Appetite for Destruction

Soldier On

I woke to the morning light streaming through the window.

My head was throbbing to a steady, killer beat and simply I lay there for a long time, watching the sunrise through my bedroom window, and everything was so peaceful that I would have thought I'd dreamed the events of last night. But the pain in my body was all too real, the horror all too vivid.

The memories came to me then, flashes in my scattered mind. We'd gone to fight Deucalion, I remembered that. I remembered the painful breaking of bone and the sharp claws tearing through my skin, remembered blood burning my throat - 

Remembered Derek disappearing from sight as he fell, the sickening sound of bodies hitting the floor down below.

All the blood rushed to my head when I sat up, air whistling uselessly in and out of my lungs as my wilful denial grew thin and shattered like glass. I made to stand up and ended up falling to my knees next to the bed, something raw in my throat and it felt suspiciously like a sob. I stuffed a fist in my mouth to keep the tears from spilling over, biting down on my knuckles until I tasted blood.

Hands on my shoulders made me startle and I looked up to find Peter kneeling in front of me. "Come on," he said as he helped me up, pushing me until I sat down on the edge of the bed. "Lie down, you're still healing."

"I'm fine." My voice was hoarse and cracking, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"You had your stomach ripped open, your ribs broken, and your arm mangled." He pointed out dryly. "Lie. Down."

"Derek's dead." The words felt like they were dragged from my heart through my throat, painful and raw and bloody when they finally rolled off my tongue. Silence rang out between us, the hurt sinking in now I'd said that out loud. 

Peter looked away and I watched a change come over him, watched the usual mask slip away for something... Human, and for a moment he looked so much like his old self, the man he was before the fire had stripped him of his sanity, that it left me reeling. 

Be a big girl, I told myself resolutely, ask the tough questions, make the hard decisions.

"Did you leave... his body there?" I forced the words out past the lump in my throat, hesitating at the word 'body' because saying it aloud made it that much more real.

"Yes." Peter said, and I felt my eyes and throat burn as I stubbornly held the tears back, refusing to cry. "We had to get out of there."

I didn't bother asking why Peter had been there in the first place, should have known he'd follow us with no intention of participating in the actual fighting, just there to see the outcome of what he'd dubbed our 'suicide mission'.

At least he had enough tact to not say I told you so.

"And the others?" I didn't want to ask but the words just tore themselves free, the breakable panicked feeling in my chest swelling like a balloon fit to burst. Peter didn't say anything about the shakiness of my voice, for which I was grateful.

"They're safe," He assured me, and I felt the heaviness in my chest lessen at those words. If I had the energy I probably would have pressed for more information, asked where they were or how injured they'd been, but I was just too exhausted. 

Peter didn't speak for a while and I looked down at my hands, feeling detached. Derek was dead and he'd left me here alone with a legacy of death and failure. 

"You need to sleep." Peter's voice sounded like it was far away and I nodded, not looking up when he turned and walked away, and when the door closed behind him I choked on a trembling breath. The tears were spilling freely now, running unchecked and unnoticed down my cheeks and a sob sent hot, ricocheting pain through my chest.