Crossing the River
Self-Worth
Runrunrun! No! Ow! Please please! Stop it hurts! No! Please no! Stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Nomorenomore! Stop!
"Wisp, wake up,"
Nomorenomore! Not again! Please no!
"Whisper! Wake up!"
I shot bolt upright in bed and grabbed my gun from under my pillow, pointing it at the man standing in my room purely by instinct. The man was black with black hair that was crew cut, in a military uniform wearing visor like sunglasses.
"Who are you?! What are you doing in my room?!" I asked him. He put his hands up in the air.
"Wisp it's me, Jazz," he said.
"No it isn't, Jazz is a 15 foot tall robot from an alien planet, and you are most clearly human,"
"It's a holoform, I turned it on when I noticed you were having a nightmare and tried to wake you up,"
"Prove it!" I barked.
"Alright," the man said… and then disappeared.
"What the hell! Where'd he go?" I said. I ran to the Autobot hangar, where the bots slept and went into his room. Jazz was sitting on his berth looking straight at me.
"Now do you believe me?" he said.
"Yeah, sorry,"
"It's ok, but when you woke up, why did you point a gun at me?"
"Habit, I do that even when there's no one in the room, I generally end up cleaning my weapons before I can go back to sleep,"
"That is a bit paranoid, don't you think?"
I gave a harsh little laugh, "Jazz, one thing you are going to learn about me is that I am a paranoid little bitch with no faith in humanity and major trust issues,"
"You are not a bitch,"
"That is debatable depending on who you ask," I say with a grim smile, remembering the screams, the hits, doled out to me.
"What do you mean?"
"Remember what I said on the plane? Abusive family, and honestly they're right, I am a bitch,"
"You listened to them?"
"Don't have much of a choice about it, you hear the screams every day, you start to listen to them and believe them,"
"Don't,"
"Don't what?"
"Don't believe them,"
"It's true, I mean, not even my own mother wanted me," I said, a tear sliding down my face. Jazz picked me up and held me level with his faceplates.
"Doesn't make you a bitch,"
"I killed for food," I deadpanned.
"What?" Jazz asked.
I looked down, terrified that Jazz would hate me "Kyle fed me, as long as I fought for him, because most of the time my foster family's didn't feed me, and he needed me in top condition to fight,"
"I'm not mad, and I don't think any less of you, you did what you had to,"
My head snapped up, "Y-you really think that?"
"You're not the only one who's killed before, all of us have,"
"'All of us' being?"
"Me and the rest of the 'Bots,"
"Just checking. What time is it?"
"3:59 in the morning, why?"
I debated for a second, and then stood up, "I've got to train, want to spar?"
"Train? So early?"
"Yep, I get up at four every morning to train, it's the norm for me. You coming?"
"Sure,"