Permanent Scars

A Message (Scatterbrain 1.2)

October 20, Monday. 6:47 p.m.

There's a new rumor moving through the elite circle.

Apparently, I was away for two weeks doing "things" with Adam.

I'm not sure who started that one, but it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that it's my first day back and nothing has changed. In fact, things are worse. And despite all my best pleading, Adam refused to show up. Dylan shares my disappointment and disapproval, saying that Adam needs to grow up and get over himself.

   Harsh coming from such a soft boy, I know. But Dylan has had it with the pity party. Quite frankly, so have I. Although, I haven't known Adam—nor have I been dealing with his problems—as long as Dylan has, so I have a bit more patience in regards to such matters.

Being in a particularly antisocial mood, Dylan's kept his distance. He was eager to find out why I'd been absent, but that's about it. He didn't want to be around anybody today. That was fine, though I would've preferred to have someone around to keep the bullies at bay. I suppose it would be beneficial to actually tell the guys about my persecutors...I just don't know how to bring it up. Besides, some stupid part of me keeps hoping it'll stop one day and get better. I keep hoping things will change.

   They won't, and I know it. But there's hope and it will not be squashed.

   This morning, my dad leaked something about the government. Something about their efforts to alter the atmosphere. It wasn't very detailed. He couldn't be detailed, there are eyes everywhere. He's always slow about leaking these kinds of things, to avoid being caught in what he didn't realize was a lie. He's very thorough in his research.

   Regardless, the media will find a way to twist it. Teachers have already started, classmates have been tittering about it. Any hopes I may have had of fitting in here and finding allies quickly fade. Every face has become hostile, an enemy, all eyes silently judging me for being daughter of Sergeant James Wolfe.

   I wish they would learn not to blame me for the things my father does. It's not my fault he went rogue. He's a smart man, he trusts no one—and he knows when he's being controlled and lied to. He knows the government is corrupt. And he wishes to make that knowledge available to everyone. He wants people to see things for what they really are. He doesn't want people remaining blind, afloat in indifference. He wants them to wake up.

   Unfortunately, the only wake-up they're capable of is the unleashing of venomous insults and retaliation. Even coverups that contort his truths into the most atrocious lies.

   And somehow it's my fault. As if I have any control over what my father chooses to do with his livelihood. Quite honestly, I'm proud of him for what he does. I just wish it didn't affect me so directly. I don't appreciate being the blame sponge.

   The scatterbrained state I was in last night is still somewhat present. I'm doing better, but focusing is still a bit of a challenge. It's uncomfortable being so squirrelly. Dylan noticed—he notices every behavioral change, it seems—and mumbled something about some drug, but I didn't quite catch it because I was distracted by Algie dropping his papers again, and the blond guy handing them back to him. The blond guy's name is Davy. Apparently he's a sound guy for the Good-For-Nothings and Adam forgot to introduce us, not to mention he was away during my Initiation. At any rate, he sits with us at lunch now. He seems pretty into Mia, and he's a stable-minded, wholesome fellow, so it gives me a bit of hope that maybe he'll be good for her. She could use a stable guy to keep her in check. She is a sweetheart with some bad vibes. Well, in my opinion the bad vibes outweigh the good, but that's just because I'm protective of Adam.

There are so many things to think about. Such a lot going on all at once. My head hurts so much. I can't focus. I'm losing focus.

And someone's knocking on the door.

   Scrambling from the couch, wishing my cat would come home, I wrench the door open. Standing on the other side is the checkpoint guard, the one who designated Adam as my "buddy" on Orientation Day. Hesitantly stepping into the foyer, swinging the door shut, he breathlessly holds out a thin, card-like info drive. The drive is no bigger than my thumbnail, contained within a protective plastic casing.

   Neither of us say anything. I simply nod my thanks and he shows himself out. I lock the door behind him, take the drive upstairs to my dad's room—which is normally off limits—and bolt myself in there, sitting down at his computer. After booting it up, I stick in the drive and fish around for a pair of headphones. I'm already shaking with anger. I know what the drive contains—or at least I've a pretty sound idea of what it might contain—and I am not happy about it.

   However, to say I knew this was coming would be a lie.
   ...or would it?

8:17 p.m.

I've never been so disappointed. Never felt so abandoned.

Why, Daddy? Why?