Date-December 12, 1:30 AM
Location- Mullberry Street
Apollo burned. The lighter sat on the table, the small earth emblem turned towards him. He stared at it, tears of rage spilling down his cheeks and staining the lumpy mattress below.
It had been him. It had been Fullbright all along. He was the one Aura Blackquill saw in the dark room. He was the one who had escaped into the space museum when the switch had been flipped.
He was the one who killed clay.
Everything began falling into place. Fullbright had been at the center before the bombs went off not because of a tip, but because he'd been the one to set them. He'd been able to use his role as leader of the evacuation as an alibi, while the chaos made it difficult to confirm.
The how made sense. What didn't make sense was why. Clay made it a point to not make enemies. Like Apollo, he hated confrontation, and wanted to make people happy. Why would Fullbright want him dead?
"God dammit he didn't deserve this!" Apollo roared. The words were muffled by the cloth, but he didn't care. It was the feeling of release that came with shouting that he needed. The same feeling he got when doing his chords of steel exercise.
His eyes burned with salty tears, and the ceiling above appeared warped as if he was viewing it through a fish tank.
"He didn't... Deserve...nnng!"
Apollo lost himself then. He felt anger, sadness, fear, guilt, confusion, all at the same time. He'd been hiding his emotions for so long. Refusing to cry. Putting on a brave face so people wouldn't worry. Holding it in.
He boiled over.
Arching his chin to the ceiling, Apollo yelled from the depths of his stomach. He screamed out his anger that the person who'd been there for him his whole life was gone. He declared his hatred of the person who'd fooled them all. He shouted out the guilt he carried for suspecting Athena and pushing away Trucy and Phoenix. He berated that unbroken concrete until his voice broke, then let himself slide into tired sobs.
Hot tears rolled off his chin and slid down his neck. The collar of his shirt was warm and damp now, as was the mattress. The last of his screams echoed back to him, and then it was silent.
He lay still, staring upwards at the flat grey ceiling. It was cruel, that ceiling. Hour after hour it watched him suffer, threw his words back in his face and stared at him uncaring.
Apollo couldn't help but wonder if there was some higher power, watching over people with the same un-interest as that concrete ceiling.
"Then they're cruel too." He murmured.
All his Worldly feelings crept slowly back to him. He was so cold, so hungry, so tired. How many days had it been? There were no windows in the small room, no natural light source, no clock. He had no way to know how many days had gone by.
His hair was falling in his eyes, but he was too exhausted to blow it away. The gel he used to get his signature hairstyle had worn off a while ago, so instead of his usual slicked back look, he now had a scruffy appearance. He looked over at the lighter again.
Guilt stabbed at his chest. "I'm sorry clay." He thought, "I let my anger get to me, and I lost sight of the truth. I never meant..." Tears rose in his eyes once again. "I just..." He choked out. His eyes were closing. His body was going into survival mode, sleeping to save energy.
Exhausted, Apollo slipped into a deep sleep, the words "I'm sorry", repeating on his lips.
