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fifteen . . . little pieces of you ( november 3, 2149 ; mount weather )
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THE DEATH OF Jakob Malone had been Cullen's fault.
She couldn't blame herself for a lot of things, but the fact Jakob Malone was dead was one of them. Cullen knew it was her fault — she had accepted that long before the death of her Father, and the death of Maya. She had killed him; not intentionally, but it was still her fault he had died that day. June eleventh, twenty-one forty-eight. She had the date burned into her brain, able to resurface it whenever she needed reminding she was a murderer.
Granted, she had murdered other people since. She counted eleven, maybe twelve — but she supposed once the number got above single digits, she should stop counting — right? Isn't that how murderers work: they don't keep track of how many people they've killed. They just kill.
Cullen didn't care about her other murders. She knew she needed to kill those people in order for the people she cared about to survive. She wouldn't feel remorse for ridding the Earth of those abominable people that were nothing but torturous and cruel. But Jakob Malone — Jakob Malone didn't deserve to die. He didn't deserve to have his life taken away because of something Cullen had stupidly done. He was only nineteen, and she had killed him.
Of course, if anyone were to ask Cullen where she was the night of June eleventh, she was to tell them she was with Maya. Her and Maya were having a sleepover, where they talked about what they were going to call their children when they eventually had them. They were eating popcorn with hard shelled chocolate, and they had laughed when Maya covered one of her teeth with the dark substance, depicting herself as a pirate.
She was not with Jakob Malone. They were not sneaking around after hours, trying to find a secluded place to make out. They were not messing around too much to become senseless to their surroundings. Cullen was not there, and her back did not open a seal that released radiation into the mountain, killing Jakob Malone. She didn't see Jakob Malone the night he died — they hadn't talked all day.
