CHAPTER 5 TINA CALLOWAY
I gazed into the mirror. My eyes still bloodshot and my neck still bruised from that maniac strangling me. I wish he'd finished the job. I should have never carried out that order. As I initiated the turrets, I gazed down at the monitor on the gate board as I watched those turrets tear more people to shreds than I could even count. I pulled that trigger, whether it was by order or not it was my muscle movements that caused that to happen. I feel dirty. I feel like my soul is now stained by all of their blood. I can't even stand to look at myself to inspect the bruising on my neck. I can't break eye contact with my reflection; locked in hatred. I don't deserve to be living. I recognize that I am having a real mental issue here and I need to get help with it, but speaking against the overseer in such a way may land me to be made an example of. The only thing that makes me sicker with having to live with my guilt is to think I could die to further strengthen the overseer's power over this Vault.
Graves has been on ice for a couple days now and I still won't allow myself to feel safe. In fact, I almost feel that he was the last ember of hope of being safe from the overseer. Now that hope is frozen deep below decks. In an area I'm not allowed to even see.
When I left the congregation of Graves' trial, I was so ashamed of myself for being so turned on by him. He was the kind of man who extracted respect. Some may call it confidence; I called it being aware of who and what you are. This beast was the maniac who almost squeezed my trachea shut. Here I am feeling like I could have impaled myself on him right there on that table he was strapped to. I was in a hurry to leave the common room and find my way back to my quarters. I was so wet I was afraid the heat and darkening in the area would be noticeable. I was immediately embarrassed when Charles Jameson stopped me to check on me. His concern was sweet for asking, but I don't want to involve him in my self-loathing. The hard thing to realize for people less self-aware than I am is that whatever happens in this vault will last for years and years. No one will forget. There is a lack of fresh faces. This is the ultimate small-town. There will be no reprieve from some drama going down with a man like that. What I need is a man who doesn't want drama either; a man who hates himself almost as much as he hates the regime of this new world. My thoughts returned to the thought of Graves ravaging me. I don't know if I'll ever be able to feel a sensual touch from myself or from someone else without my mind being on him. He may not have taken my life, but he owns my lust and always will.
When I knocked him out, I had swung my stun baton with all of my might. His blood hair and specks of flesh still stained the tip. I cleaned the tip with a handkerchief. I considered discharging the stun cell on myself to escape these thoughts, but instead, I studied the handkerchief as I massaged myself with the tip of the stun baton.
Regardless of the consequences I will talk this out with someone or I will be in constant battle with self-harm. I am cognizant enough to realize this, but Mr. Graves and I will have this moment.