A Winding Road to Revenge

When Were You Last at Peace?

Long after the sun(what little they ever saw of it anyway) disappeared below the distant tower blocks, people began to retire to their various rooms and, after drinks and several games of darts, Rowan reluctantly followed suit.

Her room was just off the Den and used to be an office - she'd kept the desk and filing cabinet for her work as it was one of the few rooms in the base that was quiet enough to get things done. The only other things in the small room were a single bed and a small wardrobe. It was simple but there was comfort in that.

She closed the door behind her, leaning on it for a brief moment, letting her eyes close and her shoulders drop.

Walking over to the desk, she leaned over and fumbled around in the drawer until she recovered the small bottle. Rowan shook a pill out and dry swallowed it, closing her eyes as she felt it move down her throat. Every time it seemed like there were beginning to be more days when she could close her eyes and tempt sleep to come on its own, she'd have a slump and struggle to get even a minute for weeks on end.

It was unfortunately one of those weeks.

Rowan pulled her ponytail out and massaged her scalp, the roots of her hair protesting against the change of direction. She brushed out the knots that her hair had tied itself in, getting frustrated at a few that didn't want to easily untangle.

She changed into a t-shirt and leggings, dumping her clothes on the floor and collapsing onto the edge of her bed. She rubbed her hands over her tired face and let out a slow breath.

Rowan had to be honest - she still wasn't sure about Luke. They had an officer's kid staying with them which was nothing less than a security risk. Even though Luke had not raised any concerns that his father might come looking for him, it was still a dangerous possibility and despite all of their careful planning, it was pretty much just a miracle the base had not yet been discovered.

Rowan just also wasn't convinced that he fully knew what he was getting himself into - he was a naive teenager who had lived his whole life in the colony and knew very little of the outside world. He was in for a harsh reality check and was now stuck with them whether he liked it or not.

Rowan shuffled into her bed properly, pulling the sheets over her and staring at the ceiling. She did the same most nights, just waiting for the quiet dark to swallow her up for a couple of hours before the sun rose. Although the dark wasn't always quiet.

In fact, it rarely was.

Rowan wasn't a guilty person. She'd done plenty of things worth losing sleep over but they were rarely the cause of her long nights. It was anger that kept her up, the fire in her belly that had been smouldering for years - stoked each day but some new piece of kindling.

The darkness of her eyelids was filled with gunshots and screams and blood.

But it was never her finger on the trigger. It was never blood she had spilt.

If she were sensible, Rowan might tell someone about her sleep troubles, about how she had to buy pills off her friend Frank to help her not die of sleep deprivation because some nights everything was just too damn loud.

But talking to people, especially about herself, was Rowan's idea of a personal hell.

In fact, anyone who met Rowan probably wondered why someone who seemed so easily infuriated by other people merely existing was part of such a large group - one that she had founded no less. Rowan wondered it herself sometimes until she was alone in her room and there was nothing to distract her brain from going into overdrive.

As much as she hated to admit it - Rowan NEEDED people. They kept her sane, kept her grounded. She could spend hours in the Den just watching them get on with their lives, calmed by their mundane actions as they went about their lives. She let her mind be captured by their movements, let it wonder what they were thinking as they drank, talked, and worked - just let itself be distracted.

Sometimes, she was even convinced that she could let someone get a little close to her, take a little peek inside her heart.

But then the nights came and she was reminded of all that lay inside it.

No one could see that.

Never.

There was too much anger, too much fire.

They only get burned.

Her eyelids began to droop.

She'd wake in the morning and carry on as she always did and no one around her would be any wiser to her troubles. That was exactly how she liked it. She relished in being the strong, invincible one. The person who people looked at for protection, for leadership. To them, she was untouchable.

And Rowan loved that.

It made her feel powerful when her mind made her feel so unbelievably weak.

She couldn't afford to be weak, she had things to do.