continued....
The next thing Mateo heard was Zubia's flute playing his favorite melody. The one she'd first played for him back in that cave so many years ago. His vision was blurry when he tried prying open his eyes, and the disorientation made it arduous to hear what the people around him were saying.
From the twinge in his back, Mateo believed that he'd folded forward onto the table. He could feel drool pooling around his cheek as he stayed bound by his condition. While Zubia continued playing with one hand, her other rubbed gentle circles over Mateo's shoulders, relieving some of the tension of his constricted muscles.
When his eyes cleared enough, he could see his commander at eye level with him, his hand gentle as it moved Mateo's messy hair out of his eyes and continued with calming strokes through the curly locks. Like a spell being broken, Mateo's hearing came back, and the episode released him. He slumped even further onto the table before Zubia aided him in sitting up, using her sleeve to wipe the remaining spittle from his cheek.
Once Mateo finally gained his bearings, he realized only he, Zubia, the commander, and Norman remained in the spacious room.
"That was one of yer longest ones yet," Zubia murmured, continuing to stroke his back as she read him like a book. "Ever'body else done left already."
Mateo furrowed his brows as irritation rose within. How many times was he going to inconvenience his commander because of this? Why was Isaiah still putting up with him? After all these years, Mateo had never been of any help to his comrades. Was it really worth it?
"Stop," the commander ordered. "Wherever your mind is taking you, stop. You're a valuable part of our group. Your illness doesn't make you disposable."
There was a tremble that ran through the young cadet. He knew Isaiah could empathize with him. Isaiah, too, had been cast out. Hell, the whole reason Zubia and Mateo were constantly paired with the kind commander was because they were all defective in the eyes of the Wings.
"Can you tell us what made this one worse?" Norman asked, his voice careful. It was likely the elder didn't want to potentially trigger another attack.
Mateo dodged the old man's gray gaze. He really didn't savor thinking back on his life in the Prism. Before Commander Hannah and the lieutenant Isaiah had been at the time. Before Zubia had rescued him from the dangerous gas storm of the East.
"You don't have to answer if it's too hard," the commander murmured.
Mateo shook his head. "It's…I think it'll be fine," he said, his voice soft. He swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing, "I…after my first episode, my parents brought me to the Prism."
Isaiah immediately scowled, though Mateo could easily presume it was accidental as the commander promptly wiped it from his expression. Not many expressed it openly, but it was thought that nearly every Breathless citizen looked down on the Prism for its vile, often brutal nature.
"They did…a-a lot of…um, they…." Mateo's breathing became labored, but he ignored Zubia's concerned expression and pushed forward. "There were a lot of tests that they ran. I went…most of them weren't necessarily comfortable. There was a lot of pain." Tears were falling now. Mateo cleared them with a hand.
"Mat," Norman warned gently.
Mateo shook his head. "It's okay. I'm fine.
"Anyway, none of their attempts worked. My head was still…malfunctioning. When I was thirteen, they took me to see the Sister. I honestly….I was excited to meet her. I'd only really learned about the Wings from the inside, and I thought…I hoped that she would have a cure.
"But, she didn't." Mateo scoffed, angry that he'd ever had faith in them to begin with. "Her sentence was to become a UW." An Un-Worthy. "Of course, I didn't want that. I didn't want to…to die. I was only thirteen….
"I don't really know how I escaped them, but I managed to return to the room I'd met the Sister in. And…" Mateo trailed off, looking at the image resting only a few feet away. More tears were rolling down his cheeks as he realized that's the most he'd talked in over a decade. But, in a way, it felt good to get everything off his chest. Especially surrounded by people who he felt genuinely cared for his well-being.
"Ya feel better, Mateo?" Zubia asked, using her other sleeve to brush away his tears. She seldom used his name. To her, he was Little Stallion. And when she did call him by his name, she always needed a serious answer.
And he gave it with a nod. "Y-Yeah. It was…nice. And I don't…it probably wouldn't have happened with anyone else outside of this room. So, uh, thank you…."
Norman smiled, Isaiah gave his hands a gentle squeeze, and Zubia rested her arms around him in a semi-hug.
"I won't have you look into those documents anymore," the commander stated, slowly standing to his feet. "You already know enough about our leaders. I just wanted to ensure everyone was on the same page. That we all knew what we were up against." He troubled his lower lip, his brows pinching. "I'm sorry, Mateo. I didn't—"
"It's okay, commander," Mateo interrupted.
Isaiah stared at him before laughing.
"Never thought I see the day you interrupted the commander," Zubia chuckled.
Mateo's cheeks warmed at what he'd done. Before he could apologize, Isaiah's hand clamped over his lips.
"You can't take it back!" he ordered.
Mateo joined them in the brief reprieve of laughter, but it was short-lived. There was another concern at hand. With people he trusted gathered around him, there was no better time to discuss it.
"I think Ivan's up to something."
The laughter stopped abruptly. The commander looked to the young cadet with confusion, a look that challenged the reality of Mateo's words. Norman seemed disgruntled, but Zubia already knew of his worries.
"I believe 'im," she said, squeezing Mateo's shoulder. "At first, ya know…I weren't too sure. But, I kep' a lookout fer any oddities an'….somethin' just don' sit right with the lil' biscuit. I got a bad feelin', commander."
Isaiah's gaze had shifted to the private. "Is this what had been bothering you?" he asked. "Before Yvlen passed?"
"Aye."
The commander seemed to process that information. Norman still seemed lost.
"I beg your pardon? What is it I've missed?" he asked, his eyes wide with shock.
"I think we're about to find out," Isaiah answered, pulling up a chair. "Now, I need you both to tell me what you've seen. I want to know everything."
Comments (2)
See all