Warning One-Twelve [Peter Ballard, 001]

A Soul behind Sentries : 16

(This chapter is not finished guys, but I logged into this  account and noticed this chapter was unfinished.. so feel free to have this excerpt from a year ago. xoxo, cams.)

You took in the room. All the books and stories you tor through in silent years never would have prepared you for such a plot twist. 

Uncle Lance.

Impossible.

But it wasn't. You took in, little Eighteen perched on the bedsheets, eyes expectant as her pupils danced between you and Lance. Her uncle. You noted the similarities, cursing yourself for never having noticed them before. You saw them now, clear as the numbers embedded into your wrist. Those dark, inviting eyes, olive tinted skin- the slightness to their limbs, the feeling behind those expressive glances.

If this were true, it implied Lance's late brother was-

You felt bile rising in your throat as you turned from Eighteen, eyes encircled by white in the dim room. 

"No, Lance. Please." He hadn't said anything to you, hadn't explained, but it was all right there. You felt Eighteen's pain, pain she didn't show, never had the chance to let bleed from her soul. You saw yourself in her. Saw your own young perception of the world through her dark brown eyes, and had vowed to give her more than what this lab had given you yourself. You promised that tug of power in your chest that someday you would give little Eighteen the world.

But you had shattered hers before she was even born. Her dad- Lances brother, had been killed in the mess of getting you out, earning you a freedom you had blown off to come back, to enslave yourself once more.

And to further twist the knife in the wound, you were in love with the man who committed the act.

Eighteen shuffled off the bed, seeming alarmingly at ease for your own accusing realization. Though Lance was the one crouched with open arms, eyes trained on her, it was you she ran to, encircling her thin arms around your torso.

"I haven't seen you in so many days, One-One-One." She nestled her face into your stomach, feeling the soft wool of her uncles sweater. Distantly, you heard Lance laugh at her name for you.

It terrified you. 

One, One, One.

Her fathers murderer's titles, spilled from her pink innocent lips. She didn't know. She shouldn't know. She deserved to know.

She should back away. You were no better than him. You shared his mind, shared his locked away soul. You were one and the same. Yet she found comfort in you, the silent comfort that came with a stealthy killer.

You choked a sob and gently brushed her shoulders away from your hold and you stumbled, hand coming to meet your mouth. Food you hadn't even ate rushed up your throat, sickening and vile.

"One Eleven, breathe-" Lance, and his charming ability to take control of any situation. You heard his soft condolences as he whispered sweet nothings to Eighteen, excusing your behavior as you ran for the slightly ajar door of the bathroom.

"She's had a long day,"

"No, my darling she loves your hugs."

Each kind sentence sent shivers through your body, your eyes clamped shut and body heaving.

You had just finished upending your anxious stomach when Lance gently pushed his way into the bathroom. One look at you and he clicked the door shut, his khaki pants creasing as he knelt beside you.

"Oh, Love." You shuddered again, knuckles white against the ceramic as his mouth carried the remnants of sweet names that should have been reserved for Eighteen. Not you. You choked again as he reached for you, entwining his hand into your hair, twirling the muddy strands until your face was free off the mess. His free hand rubbed your back in idle, persisting circles. A fathers kindness. The husk of a scientist gone, his care for his orphaned niece on display.

"I did it. I as good as killed him myself." You sobbed into the confinement of the bowl, where your gaze could not be met, voice quiet as to assure Eighteen would not hear your confessions.

"Don't say that." Lance scoffed playfully, but his fear in your immediate guilt wavered his charm in his voice. He seemed to  notice his own faltering, and the circles on your back slowed.

"She's alone because of me. Because of me Lance." Your breaths came quicker, more wild. Any faster and you would find yourself hyperventilating. His voice came again, the smooth calm back.

"It was Peter. You know that. He's to blame One-Eleven." He breathed.

"I am no better than him." You whispered, arms going slack in their hold, practically plummeting your face into the depths of the white bowl. Lance's hand gave a fierce tug at your hair, your head snapping up. You were surprised to see Lance now directly behind you, arm out to ensure his hold on your hair. His other snaked from your back to your neck, leaving you in an almost predatorial hold. With a jolt, you realized the anger in his features. Good. This is what you wanted was it not? to get what you deserved for this mess.

"Stop it." Lance seethed. The change was beginning to leave you uncomfortable, and you attempted to turn your body around to him. He held you in place. "look at yourself, One-Eleven."

"You're covered in dirt, mud, rain, and who knows what else. You've jumped off the back of a motorcycle for gods sake, you turned on the people you had the joy of running away from this lab to, you've heard my story, I've seen your sympathy, I've seen your struggles and your pain. And you still think you're as heartless and cold as that monster. You think you could ever reach the level of heartlessness that Peter had cleared for himself in my mind." His breath came fast as he finished his speech.

Then you noticed the tears. Welled in the tear-ducts of his hazel eyes, they threatened to spill over. The Lance Evans, was crying.

"I will never be sorry that I am the person who is left with the duty of giving Odette the best life I could create for her."

He used Eighteens real name. It had only come to you in a dream. You questioned if it had been real or not.

"But I will forever tear myself apart over the fact Peter took away her chance at normalcy. Her dad." The tears spilled over, his eyes full of hurt. His grip on you was looser now, loosened by his own pain.

He places a shaking hand over your heart.

"Not you, One Eleven. You care." He breath jumped as he met your eyes, tears welling in your own now.

"You cry for her. And I'll be forever grateful you care enough to do so."