It now looked to Marcus that he might just be stuck with this girl for a little while.
He couldn't even believe he was considering allowing her to stay after the lockdown was lifted, but yet he was. Even though, by this point (nearly three in the afternoon) he had definitely sobered up, but that didn't seem to matter.
Rosie was contentedly reading in the living room while Marcus did his daily check of all of the rooms of the house to make sure everything was where it needed to be. He fully realized how strange this consistent pattern of behavior might look to his guest, but this was who he was and he wasn't about to change or try to hide it.
He checked the upstairs bedroom that was serving as the library and marveled again on just how many books he had accumulated from the houses of Iroquois Point. He wasn't sure what was more impressive; the fact that he had collected them all or the fact that he had nearly read all of them. Of course, he hadn't done nearly as much reading of late as he usually did. Having a guest around had eaten quite a bit into his alone time.
And now he was giving serious thought to allowing this girl to stay. From the sounds of it, she was a lot like him in many respects. She didn't have (according to her) a family or any friends and she seemed entirely disinterested, for whatever reason, of leaving Oahu.
Plus, things hadn't gotten too strange (even though seeing her cry unnerved Marcus more than he cared to admit), so maybe if everything remained as it was, her presence wouldn't be too detrimental to him.
The truly important factor to consider would be if she would ultimately be fine being around him for an extended period of time. This was the thing that he wasn't in the least sure of and it honestly probably wouldn't be the best idea to find out.
Marcus checked the two entirely empty upstairs bedrooms and considered that she could stay in either one, provided he could find a bed for her to do so.
He knew that he could ask any number of Air Force personnel on patrols to help him for an hour or two to gather the furniture (he did still want that table from the other day) and they would jump at the chance to help him. Practically speaking, there was more than enough room in this large house for more than one person.
Making his way to his (now Rosie's) bedroom, Marcus checked the closet where he kept the majority of his firearms and ammunition for his daily inspection of them.
It didn't seem to him that Rosie had discovered them, or even rooted through his closet at all and Marcus had purposely not mentioned their existence to her.
Picking up the old M4 carbine (most of his weapons were older) Marcus inspected it and the large, one hundred round quad stacked magazine that was loaded in the weapon. Then, he checked the Glock 17 that was holstered on the chest of a a body armored vest. Finally, he looked over at the most recently manufactured firearm, the .338 Lapua Magnum bolt action sniper rifle that had been his primary weapon for the entire duration of The Fifth Column War and the weapon he had killed the most people with.
Marcus was thankful that the Air Force had let him keep the rifle and had allowed him to take the M4, the Mossberg 500 and the Glock 17. The latter three being very old weapons had probably helped his case when he'd requested them.
He was most thankful that they had allowed him to keep the PPK/S, which was essentially part of him by this point.
Marcus returned all of the weapons to their designated spots in the closet and then made his way to his bed which he noted was immaculately made.
He sat down and instantly realized how tired he was, having slept barely two hours the previous night. He had completely forgotten how comfortable this bed was.
Being careful to not disturb how well the bed was made, Marcus laid down and closed his eyes. He decided that it would be okay if he rested here for a moment; Rosie was downstairs, after all.
A few minutes should have been fine.
It had been over an hour since Rosie had heard Marcus move and she could only ascertain that he had fallen asleep.
She had been sitting in the living room pretending to read for the first twenty or so minutes of that (in truth she had long since finished this book [and about three quarters of all the books she had found in Marcus's house, reading them quickly whenever he was doing something else]) but blending in was what she was best at.
So now she did what she had been more and more inclined to do since she had been here. She decided to go and see if Marcus was sleeping well. She laid the book on the couch and headed upstairs to the room she had been staying in and she found Marcus exactly where she thought he had been doing exactly what she thought he was.
He was curled up on his side on the far point of the bed facing away from her and towards the second floor deck, his cane sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, where it looked like it had fallen.
She slowly made her way around the bed in order to see his face and the moment she did she knew, from the multitude of hours of seeing exactly this, that he was having a nightmare. It didn't seem like a bad one; he wasn't making any noise and he was perfectly still, but Rosie could tell exactly what was happening.
She suddenly felt the pain in her chest that she had become so accustomed to of late. Marcus, to whatever degree, was hurting. And it absolutely devastated her to see.
Something then snapped in Rosie. Without even thinking about it, she moved back to the free side of the bed and laid down next to him. She didn't consider the consequences of what she was about to do; in fact she hardly considered anything at all.
All she knew was that she had seen far too much of this to continue sitting by and doing nothing. It wasn't logical but it wasn't even really a choice for her.
She observed herself with just as much interest now as she had ever observed Marcus. This was all automatic; completely so. She accepted that this was what was happening.
Rosie followed her heart.
In the five days she had known him, Rosie had never made any sort of physical contact with Marcus. It had occurred to her that it was likely entirely unwanted by him and he had seemingly gone out of his way to avoid any sort of contact with her.
She didn't at all know what to expect.
Delicately, she placed her right hand on his right shoulder and wrapped her left arm around his chest, bringing her body into perfect, complete contact with his. She again marveled for a moment at how much bigger than her he was, something that was incredibly obvious given their current proximity to each other. He was over twice her size, easily.
She held him. All she wanted was to convey to him, even if he was asleep, that he wasn't alone; that he didn't have to be afraid; that she was here.
What surprised her, what she couldn't have expected, was what this contact with him did to her.
Suddenly, she felt calm, completely serene. The pain in her chest was gone as quickly and mysteriously as it had always seemed to appear. For a brief moment, everything in existence made perfect sense to her; this was what she wanted. This was exactly what she wanted.
Rosie knew that she should be afraid; that this, what was happening to her, was utterly extreme and something she couldn't even begin to quantify. It was very nearly in the realm of what should have been impossible.
But in that moment, she didn't care.
Right here, right now, she didn't care in the slightest what this would mean for the future or what it might ultimately mean for her.
For this one moment in an eternity of time, she was happy.
Closing her eyes, Rosie held Marcus as tightly as she dared to without hurting him or waking him up. She felt his body automatically react to her touch, to the warmth of her mental model. He seemed, subconsciously, to be as content with this as she was.
Rosie didn't know why she felt this way. She had no idea why Marcus, why this particular human out of the countless ones she had encountered, was having this effect on her. At that moment, all she was sure of was her own serenity and contentment.
It only lasted thirty-seven seconds.
Marcus awoke with a start and he whirled around, quickly pinning Rosie to the bed and roughly wrapping his left hand around her small throat.
She wasn't in any danger at all, of course and she was far too surprised and interested in what exactly was happening to even pretend to be afraid. She didn't struggle in any way, fearful that she might hurt him if she moved too quickly without thinking. Instead, she merely observed with fascination what was happening.
The Marcus she was seeing wasn't the Marcus she knew.
Squeezing her throat as tightly as he seemed able to, Marcus raised his right hand and made a fist, ready to strike her. His eyes blazed with a grim determination the like Rosie had never seen before in anyone.
He almost hit her, before his eyes flashed with a sudden realization and he launched himself off her and off the bed entirely, landing with a dull thud on the floor.
Quickly, he was on his feet, a look of pure horror affixed to his features.
All Rosie could do was stare blankly, unsure of what exactly was happening and even less certain of what to say.
Marcus, similarly, seemed to have a difficult time finding words as he buried his face in his hands and paced in his limping gait back and forth for a few moments, before turning to stare at her and look her up and down, seeing if he had hurt her.
After studying her for a few moments, he raised his hand and pointed at at her.
"Stay right there," he pleaded, looking frightened, which was something she hadn't seen from him before. "Please..."
And with that, he limped out of the room and loudly trudged down the stairs.
He had forgotten his cane.
It had happened again.
The exact thing Marcus had tried so hard to avoid had transpired.
He should have warned her. He should have told her not to be near him. He should have told her more firmly that he was dangerous. He just simply didn't know how to broach this particular subject.
He had been having a nightmare about being attacked and pinned down and had woken up to her wrapped around him. For those few moments, he didn't know he was awake or where he was. All he knew was he was about to die and he needed to defend himself.
What had she been thinking, doing that?
What had he been thinking by even considering that she could stay here with him?
Completely ignoring the pain in his back and leg, Marcus entered his kitchen, found the nearest bottle of whiskey and drained what was left in it; nearly a third of the bottle. He then spiked the empty bottle to the floor and made his way to his garage to collect the sledgehammer he kept there and then proceeded to the house next door, somewhere where he had spent a good amount of time, though he hadn't been there in quite a while.
He hadn't needed to.
But now he did.
He trudged into the first room that he hadn't already demolished in days past, which looked like it had been an office at one time or another.
Without a single flourish or a wasted moment, Marcus began systematically destroying the room. The computer and desk that made up the centerpiece were the first to go; he thoroughly demolished them, the chronic, ever encroaching pain in his back and leg forgotten about in his rage and rush of adrenaline.
Next, he attacked any other furniture in the room, which included shelves and several chairs.
He was sweating now and the exertion only accelerated the effect that the alcohol was having on him.
It had happened again; the one thing he wanted to prevent. He had hurt her and it could have even been far worse.
Sinking the sledgehammer into the first wall, Marcus began obliterating it, hitting it again and again; drywall flew around him like a grenade had been detonated inside the wall itself.
He had found that moment in time where he was almost nonexistent. His pain, though still present was forgotten for the time being. His rage at himself served as the channel for this. He tried desperately to not think about what had just happened, but that wasn't even a remote possibility. So instead he preoccupied himself with the only thing he could that even slightly worked.
Starting on another section of wall, Marcus quickly dismantled it. He was breathing very hard now and he knew by this point he wouldn't be able to keep going for much longer. His muscles ached and the strength of his blows was significantly decreased.
He only got in a few more swings before his legs finally gave out, due to the combination of the chronic pain and the exertion his body had just weathered.
Collapsing in a heap in the rubble he had just created and dropping the hammer, Marcus began crying, something he hadn't done in so long, he couldn't even remember the last time he had. Violent sobs wracked his body and he buried his face into his now blistered and bleeding hands.
It took him almost five minutes to gain control of himself and begin breathing somewhat normally again.
Rosie couldn't stay here; she couldn't have anything to do with him.
Tomorrow she was going home, lockdown be damned.
Painfully getting to his feet, Marcus decided to abandon the hammer for the night. He checked to make sure the PPK/S had stayed in its holster, before he began limping towards home.
He absolutely dreaded the conversation that was about to come and he even wondered if Rosie would still even be there to have it with him. He wouldn't have blamed her in the slightest if she wasn't.
Entering the house, Marcus inched up the stairs and turned the corner to his room, nearly fully convinced Rosie would be gone.
But there she was, sitting exactly where he had begged her to stay.
Marcus hadn't expected her to still be here and even if she was, he was certain she would have been looking at him in fear, or hatred, or something even remotely understandable concerning what he had just done to her. But, he was perplexed (like he often was these last few days) that she actually looked more concerned for him than anything else. That didn't make any sense to him at all. Other than that, it didn't look like he had hurt her too badly, thankfully.
His throat and mouth were dry and he tried speaking a couple of times before the words actually came out.
"I guess I need to tell you a little more about me, huh...?"
Author's Note:
I got a ton of reviews on the last chapter, so that really motivated me to write last night so I could update today. Thanks a ton, all of you! This chapter and the next two are really quite important to the plot of the story.
Awake, by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club