A nightmare woke me up later that night. Six had comforted me after leaving The Tops in a hurry. He told me to wait there over and over before leaving. "Three hours," he repeated, "You wait here three hours and then meet me at Vault 21."
I suppose he assumed people would think we were behind Benny's murder if we left so quickly together. We were, obviously, but so far nobody has even heard of his death. It's a strange thing, waiting to find out someone died. You'd assume death is something you notice immediately, but what if you're alone? Days, weeks - how long until people from the east assumed I was dead? I was, technically. My life was indeed taken from me. All that classified me as alive right now was my beating heart.
Six paid for the room we now shared in Vault 21. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Trying to ease my scared breathing, I swung my legs from the bed to the floor and made my way to the bathroom sink. The pants Six let me borrow barely clung to my hips and I had to keep pulling them up, but I was still grateful for them. I let the sink's water run for a while to heat up, and eventually splashed it on my face. It felt good and made my hands feel cold every time they went back to the air conditioned vault air. So I sat with my hands collecting the water which was slowly getting hotter and hotter.
My mind was locked on the face in my dream, a boy that was bright and smiley. He had brown curly hair and amber eyes that sparkled when his teeth happily showed. He was brutally murdered in my dream and all though I had no clue about who he was, I felt as though someone close left me. Perhaps this was the face I couldn't picture as my brother. His face sent warmth directly into my heart, and I began to cry. First the tears flooded my lower eyelids, slowly dripping down my cheeks. Then, after I began bawling, Six's sleepy voice called for me. I didn't answer, of course. I couldn't. He came in and rubbed my shoulders, his voice sounding less and less sleepy as he continued asking me what was wrong, if I was okay, and shooshing me.
I swear I cried harder with every word of his. He was making me feel pathetic, though I don't believe that was his intention.
With a hardy gulp, I spoke up, "How are you okay?" My voice squeaked from holding in the tears, but I know he heard me. His head tilted. Six went through his days like forgetting the whole past life someone has lived was meaningless. Did he - could he truly suppress all emotions, all thoughts and attempts and reasons for remembering his life down into the blackness of his heart?
He turned the sink off and I shivered as he pulled me close to him. The hot water running all this time made it steamy and wet in here, the warm temperature helping a headache I felt coming on.
"I'm not okay with you crying in the middle of the night, if that's-" I shook my head and he sighed.
"I meant with your head," My words made his eyebrows quirk. I stared up at him, probably looking so small and vulnerable to him right now and I hated it. My hand moved his bangs back to reveal that scar. That bullet wound that was mostly hidden throughout the day. My thumb brushed over the scarred tissue and he eyed me curiously. Did this make him feel vulnerable too?
"I'm not," was all he offered.
I scoffed, "Of course you're not," I said. I pulled myself from him and made my way to the bed we shared. As I sat, I rubbed my eyes. Six followed and sat beside me, for once in his life being at a loss for words.
"You spent much time chasing down vengeance that burned brighter than the sun within yourself. Why?" I asked, wording my question slowly and deliberately.
"I," he hesitated, "Was mad. He stopped me from completing a job I had to finish and got me involved in a massive situation that I had no business being in." I wanted to ask about the bullet, his memory, his whole life. Was he not mad over losing that? Perhaps by avoiding that subject I can say I think he really does feel vulnerable when talking about it. Perhaps that's why I still haven't mentioned my forgotten memory, especially now. I was already being perceived as weak in this moment.
"Did you have a mother?" I asked abruptly. Again, he hesitated, and I felt powerful for having the advantage of words for once.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," he tried to joke; So obviously tried to joke, like he always did. Nothing was personal for him. I'd assumed he used people like tools simply because he lacked ethics and morals, but perhaps he had just forgotten about people he cared about. If you have no one to care about, then you care about no one.
I laughed and wiped the new salty tears that fell - they were slow and simply fell from pity.
"You can't remember. Not anything," I told him. He didn't say yes or no, it wasn't a question.
After a while of him twiddling his fingers and me finally calming down, Six recommended that we both sleep. He told me he'd show me something I'd enjoy tomorrow and I felt both excited and terrified. I still didn't trust him.
The feeling of warmth leaving my side woke me up. Six rolled his neck and sifted through a pile of clothes for his day-to-day outfit as I sat up.
"Good morning," he offered, low-key eyeing me to see if I was doing better than last night. I repeated his greeting as he changed his shirt. I, too, changed my clothes as he explained that a friend of his would help us. I'd have asked a billion questions if he'd given me time, but he was eager to pack his things and leave.
Our traveling was mostly silent, though not in an awkward sense. I broke it when we passed a park with fliers on the wall that caught my attention.
"What's this park called?" I asked him as I walked up to a poster on the wall. Six stayed put and scratched his neck.
"Aerotech Office Park. Why?"
I ripped the flier from the wall and hungrily read it over.
"It's true," I said to myself. Six questioned me and I smiled and bounced towards him, the excitement and hope rising up like a sunrise.
"It's true! The rumors were true, Six! There's a doctor coming!" I shoved the poster in his face.
"A traveling doctor? Why do you need a doctor?" He asked. My eyebrows scrunched together. I forgot I never told him that I was like him; That I, too, had lost my memory from an injury.
"He's a brain surgeon," I told him.
Six tilted his head and handed the paper back to me. It got folded and tucked into my bag.
"So?"
I scoffed, deciding not to tell him about my injury just yet. Perhaps if I could turn this around to be about Six he'd be more willing to meet with him.
"He can fix yer broken little head, Six," I said in a sympathetic voice. My hand ruffled up his hair and I giggled. He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.
"You're the one with a head that needs fixin'," he told me. I laughed - he had no idea how much truth that statement held.
"Come on, he'll be here for like three weeks so I'll give it some thought." I smiled and followed him as he spoke. Perhaps I will dream of familiar faces again.
We reached our destination. Trading post 188 took about the whole day to reach. Six led me up the highway. A woman in ragged clothing was standing with her hands hoisting her head up as she leaned on the highways wall. She stared out into dusk.
Six approached her calling out, "Veronica, I need your help again."
The girls face went from excited and curious to annoyed and anxious in a flash. How did Six know this girl? Because she didn't seem to like him.
I hung back as the two talked. Well, more like whispered. The two glanced back at me as they continued their hushed conversation. I could take a hint, it was obviously none of my business what they were discussing. However I couldn't help but feel insecure. They couldn't have been talking about me, how immature that would be. Right?
"We'll spend the night here and get going in the morning," Six told me as he brushed by. We all ended up lighting a fire under the highway, beside a large and ancient blue bus.
As we set up some sleeping mats, Six practically ignored me. It's not that I tried to initiate conversation with him - he was usually the one to do that. However as we stood by the barrel of fire, he remained stone faced. Where was his radiant charisma?
Veronica was at least nice. She introduced herself to me. We chatted on the most basic level of small talk one could come up with. Six moved from the barrel of fire to sitting on his sleeping mat.
"Veronica, do you not have a sleeping mat?" I asked as I only counted mine and Six's. She shook her head.
"No. I normally don't need one, but I hadn't expected for Six here to stop by," she told me. My face must've shown pity because she soon started telling me not to worry and that sleeping on the ground would be fine.
I offered her mine and she immediately refused, and Six's snicker was the only thing that kept me from arguing with her.
"Something funny, Six?" I asked him, gently kicking his leg.
He rolled over onto his back, one leg bent and an arm being used as a pillow, "You're just too kind, Lacey."
I scowled into his face. It was being sculpted by shadows and light from the flickering fire, making it look like he was switching between scowling and laughing. I went and sat with my back against the concrete wall.
"Well if Veronica doesn't sleep on that mattress, no one is. I'll sleep right here," I stated. I kept my arm through the strap of my back which now laid on the ground beside me. After a bit of her standing around, looking unsure, she laid herself on the mat.
"Thank you," she told me, and I waved a hand to blow it off. It really wasn't a big deal, after all. And all though my back, neck, and tailbone ached, I eventually fell asleep. It must have been about 4 hours until I felt strong arms hoist me up.
Six spoke into my ear when he laid me down, "That nice attitude of yours could get you killed," he said and laid in front of me. We laid on the small mattress until the sun rose, like two spoons in a drawer. I loved Six's attitude when he was nice and caring.
His bursts of kindness only made me wonder more about him. Was he this nice before his injury? Because if that were the case, I only wanted for his head to be fixed even more than before. Yes, I wanted mine fixed, too, but wanting Six added to that fuel. I wanted to know who Six used to be. I wanted to know who Lacey used to be. Would they get along better than this? I wanted so badly to tell Six about my head and how much we had in common what with not knowing ourselves or how to act or even our names.
I wanted to say, "We're the same, Six. Just show me who you really are and I'll show you." I wanted for him to want to get to know what Lacey used to be called and to want to know what Six used to be called.
"The surgery is for me," I'd tell him, "but it's for you, too."
My fingers rubbed my lace necklace as I imagined us laughing together and discovering ourselves. Silly Lacey, you knew he was trouble. You knew he'd be devious and deceitful and you knew you'd be hooked. However, the next morning, as Six woke up and talked privately with Veronica, I wondered more about the darkness within Six rather than the old light. Veronica returned silently crying to herself and I pretended to be asleep until she stopped. How could I let myself forget about the evils I see swarming Six everyday? He was, after all, the night. His rays of sunshine had lowered behind the horizon the moment he lost his memory, it would seem. All he knew now was the darkness and blackness of this new man called Six.
