nolan novak. (replicable) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-04 19:23:00 |
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The denial is quick, cinematic. It’s a scene plucked from a television show, the zooming close up of a person’s face when they’ve just received tragic news about their loved one. His heartbeat comes to a standstill and he feels his face twist in into an expression he didn’t know he had in him, all grief and heartbreak and no, that’s not true, it can’t be true. He leans into a chair, doubles over for a moment because his chest is so tight and his stomach has turned inside out and he thinks he’s going to be sick. There’s a grief counselor on hand and maybe she’s the one that reaches out to touch his shoulder but he recoils, pulls back because there’s nothing any grief counselor can say to him to make things okay, to make things right. Marine is dead. He straightens up and rubs one of his burning eyes with the back of his wrist. Marine is dead; he is still alive. But why? Survivor’s guilt follows the denial. It’s the mantra that plays on repeat as he leaves, slowly, stiffly, pushing through a crowd of classmates he can’t identify. People are calling out his name but it’s muffled, like they’re underwater and he’s barely above the surface, swimming against the tide. He thinks he hears someone ask him if he’s okay and he shakes his head no. Marine is dead, he is still alive, he doesn’t know why, and it’s unfair. He was taken, snatched from his home in the early hours of the morning, and left in a room with his fellow Vols. Same as Marine. And then: he was rescued, spared from whatever awful fate was in store for Marine and Mal and the others. He remembers his fears: images of being strapped to a table, a Y-incision on his chest, barely alive, with men hovering around him with long needles. He swaps this image of himself out for one of Marine, suffering the same fate. He chokes then, gasping for air, and his mouth and hands are tingling, on the verge of numbness. There is a strange sensation at the base of his neck, where a chip would be, but it’s something to do with anxiety, something to do with this numbness he can’t control. Nolan stumbles into a bathroom, still struggling to breathe. Why was he rescued? Why not Marine? He does not consider himself a selfless person but if he thinks about it, really thinks about it, he would rather have his name carved on the side of the administration building. Not Marine, who was unfailingly nice. Not Marine, who was constantly surrounded by people who loved her. Not Marine, who had Alex. He doesn’t want to be dead, but he doesn’t understand how Fate could decide his life was more important than hers. Why Marine, the beautiful girl who could create wondrous dreamscapes and not Nolan Novak, the small, unimpressive little boy who could just copy things? He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flight voucher for Tokyo. He stares down at the rectangular slip of paper, turning it over in his fingers, memorizing the words and the feel of it, absorbing every detail until perfectly round drops blur the ink. A hand moves up to his face, lightly touches his wet cheek, and he finally glances up at his unimposing reflection in the mirror. He looks smaller than ever. It isn’t fair, he thinks childishly, petulantly, before he finally breaks down and sobs. |