I fumbled to the door, leapt across the hall to the bathroom and just made it to the toilet to throw up. God, it felt disgusting. Why was this function necessary? Why did humans need the ability to regurgitate? I knelt on the floor for a moment, spitting out anything left in my mouth, before groaning and leaning against the shower stall. My face was wet with tears so I hurriedly wiped it, using my legs to push myself up the stall. I moved over to the sink and washed my mouth, rinsing it thoroughly. I splashed my face and tried to distract myself from the rising images.
I stepped out the bathroom and jumped a little to see Luke standing just outside, his arms folded. I didn't like the way he stared at me. It was kind of condescending, as if he was some sort of father figure to me. His fierce eyes gave me a once-over.
"I'm okay." My voice came out a little shaky. But I really was okay. Whatever that was, vision, memory, nightmare, it was over. I was safe.
"What was it? Food? Disorientation? You don't... This is not something you do to yourself, is it?" He pushed off the wall and lifted his hand to hold my chin, his eyes boring into mine.
"To myself?" He thought I was bulimic? Oh dear. "No, I like my food to stay in my stomach. I just..." The boy's frightened eyes pleaded with me while my father smirked. "...had a bad dream."
His hand shifted to my shoulder and he squeezed it gently. "Need anything?"
I shook my head, closing my eyes.
"Want to watch a movie?" I opened my eyes to give him a questioning look. He let go of my shoulder and started walking down the hall, expecting me to follow. "Lark thought it'd be a good way to pass time so he set up the seats in the lounge before he left for training this morning. Did you watch any movies with... erm, Scythe?" he asked casually, looking over his shoulder. Without realising it, I'd started to follow him. I halted and nodded.
"Okay." He didn't question further, to my relief. "Do you have any particular type of movie you want to watch?"
I swallowed hard and avoided thoughts of knives and body parts. "I'd prefer something w-without blood," I said in a small voice.
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob of the lounge room. His head tilted to the side. "What did you dream about?" He stepped towards me. "Was it some kind of flashback? I wouldn't be surprised if you experienced some psychological trauma. Dizelde," he said soothingly, "you ever, ever, just want to talk, I can listen. Okay? I'll just listen. I won't ask questions, I won't even speak if you don't want me to. Just... let me know. Okay?" He was wavering between firm and worried, as if he didn't know how to treat me.
I took a deep breath and nodded. It wasn't likely that I'd ever take him up on his offer. The stuff I kept seeing in my nightmares was likely to make him throw me into some psychiatric hospital. I needed to harden up. I could deal with this nightmare myself. I just needed to ignore it and move on. I couldn't stay here, under Luke's care, forever. I had to think of a plan that would allow him to let me go. I'd find a hideaway overseas where Scythe would never find me... I wonder what my foster father was doing now and how angry he'd been to find me gone.
I stepped into the lounge room behind Luke and saw that the couch had been moved to the back of the room and two sensor-seats were in front of the humungous screen.
"Sit," Luke waved his hand at the chairs. He tapped the big screen, causing a small part of it to light up, and then grabbed the remote, typing in commands.
I settled into the seat, sinking into its cushiness. I toed off my shoes and slipped my feet into the sense-boots and tugged on the sense-gloves. I was grateful for the opportunity to lose myself in a movie. I didn't want to think for... a long time.