Page 15 of Rising

Riley left my office a few minutes after the others.God, why can’t everyone be as agreeable as him?I never had to worry about Riley challenging or questioning my orders. Sometimes I wished the others possessed similar qualities, but I knew it was a better decision to have so many personalities around. Their questioning was good. Old me from The Before would have praised my friends for having minds of their own. Questioning all authority and not taking answers and decisions from officials like a blind sheep.

My conversation with Riley had been quick. They usually were. I gave my orders, and he asked what was relevant, allowing me to disclose anything further should I wish. I usually offered everything I had, and had always felt that it’s important for people to know and understand thewhybehind their work and orders. I didn’t need history or military experience to understand that. That was a lesson I had learned living a regular civilian life in The Before.

Mentally exhausted, I stared at the ceiling and wondered what to do next. It was odd. Now that I had time to process things, the tears I spent all day holding back didn’t seem to want to come to the surface anymore.

There were many things I could have done immediately to help me distract my mind. But I opted to do something that had always helped me feel better, even as a little girl.

Read.

I walked over to the dark wooden shelves on the left of my desk, a perfect match thanks to Riley. He spent much of his time dealing with work, but when he made time for what was probably hisonlyhobby, the results of his woodworking belonged in a museum. Every piece of furniture in my quarters except a few had been crafted by him with his earth magic complimenting his raw talent. The result reminded me of the fantasy worlds I’d often read about.

I grabbed a few of my favorites off the shelf. There was some irony in some of my choices. It wasn’t too long ago, I’d once wished I could live in a world mirroring the characters of my books. Now it was a reality, and it was not nearly as fun or glamorous as it had appeared. It was scary and life was hard.

But I guess that’s what made these such a comfort for me. In The Before, I used books to escape my problems and enter the mind of my favorite character, taking on their problems as my own. Using each outlandish situation or obstacle to navigate my own emotions. I could laugh, I could cry, I could go through the five stages of grief, all through the eyes of someone else, instead of working through my own. And if the situation happened to relate to mine, even better.

After I gathered what I deemed essential for my reading session, I walked through the lengths of my office and entered my sleeping quarters. I tossed the collection of novellas from my favorite series on the bed. It was still early on in the afternoon and I had already had one of the longest days of my life. I had no plans to leave my room for lunch. Dinner was certainly out of the question and honestly, breakfast the next morning probably was too.

But I knew no matter how tired I was, how emotionally drained I felt, I wouldn’t be able to rest until I’d at least read a few pages.

My fingers traced the outside of the book. It had a hand painted cover, and was obviously cared for by its previous owner. Jax had found it on one of his sweeps in the neighborhood and brought it back to me, saying he felt it was “some bullshit” I would read. I knew he didn’t mean it. It was actually in that moment I knew I’d be all in with him, as much as our hearts would allow, no matter what. Knew it meant he had not only listened to me, but chewed over every word. I’d briefly mentioned the series in passing during the long weeks we’d spent making our way down the coast.

I opened the book, ready to leave this world behind and be captivated by the world I was now entering. The words came alive on the page, a movie in my mind, taking me back to a better place where I would read until the sun came up and it was time for work. It wasn’t just a way for me to escape my thoughts, but also a way for me to truly connect to the pieces of me that had long been disconnected from who I had to be while I was here.

“What are you reading?”

The heavy wooden door opened and a whiff of cold air swept past my face. The breeze almost pushing the light pages around as my book lay flat on the bed, spine down against the comforter. I looked up, expecting to see Riley hovering, making sure I wasn’t too lost in my grief, only to find Prescott instead.

“Oh, hi … I … um. My …” I had been taking a leap of faith, hoping he’d just trust me and my thought process.

Prescott smiled knowingly as he stepped fully into the room, with his hands full of a fat berry pie and a pot of coffee.

“Figured you needed something sweet,” he said as he took a seat at the wooden bistro set near the window. I had a bad habit of wearing my emotions on my face around him. “And a push to eat since you don’t plan on leaving here anytime soon.” He motioned to the pile of books that lay on the other side of me.

I gave him a vacant smile, trying my best to make my eyes match my round lips. I scooted to the edge of the bed, too lazy to walk a few steps, and opened the pot of coffee. Telling myself for no other reason than to feel the warmth of a home brewed coffee on a crisp morning, even if it was now late in the afternoon. I closed the novel and dug into the pie, enjoying the sweet and tartness of each bite, always savoring the crust, grateful for the momentary distraction it provided.

Prescott watched me eat carefully without a word, undoubtedly loading up for hisFather Figure of the Yearaward winning speech. I would’ve rolled my eyes had it occurred to me, but at the moment I found myself feeling incredibly thankful I had yet another person looking out for me.

Prescott cracked, asking me conversationally, “So what’s the consensus? Does our heroine finally find her way?” I peered back up, hesitant to answer the question. I knew he wasn’t talking about the book, but knew it wasn’t the time for outright questions.

I decided to play into his little game, my chuckle covering how tired I had already grown of this conversation. “And give away the ending? No way. You’ll have to see for yourself.” I could see a smile slowly form from the corner of my eye, and I knew he was trying to convince himself everything was okay for the both of us.

Prescott finished his coffee and inched a tiny bit closer to me. “You know, it’s fine if you just want someone to hang out with in here until you’re feeling a bit more up to moving around The Compound on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Pres. I just need a few days.” I put as much effort as I could into those words, but I knew I had failed at that, too.

I was tired of speaking today. Of thinking. I just wanted to be alone, let my books take control and become the antidote to my problems, to grieve through them and them only. To feel like none of this was real.

He took the hint, realizing he was at the limit of what he could do and offer at this immediate moment. “A few days,” he stated as he walked back towards the door, pausing slightly once as if he considered saying more, but left after weighing the possible outcome.

I slumped back on the bed, and for the first time in a long time, I decided to pray. I didn’t know to who; didn’t really care. I’d had my doubts about religion in the past, not really doubts, but questions. No more than the next person, but ultimately after my college studies and exposure to different cultures, I determined I kind of believed them all. With all the similarities, I felt that no one was wrong, just had their own interpretation.

So I prayed, to whatever higher power was out there, whatever one was right, to all of them and the long forgotten.

Before I knew it, the light had given way to a dark night sky. Time seemed to move slow yet fast at the same time. I felt weightless, numb.

Suddenly, I found my mind going back to Xavier. How I never had a chance to fully process his change, his death. Sammy, Xavier, my parents, everything happened fast and then life moved even faster for months and years after that.

Eventually, as time went on, I just became numb to it. Had learned to keep them to that ‘other’ part in my mind, the part that lay hidden in the back, laced with trauma and pain. I kept it all back there, so I wouldn’t break. It was the only way I could keep going on.

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