The Mechanic

-Chapter Twenty-Six-

Location: Central

"Mechanic, I made you lunch."

I look up at Spero for a short moment and offer a smile. "Thanks, kid."

He smiles back. "No problem. Now get up and come over here to eat."

I do, but only barely. My soul drags on the floor behind me like an extra anchor. I could just float away... yes, float away. If only it wasn't where it is, behind me.

"Happy thoughts. Find one and cling to it, will ya?" Spero slaps down a bowl of... stuff in from of me on the makeshift table and turns away to spoon out a bowl for himself.

"Find me one?" I ask, stirring it for a moment.

He sits down across from me and stirs his food, too. His eyes are distant. "Your baby niece is doing great, and she hasn't caught any of the viruses that are going around. How does that work?"

I nod, taking a bite of what I have decided must be stew. "That works. Thanks."

"Don't think of anything but that idea for the next five minutes. I'm setting a timer." He gets up and does, slapping the timer down on the tabletop.

It ticks. I eat. Spero watches me and stirs his food.

I... I can't keep my mind on the thought. I've been trying to keep my thoughts in line for the last week, and it's not hard since Spero has been quite the taskmaster... but I can't. I can't keep my mind in line. I can't... forget to remember her.

I cough on a piece of carrot, allowing that to take the blame for my watery eyes. But as always, Spero is not convinced.

"Mechanic, stop. Stop it." He looks so serious. It's ridiculous.

"Kid, I can't."

"You have to."

"I can't."

"Do it."

"No."

He can be so gentle... and sometimes he reminds me of myself. Gritty and tough and insensitive. Rigid as an iron rod, and just as painful to be beaten with. He glares at me, face full of unbending will and frustration.

I stare back at him, but I can't feel any of the passion he shows in my own expression. I'm like a corpse looking straight into the belly of a furnace. The two cannot be compared, and yet... they stare each other down.

One has to break for the other to survive.

He will either destroy me or my survival will scream for his end with tattered voices, and it will be over.

One or the other.

And since I am so... dead, he must decide himself.

Corpses have no opinions. I don't care.

"Decide. Make the decision to change your thoughts."

"I can't."

"You must."

He stares at me, and I don't respond. I don't move. His eyes burn through me, and I don't scream in agony.

Do I feel it at all?

I feel what comes next.

He hits me so hard that I topple over backward.

I lie on the floor for a long time, unmoving, not even breathing, blinking once or twice. I'm... dazed. Not by the hit. Not by the force of his glare. By... her. And it's pitiful and ridiculous, but I don't know how to stop hurting because she's gone, and she's all I can think about, and... and...