyes. I grab two painkillers for good measure. Hopefully they'll make me pass out so I don't have to think about anything.

On my way to the bedroom I stop in the computer room for a moment, noticing the silence from the kitchen. The chatter is non-existent today, probably because everyone is hungover, or maybe because the grim reality has set in. A bad kind of tingle shoots through my chest at the thought of what they're about to do.

They'll be fine, I tell myself, but the uneasy feeling lingers behind as I walk to the bedroom. I collapse onto my bed and feel how the pills numb my headache and glide throughout the rest of my aching body like a mild murmur.

***

"Charlie, wake up!"

I'm yanked from the silence of sleep and into the reality of Mikey's annoying voice.

"Whaaaat?" I croak, pulling the pillow over my head.

Mikey rips it off.

"Why are you asleep? It's noon and you're supposed to be training!" He hits me with the pillow and I groan. "Maybe if you stayed sober you would be in better shape today."

He hits me again, and this time I snag the pillow from him. I put it behind my neck, but I don't say anything. I don't even meet his icy gaze.

"I needed to blow off some steam," I mumble. "These last few days have been crazy, you can't argue with that."

"Still makes you a prick." Mikey turns his back to me and sits down on my bed, crossing his spidery legs in front of him. "I have some good news, but I don't really want to talk to you."

He shakes his head, his bangs falling forward over his face. Disappointment radiates from him and sinks into my skin like poison. He's right. I am a prick.