[ COMPLETED ]
BOOK 2 of the ORPHIC series
MONACHOPSIS
/ˈmənˌāˌkōpˌsis/
the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.
~~~~~
Lucille "Lucy" Opal Baker might be the unluckiest person...
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"Trust will never come back in its original shape."
???, Pacific Ocean March, 2012
SHE SHUT HER BOOK AS a knock resounded against her door. She placed the novel on her bedside table and flattened out her blanket. She refrained from growing cautious of the man or woman behind the door. It would be unwarranted and ridiculous, really, since the helicarrier seemed completely fine in its current state—and most definitely not under attack. She rubbed her temples, sighing.
"Come in." She called.
The door clicked open and she glanced up at Henry as he entered quietly. He shut the door behind him, shuffling across the room and dropping himself in the corner of the room. She forced herself to stop the shivers climbing up her spine, instead letting her lips form into a frown. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the table, and drew back with alarm when she saw the time.
It was nearly 3:00am.
She'd completely lost track of time, lost in the remarkable tales of The Plague by one her most favorite authors, Albert Camus. It was a delectable book, but was certainly not interesting enough to lose sleep over. She was tempted to roll over, turn the light off, and grow comfortable on the warmth of her blanket.
But there was a problem in her room, and she wouldn't get any rest until she kicked it out.
She begrudgingly stood from her bed, padding across the floor and stopping a few feet in front of Henry. She crossed her arms over her chest, ready to scold him out of her room—or insult him at the very least—when she noticed something odd about the way he was curled. His head was ducked against his knees, hair falling into his face, hands trembling at his sides. And he was sniffling as if he were. . .crying.
Her brows furrowed.
She'd never seen him cry before, nor would he do it as a ruse to trick her; he was too prideful for that. Which made everything worse. She'd never had to speak to comfort the older man and her verbal communication with him was. . .okay, at best.
"Uh—" she stood there with a stiff awkwardness, "—Henry? You—um—are you alright?"
There was a second of silence, before his sniffling seized. It unnerved her, how suddenly he seemed to stop sobbing. He didn't lift his head, instead wiping his eyes hurriedly. She watched him unsurely until he lifted his head. His gaze was bloodshot and wary, as if she was an enemy here—she supposed she was. He ran a hand over his face, tousling his hair as he collected himself.
