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He can’t decide who he hates more: himself or her as he sits alone in his closet of a room, his feet planted firmly on the cold, grey floor, and his eyes staring blankly at a door that he knows no one will knock on. Who is it that he hates more than anything? Some days it changes. Some days he hates himself for nights like these where he has to fight the red and black creature that shifts and boils in his chest and throat. Some days that red and black thing is in his head and eyes and mouth and he just hates her. Hates her with everything he has and he has so much. There, alone and in the dark, forgetting how to blink and how to breathe, he can’t decide who that hate is pointing its accusingly sharp fingers at. His fingers itch but he doesn’t know what for. They pick at his nails and then at the sleeves of his shirt when his nails begin to hurt.
The day hadn’t been all that bad. There was nothing in particular that made it special. Nothing had gone well. Nothing had gone poorly. None of that seems to matter to the red and black monster. Not when she’d been so close to him all day, so perfect and unshakable. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been perfect. He’d been utterly shakable. A bad performance in the training room. A bad score. A crowed to watch it. It hadn’t been anything new. But she’d been there. She’d been there and had followed his performance with one of her own. That’s it. It must be.
North rarely wishes he could be like his sister. They’re not the same person and he knows that she cherishes that. He cherishes it as well. They handle things differently. While she scowls, he chuckles. While she throws a punch, he shrugs his shoulders. But South is so good at hating. When she hates things, it’s only for a moment. It’s a fire stronger than the sun, but quick to burn itself out and then it’s in the past. When North hates he doesn’t know how to stop hating. It’s something dark rather than full of fire and passion. It’s cold and silent as the grave. It takes its form in thoughts that begin in the back of the mind and slowly creep into every part of it. It lives in his eyes and makes him see everything wrong. It lives in his mouth and makes him so quiet. Makes him hate that quiet too. It lives in his lungs and makes every breath painful. It lasts and lasts until it’s as much a part of him as his hands or teeth. North hates until he can’t remember what it feels like not to hate. He wishes he could act on it. That he could throw a punch or scream himself horse. He wishes he could vent that red and black creature out of him and move on. He doesn’t know how. So it stays and finds new places to live and fester.
He can’t remember when he started hating her. It feels like a lifetime ago. Some days he thinks that it’s over. Some days he’s happy to be in her company and is happy to take orders from her and is happy to see how happy she makes everyone else, how much she impresses them. On those days, North thinks that it’s over. It never is. Maybe he started hating her the first time she went on a mission with South without him. Maybe he started hating her when they returned and South wasn’t smiling, but he could see how every part of his sister was captivated by her. His sister. HIS. And yet it didn’t seem that way then. Maybe he started hating her the first time York was badly wounded and she stayed by his bedside while he was unconscious. North had sat on the other side of the sickbed, but had eventually felt like an intruder to the scene playing out before him. An actor who had missed his cue and hadn’t left the stage quick enough. He’d never been given the script at all. Maybe he started hating her when York finally woke up and had eyes for her first. Maybe he started hating her when South began asking her to spar instead of him.
“I know you too well.” She had said. Well, that was true. North is boring now. He isn’t part of the new and elite world that South wanted to be in. Not for lack of trying, though. He simply can’t manage to cross that invisible line into relevancy.
She takes everything from him. She doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t think that she means to, anyway. If she meant to, he can’t imagine what he would do. May he wouldn’t do anything at all. He’d think terrible things though, more terrible than had ever been thought before. Unforgivable things. But she doesn’t mean to. Maybe that makes it worse. He tries and tries and yet, without trying at all, without even wanting to, she takes everything. Not only does she take, but she continues to grow brighter and stronger in their eyes. She captivates them and leaves North so far behind that whatever interesting qualities he might have once had are far beyond the horizon now. He’ll never catch them. They should be his. He cares so much. His heart breaks and bleeds he cares so much. Why can’t that be enough? He can’t hate them for not choosing him. He can’t love them and hate them at the same time. South can do that. She loves and hates him constantly. For North, these feelings are completely and utterly mutually exclusive. He isn’t sure if York can feel both at once for one person. He’s not sure if there’s anyone that York truly hates. No, North can’t hate them. So he hates her. Hates the person that they both picked. It’s so much easier that way.
If he’s honest with himself, he never had York. York was never his even for a moment. He’s almost positive that York loves him in some way. Maybe in the way he wants. Maybe not. It’s not nearly as much as he loves her though, so it simply isn’t enough. York had started in her pocket, and North had simply failed to take him from her. He can’t hate her for that. It isn’t her fault that their contest started at different times for the heart of a soldier with sand colored armor. He can hate her for not doing right by him though. He can hate her for not caring enough. He can hate her for leading him on and on and on. He can hate her for not knowing what she wants while her rival has never been surer of anything. He can hate her endlessly for that.
She may not have stolen York, but she certainly stole South. South had begun as his. They’re siblings. They were supposed to stay together. They were supposed to support and understand each other. They were supposed to be a team!
She had stolen his sister and the very worst part of it is that neither of them see it. If they see it, then neither will acknowledge it. When they speak about each other, it’s more often than not with distain. “She thinks she’s so perfect.” or “She needs to get her temper under control.” North isn’t an idiot. He is, above all things, perceptive. He’d be terrible at his job if he wasn’t. He sees the way that they look at each other when the other isn’t looking. He sees the way his sister avoids him now in order to rub elbows with her. North sees everything. He hates that about himself. He wants to be an idiot. He wants to be blind. Anything to prevent him from seeing that loss day in and day out. It’s almost too much. It’s often too much.
Carolina.
Why? Why is it just him that she takes from? She’s never stolen a loved one from anyone else. Maybe it’s because North is the only one with loved ones that can be seen every day. That can’t be true. He can’t be the only Freelancer that loves someone other than Carolina. Maybe he just picks the wrong people to love. If he loved Wyoming would it be different? Would she leave them alone? Or would his fellow sniper suddenly be struck by whatever it is that makes her so irresistible? What has he done to deserve any of this? What has he done to drive South away? What has he done that’s made him unworthy of York? He honestly wishes he knew. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel so unfair.
Yet, he doesn’t want Carolina to pay. He doesn’t want her to hurt. He doesn’t want her to suffer. Well, maybe that’s not true. A part of him wants her to know what he feels. A part of him wants her to feel that loss and confusion and hate. Hate. But he’d never wish her harm. He’s never wanted to shoot her, even though it would be so easy. There have been plenty of people he’s wanted to shoot over his lifetime. Too many to count probably. There have been plenty of people he has shot, and gotten his wish. Never Carolina. She doesn’t deserve to die simply because she’s better than him in every way. She doesn’t deserve injury just because North is jealous and picks at his skin when he can’t figure out where to put that jealousy. She deserves to be rewarded, if anything. She’s a victor, and to the victor go the spoils.
All he wants is to win. He wants to win back everything that she’s won from him. He wants, at the very least, to win just a little bit. Just a flash of that same sparkling devotion that they give her constantly. That’s all. No. A lie. He wants too much more. He wants to take them from her. He wants all of that attention. He wants to be the one emerging victorious. He doesn’t want to be at the top of the leaderboard. She can have that. He doesn’t care. He just wants them. He wants his sister back on his side. He wants York to have eyes for him first when he opens them in the med bay. He knows he can’t do this. He knows that it’s an impossible, selfish, horrible desire. He’s more than willing to settle for just a look. A spark of what was or what could have been. He’d be so happy with just a look.
There seems to be no way to claim his victory. It seems impossible. He’s not as strong as her. He’s not as skilled. He’s not as smart. He’s not as fast. He’s not as important. He’s far more expendable. He’s nowhere near as attractive. His smile is better, but her smile is rarer and therefore more charming. His voice is calm and easy to listen to, but her voice is so passionate. His voice is built for parenting, her voice is built to lead an army. He’d much rather listen to her voice, as would anyone.
Though he’s never wanted to shoot her, on more occasions than one, he’s wanted to take bullets for her. It’s the only way he can possibly think of to bring himself back into their perfect, powerful world. All he would have to do was push her out of the way of bullets, or jump in front of her at just the right time. Taking bullets is easy. Getting shot is so unbelievably easy. He takes bullets for South constantly. He’s taken bullets for Wash. He’s taken bullets for York when he’d been too distracted by a lock to move. It’s the only time he becomes the center of their universe. South worries for him when he’s taken bullets for her. She waits by his side and gives him lectures and looks at him with something other than irritation. York has a very similar reaction. Bullets are absolutely nothing. Who cares? How can he possibly care when for however many minutes, Carolina is forgotten? Maybe if he took bullets for her, then he’d get even more credibility. Maybe he’d earn those invisible points that are worth more than the leaderboard will ever be.
The majority of him knows that these thoughts are unhealthy and that he shouldn’t have them. He knows that he doesn’t want to die. He knows that those thoughts are some of his most heartless and selfish. Enough of him knows this to prevent him from acting on those poison wishes. Taking bullets isn’t something meant to be planned. It’s a spur of the moment and foolish act of love more than anything else. To use this act as a tool to win back South and York would be to wholly and forever spoil the act. The black and red creature makes a very good case for doing it anyway though. A very good case.
He wonders why he can’t just be happy that they are happy. Why can’t he be happy that the two most important people in his world have found their own happiness, even if he’s not a part of it? He wants them to be happy; truly, he does. He wants that light in their eyes to be eternal. If she’s what they need to keep it that way, then why can’t he just be happy for them? Some days he thinks that he is happy for them. Some days he smiles along with them and feels peaceful knowing that they’re happy and in good hands. Those days aren’t even that rare, but it is these horrible, all consuming bad days that poison all past good days. These days make him think that nothing will ever be alright again, and worst still, that nothing has ever been good at all. He’s been kidding himself. His fingers go back to picking at the skin around his nails.
No one will worry when he doesn’t leave his room for food. No one will even think twice. No one will come and investigate. Maybe they’ll be glad he’s not there to spread his jealous, unbearable nature everywhere.
A knock at his door breaks him out of his thoughts. Suddenly he can feel the bed beneath him. He can see through the darkness of a room with the lights turned off. The edge of his right thumb is bleeding, pulled too far down away from the nail. His eyes are burning. At least he hasn’t cried. How shameful that would have been. Another knock. Another.
“What?” At least his voice sounds good. It does sound good, doesn’t it? A little quite, but fine.
“I’m coming in. You’ve got twelve seconds to get ready or whatever.” That’s a voice he knows. It doesn’t make sense that he’d be hearing it. It doesn’t make sense that she’d be here when there are more important, interesting people for her to talk to.
Twelve seconds. He doesn’t move, can’t bring himself to move, but he counts. He breathes in every odd number, breathes out every even number. Nine in, ten out, eleven in, twelve out. The door opens. One last inhale and North looks up.
South stands in the doorway, a plastic bag in her hand, but doesn’t stay there for long. Quickly the door is closed behind her. She turns a light on, frowns at him, sighs, and moves to sit beside him on the bed. “You’ve been out of it all day.” She says quietly, the frown still on her lips. Not an angry frown. North can’t quite figure out what kind of frown it is. He can’t figure out why she’s here at all.
“You wanna say anything?” South sighs, nudging his shoulder with her own. “It’s okay if no.”
“I’m fine.” North responds. “You don’t need to worry.” That’s all he does, make her worry, make her hate him, drive her away.
“Yeah, sure.” North can hear her rolling her eyes. Well, can’t blame him for trying. “What did you do to your fingers?” He doesn’t have an answer to that. “Have you eaten?” He shakes his head. No point in lying.
South sighs yet again and North can feel the pit growing in his stomach. Can he do anything besides disappoint and upset her?
“Didn’t think so. I brought you some stuff. Just like…soup and bread. Light stuff. Just eat it even if you don’t want to.” She says, lifting up the plastic bag and setting it in his lap.
North blinks at the bag, its contents warm on his legs before untying the top and pulling out the contents. He can’t disappoint her even more. That must be avoided at all costs.
“I feel like you’re mad at me.”
Again that pit in his stomach grows deeper, full of something that writhes and cries. “I’m not. Definitely not.”
South scowls at this, shaking her head. “Just…let me get this out okay?” she says, her voice quiet, yet determined. She’s always so determined. It’s admirable. “I know this whole thing isn’t what you thought it was going to be. Being here, I mean. I know it’s not really what you wanted.”
North opens his mouth to protest but she holds up her hand and he close it again. He wants to tell her that it doesn’t matter. He wants to tell her that he can see how inspired this job makes her and that makes everything worthwhile. He wants to say that it doesn’t matter how drained and out of place he feels sometimes as long as she continues to excel in way’s she’d only dreamed of before. He wants to lie and say that he’s fine. He wants to tell the truth about how sometimes, he really is fine. He keeps his mouth closed.
“I love it here. I love every second of it. I’m not going to say I don’t. But, I also know you miss how things used to be. I know. I miss it too sometimes, for the record. I hate that when I came in, you looked surprised to see me. I don’t want things to change so much that you’re surprised to see me when you have bad days.” Her voice sounds so sad. It’s heartbreaking. It makes North’s fingers itch to pick again. “I’m glad you’re with me. I wouldn’t love it here if you weren’t. But we don’t need to have a big talk right now. For now, I was just thinking we could watch bad old movies and steal snacks like we used to? At least until you feel a little bit better? Or even all the way better?”
Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s nodding. He doesn’t have any words. They’re all gone. He’s so tired, more tired than he’s ever been, but at least she’s there. That evil red and black creature is quiet in the back of his mind as it hisses that she’ll just leave again. That it doesn’t mean anything that she’s here now. It’s quiet though and grows quieter the longer she stays. North can be content with small blessings.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive Carolina entirely, but it’s a little easier to try when South is there by his side. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself entirely, but it’s a little easier to try when South is handing him a Band-Aid and producing more stolen food from her pockets. Maybe, for just right now, that monster inside him can sleep, and he can focus on the here and now where things look safe and brighter than before.