Instead of telling me what we need to talk about, John walks off, then glares at me when I don’t follow him.
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
“You don’t want this where everyone is going to listen in. Trust me on that.”
Okay, that’s something I’ve come across often enough in books to know nothing good is going to come from it. I follow him anyway. I also know that not dealing with it now isn’t going to help the situation.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He rounds on me when we’re alone.
I sigh. “You’re going to need to be more specific, John.”
“Don’t play—” he closes his mouth. “Deloy.”
I frown. “What about Deloy?”
He looks at me—no, glares at me. “You had no business telling him to fight with us.”
“He volunteered.”
“He’s trying to impress you! He’s just a kid. You don’t let someone like that in the middle of a fight like that!”
I roll my eyes. “John, he’s nineteen. He’s basically an adult. He’s able to make his own decisions.”
“He nearly died!”
“He got hurt,” I counter. I saw his health drop. “He didn’t die.”
“That’s sheer fucking luck. There was someone with healing magic close to him. If not for her, he would have died.”
“He didn’t die,” I repeat. “There’s no point in getting obsessed about what might have happened.”
He looks at me—no idea what that expression’s supposed to be. “No point? You almost get him killed and you’re telling me there’s no point in talking about it? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Plenty, but nothing that caused this. Now get off it.” I turn to head back. John grabs my arm and I react by back-handing him. He’s fast enough to dodge it. “Don’t touch me,” I growl.
“Don’t fucking walk away. We’re not done here.”
“I didn’t do a fucking thing.”
“He asked you—”
“He wouldn’t have stayed away anyway,” I snap. “What then? You’d have been pissed that what? I didn’t put a chain around his neck and tied him to a tree? He’s not a fucking dog to be told what he can and can’t do. So he fucking made a mistake, and he got hurt. I got hurt, you got hurt too. Everyone who fought got hurt. Some even died. Are you going to put their death of my fucking back too?”
He raises his hands. “Chuck, you need to calm down.”
“Oh, I need to calm the fuck down? You accuse me of trying to get Deloy killed and I’m the one who has to fucking calm down? What, you want me to go through my willpower being nice to you while you make me the bad guy in whatever’s going on with you?” My hands close into fists, and he takes a step back.
Considering if I’m going to punch him or not costs me willpower. “You aren’t worth this.” That costs me more, but I don’t care. Staying around isn’t going to lead to anything worthwhile. At least he’s smart enough not to call after me.
I head back the way we came, and those who glance in my direction move out of the way, even if they aren’t in it. I keep walking once I reach where people are gathering the monster’s bodies.
“Chuck!” Deloy yells after me. “Chuck, did you see me—”
“Not now!” I tell him.
“But I have this—”
I round on him. “Deloy, when I tell you not now, I’m not in a fucking mood to deal with you. Is that clear?” I turn and leave him there. I’m so fucking fed up with people.
“I wouldn’t go in there,” someone says as I walk by the group cutting up the boss monster.
“Fuck off,” I reply and enter the forest.
I am so done with all of them.
You could have handled this better, you know.
“What? I should just have let him walk all over me? Let him make someone else’s decision my fault? Since when do you advocate taking the blame for anything? Especially something I didn’t do.”
I’m not suggesting taking the blame, but you could have been more… diplomatic.
“And fucking spend willpower until I had nothing to spare and then lost it? At least this way I didn’t actually hit anyone.”
Only because he dodged, but that isn’t what I’m saying. You could have told him something closer to what he wanted to hear. Placated him until he saw things your way. You don’t always have to punch, kick, and yell, you know. You are picking up skills that make other avenues possible.
“Did you have to deal with assholes trying to make your life difficult?”
Err, what?
“Not you. You’re part of the assholes. How do you not know that, being my subconscious and all that? What about it, Silver? Did you have to deal with others or were you lucky and the system made you by your lonesome?”
I spot the flashes of silver among the trees. He’s closer than the last time. No more than five meters away this time, but he still doesn’t pause, darting in and out.
Getting back to what—
I punch a tree as I walk by it.
Chuck, in this case, hitting—
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I hit another one, sending a chunk flying in the general direction of the white flashes. “Sorry,” I tell Silver as he pauses, then he’s darting again.
Fine. I’m going to let you stew. But just a reminder that I’m your subconscious, not some outside voice. Even when I’m not saying anything, I’m still poking at you. You just happen to like hearing my voice.
“No, I don’t.”
He doesn’t answer, and I punch another tree, dead on this time, so I’m not going to send anything flying. My fist goes in to my wrist. Softwood, or do I really not know my own strength anymore? A bit of both?
As best as I can tell, the trees around me are oaks, but I have no idea if that’s a hardwood.
What is John’s fucking problem? It was a battle. Deloy pulled his weight, I’m sure of it. And I doubt he ran after me to bitch about getting hurt.
I think back on what the worgen said, how he acted, his face when I walked away. Was I harsh? What is that expression? Why doesn’t my fucking perception skill work on a memory?
It’s my subconscious, right?
I snort. Like that thing’s ever given me good advice when it’s using my father’s voice.
“I really wish you’d made yourself heard more often, Mom. I get that you’ve always trusted me to make the right decision in the end, but you’re in there with him. You know what I’m fighting against. Some positive reinforcement wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
She remains silent.
It’s both disappointing and comforting. She’d tell me to trust myself. She knows I remember that. She doesn’t need to tell me over and over, the way my father’s voice keeps pushing and pushing for me to think only about myself.
Alright. When I go back, I’ll talk with Deloy and John. Listen to what they are saying. I think I hurt Deloy’s feeling by walking away like I did. So I’ll apologize. John? I really don’t get what his problem is, and he’s an adult, so I don’t need to coddle him, but I’ll try to understand.
What’s the worst that can happen from trying to understand what two people want?
I glance at my willpower. It’s not going down, even if I dread the conversations. But once I’m there, listening to them?
Just how fast am I going to lose it then?
Might be best that I enjoy the quiet for a while longer.
* * * * *
I might have enjoyed the quiet for too long. The sun’s going down. I don’t mind it too much. I think all the monsters have been killed, because other than distant birds and Silver, I haven’t heard or encountered anything.
I’m hungry, but I have nothing stressing me out, so I can deal with it. When I go back, I’ll ask for jerky as my part of the reward for taking part in the fight. There’s enough dead monster that I should be able to fill my entire inventory with the stuff. Or at least enough to find out if there’s a maximum number for one type of item in a slot. There’s got to be. How much of an exploit would it be if I could put an infinite amount of something there? There is some sort of size or weight limit, since I couldn’t put my car in it, but what is it? How much of that metal scrap could I store in my inventory before I felt it? How about Terry? Strength affects how many slots we have, but does it have further effects on the inventory? The answer is probably in the queries, somewhere.
I chuckle, then I laugh. It tapers down when I notice Silver, seated to the side, watching me. His head canted in a ‘are you okay’ question.
“Is it a good sign that I’m thinking about how the system works? Or what happens when I have too much time on my hands? I guess the positive is that I’m not spinning down a hole of self-destruction.”
I sit and lean against a tree. “Yes, I am aware of what I do when I let my mind roam on its own. You’d think that knowing that would do something to help me fight it, but it doesn’t matter what I do. Even when I see myself heading in that direction, I can’t stop the spiral.” I glance at where the debuff icons appear. “Well, I used to not be able to do anything about it. Now, if I’m paying attention, I can see them coming and just throw willpower at the problem.” I rest my head back and look at the darkening sky. The moon is visible in the patch of sky I see through the canopy. It’s halfway through its cycle. There’s a trick to tell if it’s waning or waxing, but I can’t remember it.
Silver freezes when I glance in his direction. He was stepping closer, crossing the five-meter line he’s been keeping all afternoon.
“I’m okay with it. However far you want to stay fine with me. You, at least, are good company.” He sits where he’s at, then tucks his legs under himself and looks like a loaf again. I chuckle, then look at the sky again.
“You think I could do it, now that the world’s changed? Just walk away from everything and everyone? Get myself a cabin in the wild, and fight monsters every day, because you know there’s no way I’d ever turn an area civilized. And maybe not all monsters are that bad. Look at you. I’m pretty sure the system considers you a monster, and you aren’t trying to rip my throat out.”
The moon reminds me of something Oskar said, and I summon my bar.
Silver’s up and ten meters away.
“Sorry, this calling things from inventory doesn’t come with a ‘do it gently’ mode.” I put it down. “I’m not looking for a fight with you.” I chuckle. “Which I guess implies I am looking for a fight with someone or something.”
He sits where he is, and I swallow the disappointment.
The bar’s scratched. One end’s missing a piece. I really should be more careful with it, but it’s a tool. I’ve never been one to keep tools in their packaging just to keep them looking pristine. I’ll admit that when I drove, just throwing them back in the toolbox wasn’t the best way to store them, but this is a weapon. It’s going to get scratched and maybe break.
I focus on it.
Item: Lunarium Barbell, Quality: Poor, Type: Tool, Improvised Weapon: staff
Currently increasing from Poor quality to Okay. Maximum quality possible: Superior.
I guess that fight undid whatever self-repair happened after the last time.
I watch as the steaks of green in the metal shimmer. It’s as if the moonlight pools on and around it. I smile at how nice it looks, then notice the scratches filling in. I haven’t watched it repair itself before, but this looks more like healing.
I focus again.
Item: Lunarium Barbell, Quality: Okay, Type: Tool, Improvised Weapon: staff
Currently increasing from Okay quality to Normal. Maximum quality possible: Superior.
Maybe I need to leave it out at night to speed up its repair.
I stretch my legs over it to make sure no one takes it and close my eyes.
What are you doing?
“If you don’t know, I’m going to call bullshit on you being my subconscious.”
Rhetorical question. What are you doing, going to sleep in the open, in the wild?
“I’m tired.”
Then get back to town.
“What do you care?”
You’re joking, right?
“Unlike you, I have no idea what’s going on in that mind of mine, so no. I’m not joking. Since when do you care about me being among other people?”
Okay. I can’t believe I have to spell it out like this, but my job is to keep you alive. I’m the one who remembers all the bullshit you had to go through during your life and I’m advising you on how to deal with it when it shows back up and you forget about it. And now I’m telling you to get your ass back to town, where there aren’t going to be monsters looking to bite you in half.
I laugh.
Chuck.
I laugh hard.
Chuck, this isn’t funny.
I’m actually rolling on the ground and it’s hurting with how loud I’m laughing. Silver’s backed up some more, and that just makes me laugh harder. I have to look demented.
My father’s voice is silent long enough that I’m able to get some control over the laughter and I push myself back to a seated position.
Fuck, when was the last time I’ve laughed this hard? And at something that voice said on top of that. Has that ever happened? I’m panting as I chuckle.
Are you done?
“Okay, let me make one thing clear, Dad. You’ve never, not once, given me advise that was intended to ‘keep me alive.’”
To be fair to me, he says, until recently, keeping you alive wasn’t this hard.
“And I’ve read about how paranoia works, anxiety, phobias, and all those other social problems. You know that. For a while I thought knowing about it was how I’d fix myself. All it’s done is teach me what’s going on. What you do is take something small, insignificant, and blow it all out of proportion. So yeah, you claiming to be there to keep me alive is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time because even if I believed your intentions were actually for me to stay alive, instead of turning me into the monster you’ve always wanted as a son, you’re still not able to actually do that.”
I am—
“Just shut up and let me sleep.”
I smile at the offended silence. Then I’m sleeping.