The Walking Bomb Talks

Chapter 4

' "You know, why would anyone like a bomb like you," Carol questioned, "a bomb who kills without knowing." Carol twirled around to look at the shaking Bomb, a bomb that had lost all control. "All you do is cause problems for everyone. Do us all a favor and blow up and never regenerate!" Carol walked up to the Bomb and lights its wick.

The Bomb couldn't move. It couldn't scream for help. It couldn't beg for the woman to stop. It doesn't want to hurt anyone; it doesn't want anyone to die. Why does it have to be made like this? Why couldn't it just be human?

Tick...

Tick...

Tick...

That was the sound of the end. '

Whitty jolted awake from the sound of an explosion in his head. His breathing was uneven and heavy. That nightmare was about him. His fears were captured perfectly in such little time, the fear of being abandoned because of who he is. The fear of killing someone he loves dearly, accident or not. Whitty tried to calm his breathing but the nightmare kept repeating in his mind, making him more stressed. He felt his wick flicker to life, which did help at all in this situation. Suddenly he felt water on his head, snapping out of his trance. He turned to see Ruv holding a now empty cup on the side of his bed and a sleepy Sarvente at his doorway.

"Looked like you needed some cooling down." Sarvente joked with a small grin, yawning afterward.

"Smelt smoke come from your room," Ruv's voice was way deeper and scratchier and his accent was stronger than normal. Damn.

Whitty slapped himself enterally, shaking his head, "sorry, a nightmare."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Whitty looked up at Sarv with tired eyes and wiped the tears that had been pouring down them, "no." He stated bluntly.

Sarvente nodded, "totally understand, nightmares are not something easy to talk about," she paused for a second, "but... doing so will help you release a lot of stress." She continued, dragging on the 'but'.

With the nightmare returning to Whitty's head again, his wick flickered but did not light due to it being wet. He felt himself struggling for air and his eyes widened as tears ran down them again. He felt pressure against his head, that faded away when he flinched at the pair of arms that wrapped around him.

Never in his life did realize how a hug could be so comforting. He never had someone to hold him. He refused to let anyone do so, afraid he might hurt them. But he's not hurting anyone, he's not wasting anyone's time of being-well, broken. Those thoughts only made him cry more. Now with his tears of oil, he gripped the back of Sarvente's shirt and pushed deeper against the warm touch of the nun, seeking more comfort.

Whitty didn't realize another hand rubbing his back until he almost calmed down. The other hand belonged to Ruv, it was rubbing small circles on his back. Focusing on such a small touch brought him warmth, a different type of warmth he feels when he was angry or stressed. This was a happy, calming warmness. A warmness that he'll be happy to live with. He drifted back to sleep.

Whitty yawns awake, stretching all his limbs, hearing satisfying cracks. He sat up slowly as he rubbed his eyes. He remembers the night he had and smiled, their touch still lingers comfortably. He slid out of bed and walked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. The smell of fresh eggs and bacon made his stomach rumble, begging to be filled, with delicious foods.

"Good morning," Sarvente chirped loudly, "I and Ruv were planning on going out, would you like to tag along?" Sarvente asked, making Ruv huff.

Whitty walked and grabbed the plate that Sarv handed him, "where exactly?" Whitty leaned on the counters.