Project Songbird

Chapter 29

I toss and turn a bit but I can't really get comfortable enough to sleep. The room feels extremely stuffy and I huff out a small breath of air, throwing the blankets off of me. This is ridiculous.
I shuffle around but am unable to find a position that seems to work for me. I prop up on my elbow and try to fluff the pillow, "Maybe that'll help." I lay back down and close my eyes. Nothing. All I can hear is the quiet ticking of the clock that was in the living room. I rub my eyes and then glance over to the dresser. Amy left the glasses of water there. Water might help me relax. I look at Tyler. He hasn't moved from his position of facing the door. I wonder if that's a protection thing? Is he afraid that if he turns to face me, something could attack him from behind?? I decided to crawl to the end of the bed and try to slip off, without waking Tyler.
So far so good. I use the wall as support to avoid putting unwanted pressure on my bum leg. It only takes a few steps to get to the dresser. I reach over and pull the glass to me; taking a long drink of the cold water. It sure is a lot to think about. So much has happened in so little time. And we lost too many. I sit the half empty glass down and then look down at my hands. I flex my fingers, watching them each move individually. 'You're a demon!' My stepmother's words echo in my head and I stare down at my body. A demon. What is a demon? Is it pure evil? Am I evil? I've killed others. But I did that as a sort of self defense...I think...the line feels very blurred and murky. Ever since becoming a Songbird I felt lost. Confused. The range of emotions is beyond anything I have ever felt before. Mostly rage after being broken. Broke. It's such a plain word for what happens. It hurt. I glanced back at Tyler. He looks rather peaceful. He almost died that day. He's always putting himself in danger. 'No one would want to be partners with someone constantly in fights.' His sad words linger in my head. It makes me feel annoyed. I can't understand why someone wouldn't bother to get to know Tyler better. Maybe they are afraid of him because he has come from the other side. The side of the scientists. I limp over to get a better look at him while he's resting peacefully. The scars are lighter in color against his skin, some almost white. They wrap all around his body as if someone had painted him. I reach forward and lightly touch the deeper scar upon his chest. It looked to be years old. This must be one of the scars from the years before us. His story has been written upon his body with rough hands. Life hasn't treated him well and it's about time that he understands the happiness of life; if he is willing. I shift my fingers around, carefully tracing each scar I come across. What amount of pain is behind each one? Which scar is the one that broke you? Which ones were you numb to? Which one pulled the rawest emotion from your soul?
I pull my hand back and glance at the bedroom door. This room is still stuffy, maybe I should step outside and get some fresh air.
It takes a while but I manage to make it out the front door and sit down on the front porch steps. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the forest surrounding us. The stars seem to be twinkling in a happy little song, one that I could not hear. Are we really free? Did we really make it out from underneath the government thumb?? It was hard to believe, especially since I missed the entire shake down due to my injury. The air felt cool against my hot skin. I wrap my arms around my good knee and rest my cheek against the kneecap.
"Ethan?"
I looked up to see Tyler, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"What are you doing out here?" He asks as he sits next to me, pulling me close and wrapping the giant blanket, that he dragged along, around us. I lean against him, his cooler body was a nice contrast. "I couldn't sleep. The room was too hot." Tyler moves his hand and rests his forearm against my forehead, "Your fever must've spiked."
I just hum in acknowledgement. I was starting to get sleepy as we sat on the porch, huddled together, "Tyler?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think we made it?"
Again, he is quiet. He shifts and then moves me to sit comfortably on his lap, allowing me to rest my head upon his chest. I was mostly asleep when I heard his reply, "I believe so."