To Be A Warrior

Chapter 42: Breathe Into Me

I'm grateful Sage said what he said. I'm not angry at him. I'm angry that Peter just refused to listen to any of his friends, his best friend, but somehow listened to Sage.

"You're upset over nothing," I tell myself. "Everything's alright in the end. Peter's still alive. You're still alive. Janine's still alive. The biggest V-Type horde is gone. It went well."

The words are stale on my tongue. It's like when you're crying but repeatedly saying "You're okay," to yourself over and over again. There's no point, and honestly, I don't understand who I'm saying this for because it's doing nothing to boost my mood, and no one else is in here to hear it besides God, and He is probably looking unimpressed that I'm angry over something that's already gone and over.

But still, it's just so frustrating! And whenever I try to convince myself it's fine, it still nags at the back of my mind. With a sigh of annoyance, I stand up and turn off the water, wringing out my hair and grabbing my towel so I can dry off. I do so with little enthusiasm and put on my casual clothes in the same slow, lethargic way before exiting the shower stall. Throwing my clothes and towel into the hamper is routine, although the way I stomp out isn't.

I keep my head down when I see a few people walking down the road, even more so when I see that one of the people is, speak of the devil, Peter. Sam's there too, and I give him the smallest smile and wave as I pass. He gives me an odd look, since I'm going in the opposite way of the dining hall, but before he can ask, Peter speaks.

"You coming with us to eat, Five-o?"

"Not hungry," Is all I reply, not turning to look at either of them. From the corner of my eye, I can see the look on Sam's face as he battles on whether or not to go after me. He decides on doing so, which would have been nice is Peter hadn't also tried to do the same.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, and I sigh.

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Well, I am."

The look he gives me tells me he's not convinced, and when Peter catches up with us, he really doesn't look convinced, seeing that I can't seem to control my facial expressions.

"You two should go eat. I just don't have much of an appetite," I say, trying to hold a polite smile. It drops when Peter scoffs.

"You're seriously saying you're not hungry after what we went through today?" He asks with a raised brow.

"I'm more tired than hungry."

"I'd say you sound more angry."

I grit my teeth. "Oh, really?"

"Uh, yeah. Are you okay?"

I stop, my fists clenched and my teeth grinding together so much it hurts. "You know what? No. No, I'm not. I'm angry. Worse than angry, but I really don't think it's a good idea for me to talk about it right now because I will take it out on whoever's around me. So, please, drop it."

Sam's eyes shine with sympathy, and I hate it. I've always hated those looks of pity.

I look down at my feet for a fleeting moment, before turning on my heel and heading inside the closest building. It just so happens to be to be one of the sheds we use to clean certain tools and weapons. There's an array of cleaned ones on the wooden table. I smell it more than I see it, since there's only a single, dim yellow lightbulb that's in here. All the other lamps that provide light are off and I don't want to turn them on, even when Sam and Peter follow me inside the shed.

"What part of 'please, drop it' didn't you guys understand?" I ask, angrily turning to face them. I feel bad when Sam flinches, because this isn't his fault, but that's why I wanted to be alone so I could cool down. I'm angry and I need time to calm myself down and without that time I snap. That's why I'm trying to get away even for a few minutes. Why do they keep pressing when I feel like a pressure cooker about to blow?