On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Four - "Meet My Demon(s)"

“You don’t trust me?”

She sat up, her face inches from mine, “I trust you with my life, but I don’t trust you not to do something stupid, and I don’t trust you not to look or act or treat me differently.”

I brushed strands off her back off her face, “Will you let me know when you can’t take it anymore? The bricks?” I asked, with a half-smile.

She bit her lip and looked at me forlorn, “Too late,” she muttered, holding out her arms, to show me the scars, which she’d made herself.

“Promise me something,” I said, holding her chin up so she could look at me.

“What?”

“Don’t ever push me away. I want to be right here through all the bad and the good, so don’t.”

She gave me a small smile, “I don’t think I’d know how.”

I stood up slowly and pulled on my pants, and handed her my t-shirt.

“Where are you going?” she asked as she slipped on the shirt.

“To shower,” I replied with a shrug, pulling her up.

“Together,” she said, amused, “I do know how to take a shower, you know.”

I cocked my head, “Who said anything about you?”

She chuckled, “Okay,” she grabbed her clothes and trailed after me in the direction of the bathroom.

That laugh. It was my catharsis.

 

2006

They didn’t want to call it military school, but that’s pretty much what it was. ‘Remand’ – a committal to custody. Custody of ex-army men whose bouts of PTSD had barely worn off.

Ask anyone in there, they’d tell you they did nothing wrong. Everyone except Yohan Olsen.

He was something of a god at Proventus – the name of the place alone made me cringe – ‘Proventus’, Latin for ‘growing up.’ Fitting, but no less irritating. Yohan had no care for any of the overbearing rules, he wasn’t unnecessarily disrespectful or anything close to a bully; he was simply idolized. When I first met him in the laundry room, he stepped aside for me to make my way to the dryer and said, “Fitch Jackson, right?”

I nodded, not particularly wanting to acquaint myself with anyone at this place. Terry had said, “Fitch, keep your mouth shut and walk with your back to the wall.” I felt like I was being sent to prison.  I guess in a way, I was.

“I’m Han,” he said, holding out his hand.

I kept wondering, ‘is this the part where I get brutally beat up?’ When I didn’t take his hand, he chuckled and gave me a pat on the back.

“I’ll let you get back to what you were doing,” he said and walked off.

I was confused. I’d only arrived for two hours before my roommate had started ranting about this Yohan Olsen guy and how awesome he was; I got no sense of that awesomeness. Well, not right then, at least.

 

A fight broke out in the cafeteria a few weeks later. I was still doing a great job of keeping my mouth shut. I don’t think I’d said up to five words to anyone in the three weeks I’d been there. I never spoke in class, and the officers never communicated much with me; they mostly associated themselves with those lost causes. I guess I should have been a little grateful that I wasn’t in that category.