TFS: Burnt Earth
MOLLY 23: SHATTERED

Molly – 15 years ago

When Connor returned after safely storking off that crybaby, the look of relief on his face was enough to make the suffering I knew was coming my way well worth it. He’ll always be worth Strike Three. Bonus reprieve, he knew why Mom needed to bite the big one. It was for her own good. A mercy. Phelan? Yeah, Cuntface wasn’t so appreciative of the line I crossed, which is how I find myself in my current predicament—him dangling my memory stone over Sheelin’s hard floor.

As he stands there, rage racing toward me with Pamplona bull run velocity from his eyes, I should be overcome with a plethora of emotions. Anger, resignation, regret, fear…fucking anything. Yeah, no. I’m feeling sweet fuck all right now. Glorious indifference. It’s disconcerting, honestly. I’m not scared. I’m not worried. I’m not upset. I don’t give one solitary fuck. Can’t muster a single one.

Threat level one is location displacement. He’ll put it somewhere I’ll never find it again. That gets no reaction from me. What’s worse than roaring back at Phelan? Staring blanks at Phelan. He does not enjoy being dismissed. It causes him to escalate one hundred percent of the time. I call these ‘Shatner Moments’ because they’re way over the top.

Threat level two is also expected. What’s that? Oh, you know, nothing major. Just a threat to break the memory stone I’ve been holding onto for twenty or so years. No big deal. This is where my indifference impresses even me. Maybe I’ll have some sort of feeling if he follows through on the threat, but in this moment? Nope.

Do I think his threats are idle? Also nope. I reckon if something doesn’t happen this time, it’ll happen eventually. I’m never going to be the epitome of obedience he longs for. I’m incapable of that kind of blind allegiance. The leash will strangle me before I ever proactively seek slack. Tyler’s tethers are tight, and I do now feel the bond with my peers, but that’s all I see Phelan as—a peer, a teammate. He certainly hasn’t earned any obligatory respect from me. I’m prepared to live with the consequences of this choice, regardless of how petty the delivery is on his part.

“Fuck around and find out,” I dare him.

“You think I won’t?” Phelan challenges me.

“I know you will,” I counter. “I just don’t give a flying fuck.”

I don’t feel up to a continued debate about it. I want to go get some dinner, observe or entertain some brotherly brawls, and immerse myself in the Rec Room rowdiness. I need some noise. I need some violence. All these easy missions aren’t helping me forget the nagging desire to slurp the energy out of every Solathair in sight. In fact, they’re only making matters worse. My name is creeping to the top of the intake list like a bathtub filling a single drop at a time. There isn’t even enough water for me to drown myself.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Are you done?”

His eye twitches.

“Is that a no?”

It twitches again.

“I’m tired of your threats, Phelan. First, you threatened Connor, who we both know you’re not doing a damn thing to. Tyler would eat you alive,” I goad him. “Then you threatened to take my memories away. News flash, Cuntface. They’ve already been taken away. I asked for that, remember? Now you’re threatening to set them free. Well, let me ask you this. Do you reckon shattering the stone will do anything but guarantee I never listen to anything you say? Or do you have some disillusion I’ll break down emotionally and run to you for support? I can promise you that yours would be the last shoulder I wipe my snotty nose on, so you’ll gain nothing, which is exactly what you’re holding over me right now. Nothing.”

I sense the rumbling in his chest, and I hope like hell he’s shapeshifting to attack me. It’ll be an amazing fight. He’s twice my size but not nearly as fast. Plus, while he’s spent all his free time dreaming up ways to control me, I’ve spent mine training with other teams, who were more than happy to actually teach me things, instead of trying to stomp me into the ground.

Phelan’s obedience tree isn’t bearing any fruit if he keeps sprinkling it with emotional manipulation. He would’ve gotten better results with physical force, which he surprisingly isn’t attempting. Passive aggressive bullshit will get him fuck all for results in the Molly compliance department.

“You want my respect, Phelan?” I clip smartly, pushing past him in the hall. “Try growing a pair of balls the size of mine. Maybe then I’ll respect you.”

He doesn’t drop the memory stone and stomp on it like he said. Instead, he crushes it in his palm. The memories shatter all around me. I continue my forward momentum, refusing to let him see me stumble, despite the emotions cutting through my heart in rapid procession. When I turn the corner to my room, I blow out a steadying breath to keep from crying out. Sheelin’s supportive as ever, guiding me right to my bed where I collapse in the darkness spilling out from my soul and flooding the expanse.

I’m broken. I’ve known it for a while, but I hadn’t felt the split. I was sheltered from that. As it all washes through me, I acknowledge it changes nothing. The past was a pipe bomb exploding the instant my feet landed in Sheelin, shattering my fish bowl with reckless abandon. There’s a monster river running between two sides now. That river is all the fucked up shit I’ve done, and the two sides? It isn’t the old and new me on opposite sides. It’s who I am and who I have the potential to become. Who I was died a long fucking time ago.

I have a preference. Of course I do. I want to stay the cynical, driven Sumair, who’d just as soon eat a heart than touch or be touched by one. Hating is easier. It’s real. It’s tangible. The other one? The potential one? Who the fuck knows?

I’ll tell you one thing though. If Phelan doesn’t stay the hell out of my way while I’m figuring it out, he should expect to get floated on down the damn river he unleashed. Face down. And, if the fucker wants to dig his heels in hard enough? Well, when those sides collide, I guess he’ll get to play pancake.

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