i’m asking you to carry the moon, blue.

 

blue cameron.

Lane is the first one to break the quiet. That tends to be the way of things ever since the Old Loop Incident, as Indy has taken to calling it in the last couple weeks. There's only so much sitting around and avoiding the conversation that we can do before one of us inevitably goes stir crazy. Besides, this morning there's another conversation that's been needling at all of us, begging to be had. "What if it's one of us?" Lane asks, and Rotty pauses his solo game of toss and catch. I can see him swallow even from across the room, his whole body going still where it lays draped across the couch. Indigo is sitting on the kitchen counter eating a stale bit of bread leftover from dinner last night, which she lobs at Lane full force the second the words leave his mouth. I've been on the receiving end of an Indigo Cameron punt before, so I understand the way Lane controls his body to try and duck out of the way. Doesn't matter though. The thing still catches him on the right shoulder, which he uses as a great reason to employ some ridiculous theatrics and topple sideways out of his seat. No questions asked, I stand up out of my chair in the corner and pick up the roll where it's landed on the floor before eating it with my breakfast. Well, if this nasty bowl of gruel can even be considered breakfast. "Shut up," Indigo says with force, getting that look on her face that says she means it, or else, the or else being her fist pounding into him instead of some stale bread. "Don't start that shit." I mentally ask myself when exactly would be a better time to start that shit than over breakfast the morning of the reaping, and come to no helpful conclusions before Indigo is talking again. "Worrying about it's not going to solve our more pressing problems." "Yeah? And what is exactly?" Leave it to Rotty to be a snot. I roll my eyes, which Indigo sees, and we shake our heads at each other. It's strange, the way this makes me feel better than any words ever would. Our mouths break into a smile at the same time. Benzo comes downstairs then, and we lose the chance to keep not talking about the real reason we're all having a harder time than usual looking at each other. He's the same Benzo we have known for years, the same man who took me in and tried to put the world at my feet. My heart catches in my chest looking at him, buttoning up his ratty old flannel, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He still wears the same boots he wore the day he plucked me from the flames. "Not gonna ask if you're ready, kid," he says when he looks up and sees Indigo looking at him, too. We all are. Without him, we are untethered, adrift, but together we are safe. He claps a hand on Indigo's shoulder, before looking to catch my eye. "I'm sure as shit not." He seems to take a steadying breath. "Remember, keep your hoods up while we're there. We don't know if one of them is going to recognize you from that stunt you pulled last month." Shame pools in my chest. Patron saint of having someone else tell my story, I feel myself go quiet, swallow and deafen myself to everything around me. I do not like having to depend on someone else to tell me what is right and what is wrong though. Anger and confusing thread with he shame, and it feels like brambles in the lungs, the sense that all is not right. Someone is leading me astray. I follow anyway. I let Indigo take my hand while we walk towards the center of the city, where the justice building had been rebuilt and nothing looks like it was ever ruined by war. I'm glad home doesn't look like this place. I can't imagine living among all those straight lines, the rigidity it would inspire. Home is a sewage dump and there's still rubble in the streets, but at least the graffiti hasn't all been painted over. At least we aren't trying to hide our scars. Me and Indigo step foot in the square, point of no return. I can feel the world dropping out from under my feet. My heels catch on the concrete, dragging the bottom of my shoes so that the tred makes scraping sounds. Indigo has me in a vice grip, hand wrapped around mine. I wonder if she realizes that it's her holding onto me, and not the other way around. Doubt it. The world slows down when our Head Peacekeeper says the name Blue Cameron, time coming to a crawl before stopping altogether. So many emotions cloud around me like wisps of smoke, curling, the world trying to make me breathe them in. This is the first time I have ever heard that name aloud before, in its entirety, been identified as Benzo's child, rather than just as Blue. Indigo tries to elbow me to the side, and I hear her voice in my ear. "No, no," she says, desperation clinging to her voice. "I won't let them take you." So many strings, so many tethers, my heart races as time comes back to me and the world spins again. I find it disturbs me, understand she is in pain. My sister is hurt by the idea of losing me. This is not news to me. I saw it on her face two weeks ago, when she came to me like a dog with it's tail curled between it's legs and apologized for telling me I wasn't ready to help her and the crew on jobs yet. I'd pretended she hadn't hurt my feelings at first, but sobbed over my wrench before bed. That's where she found me, a mechanical drummer bunny ripped to pieces on my bed. I was eavesdropping in Enzo's bar one night and I heard a woman say something that I think of again now, almost against my will. I want all of my hurts to be intentional.* Indigo has her hand wrapped around my wrist, and I recognize That Look on her face that has always meant she is trying to come up with some sort of scheme, some sort of loophole. She turns her back on me, and it's like I can read her mind because I swear I know she's going to start walking towards the stage before she takes her first step in that direction. "No," I snarl at her, grabbing at her the way she grabbed at me. I learned fierceness from her. "No." They all assume I will just accept. I can feel Copper staring at me from the left, eyes wide. Rotty's got a hand over his mouth to my right. I owe them so much, I owe them so much. I swallow, the crowd turning to look at the girl with dark blue hair stepping in front of me, but I am not responsible for them. Indigo doesn't belong to the sea, nor do the waves wash over me. I do not have to accept everything they throw at me. Turning away, I show them all my back, and I try to run. *quote from Margaret Atwood.