The Runaway

Chapter 3: The Real Gentlemen

"Who gets this bed?" I say looking at the only one that could possibly exist in this tiny cabin.

"Me." He jumps on it and puts his hands over his heads, trying to get comfortable.

"You know a real gentleman would sleep on the floor for the lady." I say stressing my words and looking at the hard, wooden floor. I am not sleeping there.

"Good thing I'm not one them then, huh?" "Plus I've worked so hard to get this bed."

"You killed someone for it." I hope my words come out as venomous as I imagine they would.

"What can I say?" "I've got standards to live up to."

"I wouldn't be so proud of them." I look at the white painted walls. Well I think they were once white, now they look like a light and dirty grey.

"You're proud of yours."

"Well my standards don't kill innocent people."

He sits up on the bed and rubs his chin. "And what do your standards do exactly?"

"We protect the leader of the Resistance and protect other people as well."

"Yeah because your other leader was proof you guys did such a great job." His words slip past his lips and now he's the one who sounds venomous. He makes it look so easy.

"At least I'm not one of you." I stand in the tiny room, still feeling small.

"Like I haven't heard that one before." I think he's trying to avoid eye contact with me because he's staring at the ceiling.

It's obvious I used to know Damon and if you didn't catch on to that before here I am, telling you. Yes, I used to know Damon well.

He was one of us. One of the Resistance. I imagined him even becoming leader one day and me sitting there with him, supporting him in his decisions. Damon used to have all these ideas of how we could make the Resistance better, how we could make everything work for everybody.

Way back then that's what I used to like about Damon. That he didn't think only of himself. He thought about others, not just because he was going to get something out of the situation either. He genuinely cared. That's before everything happened of course. Now I don't know him at all.

"I wouldn't want to be one of you." "How do you like that?" He blurts out.

"The Resistance sees the good in people." I travel slowly over to the bed.

"Because you're blinded by good." "I see who people really are. And when you scrape off all of that shit they've been putting in your mind since you were little you'd see, sometimes there's only bad in people." He sits up as I stand on the side of the bed.

My hand holds one of the bed's wooden posts. "I believe there's good in all people, no matter how hard you have to look."

"Even me?" His voice is hopeful.

A frown starts to develop on my face and I can't help what I'm about to say. "You aren't exactly a person anymore."

I don't dare look at him because if I look at him I'll see the person who I used to know. I'll be blinded and I'll hug him and hold him and tell him I'm sorry. But I can't be, because this was his choice. This is his own fault. He's not the person I used to know. I just have to accept that.

He doesn't say anything so I quietly leave the room.

He shouldn't make me feel guilty. Although most of the time he just makes me pretty pissed.