Catharsis

Chapter Two - Cyrus

Cyrus' heart thudded hard against his rib cage, sending pain through his entire chest and making the room in front of him tilt dangerously.

Come on. Keep going.

He started the treadmill once again, but it was in vain. His vision immediately darkened, his breath coming out in a gasp. Slamming the off button, he shot a glance at the few people who were training — or who had been training — around him. He was drawing too much attention.

Cyrus staggered away from the machine and into the bathroom. Finding it was empty, he collapsed at the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing cool water into his face. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, doing nothing to help the already ferocious burn in his heart.

I hate this.

He leant his head against the cool mirror, waiting for the spinning and aching to stop. He'd gone too far again. With a problematic heart like his, Cyrus knew it was never a good idea to push himself. And yet, he knew if he didn't, he'd easily fall behind. After all, in the guard of Zeia, good was never enough. Especially not for his father.

The pain finally subsided and relief swirled in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he straightened and pushed back his dark blonde hair from his eyes.

Breathe.

Cyrus exhaled sharply through his nose and turned to walk out, just as a familiar announcement rang out, announcing breakfast. He rolled his eyes and contemplated skipping, but then shook his head. He'd need all his energy if he intended to keep his place on the guard.

***

The cafeteria grated on Cyrus' nerves. Different voices lapped over each other at equal volume, filling the room with a pointless droning chatter that made it hard to think straight. If Cyrus had the choice, he would've sat somewhere alone, preferably outside, but choice was something he quite badly lacked in the guard, and he, against his will, was forced to sit with his team. Five people who he, in the last year of his membership in the guard, had trained with, passed exams with, competed with, but could not seem to get along with for all the power in the world. They talked around him, discussing their next job, most probably. But Cyrus didn't need another thing to think about, so he tuned them out.

He wasn't sure what it was, but others his age (including himself) seemed to be more resistant to the mind-numbing pills they were given daily. Even though they were given a smaller dose on the guard to keep them alert, it still affected the older members much more. It only made everything far more annoying, though, and Cyrus sometimes wished the medication really did work, if only to cut off the constant overload of thoughts that swirled through his head.

"Cyrus, hello?" A voice said, and a face appeared in the corner of his vision.

Cyrus turned to see a boy roughly his age staring at him, brown curls framing a freckled face. Isaac. He was extremely friendly with just about everyone, and was equally as annoying. But he was the closest thing Cyrus had to a friend on the team, and he couldn't bring himself to brush him off like the others.

"What?" He said.

Isaac looked annoyed. "You spaced out, again."

Cyrus frowned.

"I didn't space out, I just chose not to participate in the conversation." He said, even though he had spaced out. Admitting it and seeming like even more of a freak than he already was did not seem like a good idea.

Isaac grunted.

"You're such a killjoy."

Cyrus tilted his head. "Rather be a killjoy than a pain in the—"