Blue Eyed Monster

She's like a stalker without trigger words, like a beast that I can't tame. She's everywhere and everything, a demon I can't face down. Each time she escapes it becomes harder and harder; harder to lock her back up, harder to look her in those fierce blue eyes and tell her to her face, you're wrong.

Because part of me knows that she's not, part of me knows that every second, every breath, every day... I'm living a lie.

I tell myself she's wrong, I tell her that I am not afraid.

Sometimes I can beat her back, sometimes I can subdue her just as I would subdue any other unruly prisoner... but I can't kill her. I can never kill her.

She's always there, always watching, always waiting, ready to jump me at the slightest provocation. She's strong-willed. Brave. Honest. Moral.

But more than anything, she's afraid.

She's my curse, my bane. My one, most hated enemy.

Myself.

Looking back, I wonder how she became so strong, so independent. I wonder how she came to be in the first place. I look it all over, replay everything again and again. How could I have allowed such an abomination to form in my very own mind? Her voice; it's the voice of the child that I never was, the innocence that wasn't lost because it was never there in the first place. I'd been born into war and violence; trained to kill without emotion, I learned to handle a rifle at the tender age of seven years old. I remember the vicious Dark Light resistance training we were forced to undergo at age nine; hours of brutal interrogation over the most trivial of things, just to see how long we could hold our teachers at bay. But I have no regrets. We became stronger for it.

Sometimes the strangest things will set her off; a stray dog on the street sparks regret, a vagrant begging on the side of the road, an unwanted spark of pity.

But the big things... they bring her to heresy. Executing a rebel in the dark alleyways of the Rookeries, interrogating a renegade no older than myself. They bring out the worst in me, the best in her. The overwhelming sorrow, the sickening disgust with my own actions.

But I push her away, drown her in the ocean of my beliefs, bury her beneath the ideals of my people, their plans for a better future. My plans.

...And I'll watch them come tumbling down.

My greatest fear, my worst nightmare... failure. Watching everything we've worked for come crashing to the floor, watching it slip through my fingers like smoke. I refuse to believe that we'll fail. And even if we did, I wouldn't be afraid to die. That's what I tell myself.

But she knows it's a lie. I know, too, but I'll never tell. I'm terrified to die. I don't know why. I once heard someone say it was only human... but I'm not 'only' human. I'm a Styx, for god's sake. I think about it, sometimes. I wonder where the fear came from, why I'm so terrified, when no one else is. I'm thinking about it now... and I think I've figured it out.

It was a year ago that it started. A year ago on a training mission to the Deeps, with my sister and single Limiter escort.

All it took was one bullet... one bullet to change my life, one bullet to traumatize me beyond all repair. And that's what happened. A single bullet to the stomach, the slow, horrible death that my sister and I watched that Limiter suffer. I can still remember the terrible sound he would make as he wretched up blood, his face strained with agony, pale skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat as he gasped and coughed, as he slowly bled to death. I begged my sister to put him out of his misery, and he begged her, too... But she wouldn't- or couldn't, I've yet to decide which- do it. We sat in that cave with that dying man for an hour and a half, doing our best to ease his passing... an impossible task. When he finally slipped away, my life had changed. I had seen worse, done worse... but seeing one of my men suffering like that... realizing that someday, I could meet the same fate... it was too much for me.

Sometimes, I used to let her take over. I would tell myself it was for the best to just let her run her course, let her throw her tantrum.

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

I don't ask that question anymore. Because just two weeks ago, I found the answer. I never want to find it again. I told myself it was my fault... it was, after all. He wouldn't have hit me if it wasn't my fault. That woman probably had it coming to her. Who was I to tell them to stop? Who was I to speak my mind? I deserved it. We're not supposed to speak out of turn, it's disrespectful... but to protest an interrogation?

I didn't even know what had happened. One second I had been standing there as a witness, the next,

"Stop it! Can't you see she doesn't know anything? You're going to kill her!"

There was a long moment of silence. Then my... my father broke ranks. He grabbed me roughly by the wrist, dragged me outside. I knew what was coming, but that didn't mean it hurt any less. I remember the first crack! as his open hand came across my face, the punch to my stomach that left me winded. The way I tried to pull away. The tears that welled up in my eyes and spilled down my face as he yelled at me... and then it was over. He shoved me up against the wall and growled at me to pull myself together, then returned to the interrogation room as if nothing had happened. I did the best I could to follow his orders. I had deserved it, after all. He wouldn't have hit me unless I deserved it.

But seeing his anger, seeing the way he looked at me, the cold disappointment in his eyes... it was more than enough. I'll never make the same mistake again. I'll never let her take over ever again. Because I have a feeling that what happened wasn't as bad as it could have been... it could have been worse. I don't know how, but I just know it could have been worse.

I told my sister about it. She got a strange look in her eyes, like something inside her had shut down, and she'd replied tonelessly,

"That's why I don't question orders anymore."

Sometimes I wonder if she's just like me. If she has her demon, her blue eyed monster, just like I do. Maybe she's just good at hiding her... or maybe she's finally killed her. For her sake, I hope she's killed her. I hope she's dead, hope she's gone, hope she's beaten. She's nothing but trouble, nothing but pain and fear and hurt and anger and love; all of those damned emotions we're not supposed to have. I hope she's dead.

Because no matter how we want it to be, no matter how we want to change things...

Around here, good will never be anything but bad.