Mac hardly noticed when Tessa eventually set aside her drink and excused herself. Lowering her head and scooping up the package in her lap, she left the two old veterans to their drinks, to their conversations, fired remarks and memories of a war that had ended over a half of a century ago, a war that, for Tessa, it still hurt to think about. Imalda nodded in some kind of understanding, gave a vague wave, and the gesture itself was enough to make Tessa hesitate, but the pause in her stride didn’t last long, and as she reached out to say her farewells, shaking both old pilots’ hands with a stronger, more confident grip, she thanked the older woman for the advice and managed the best smile she could push across her lips. The steel, the firmness that she forced back into her voice, her hand brought a grin to Mac’s face, made the Grand Marshall crack a smile that looked almost proud.
Wandering the corridors back to her quarters, the clouds of depression and the darkness of memories better left forgotten crept in at the edges of Tessa’s mind, building ominously behind a wall of willpower that kept her on the edge of melancholy, blank and distant, aloof. All around her, the passageways were empty, quiet, totally devoid of people or sound. Bending space at a speed that wouldn’t dislodge or damage the Hok had left the crew a few more days before their convoy of butchered warships would reach Thuban Reticulae, and automated systems picked up the slack, left pilots and soldiers to practice maneuvers in the simulators, work out in the gym.
We’ve got hours... she could almost hear Izzy say. Let’s grab pheebs and run some coordinated attacks on something big... like a warship! Or want to hit the range? We could squeeze off a few rounds, see if maybe you get lucky and beat me on your accuracy percentages for once. Tessa closed her eyes, squeezed against new tears as they fought to well at the edges of her lids. If only things had been different. Came the sudden thought. If only she hadn’t caught its attention... if only.
Tessa stopped, turned and buried her face into the nearest wall. Guilty thoughts wrestled with vindications, with words of encouragement and jumbled advice. None of it mattered– within the space of a breath, she was sobbing openly again, unable to move, her whole body collapsed forward against some nameless section of wall somewhere in the guts of the ship. There was nothing– nothing on the ship that she could cling to, that didn’t remind her in some way of Izzy, of all they’d had. She bit her lip, bared teeth. Something has to give. Something has to change.
That night, she stood standing in front of the shattered mirror again, staring blankly at her naked reflection in the broken glass. Flakes of dark blood shined dully across the stainless steel handles of the scissors like the edge of an omen, beckoning, filling her mind with images of flashing chrome, blood in her eyes. She swallowed, reached out, hesitated, fingers hovering and unsure.
Something has to change. Fingers tightened, balled into a fist. This...
This is a change.
Smooth metal ground against fractured glass as she worked the scissors free, the mass of chrome clicking loudly, almost insect-like in the silence. Muscles tensed, tightened, and an instant later the scissors were in her hand, held at an angle that made the blood-flecked blades seem vicious and knifelike, as if she were holding some sacrificial dagger, a weapon poised, hungry to satisfy its purpose. Pulling in a deep breath, Tessa closed her eyes, let the scissors, the fist that clutched them drop, come to rest at her side.
The bed. Came the sudden thought. That’s where I’ll do it. That’s where it will mean the most, where the memories and her scent are the strongest, the hardest to shake. Her fist tightened against the scissors, felt the dull outer metal push unyieldingly back. Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes came open again, turned toward the bed, stared blankly at the ruffled sheets, the cubbyhole in the wall there where Izzy had kept a few choice books, her copy of the bible. Now, cleared and left bare, it was home to only one object, the one thing that stood more as a reminder of Tessa’s own past than of the part Izzy had played in it– the little resin figurine of St. Von Mitternacht.
Tessa pulled in a long, deep breath, forced herself to move. Every step between the broken mirror and the bed felt cold, heavy, echoed the weight she felt in her heart, in the pit of her stomach. Pain built, rose up within her as she crossed the distance, crossed the scant handful of paces and stepped closer and closer to what she knew was the point of no return. Stopping, she sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, fist coming to rest on her lap, opening, scissors glinting in the dim light. Part of her cried out against what she knew must be done, what she knew must come to pass if she was ever to be truly free. There were a thousand ways to do it, a thousand ways to use those blades to end the torment, to separate herself from the reality that still retained so much of Izzy, but only one way that stood out, one way that would give her what she needed, one way that would cut her free, slice loose the bonds and leave her free to fall, no longer tied to a broken collection of memories as sharp as shattered glass. Slowly, purposefully, hand shaking in a mixture of regret and fear, she raised the scissors, opened the blades, closed her eyes. The first cut would be the hardest, would have to be the deepest, or she might falter in her resolve and stop. She swallowed, lips parting, quivering under a nervous breath.
And then suddenly she found it. The strength, the moment of shock-resolve she needed to make the cut, to close the handles and bring the blood-stained blades together. Cold steel brushed her neck, moved against flesh, rose, and in one smooth slice, tore through silken midnight, chopped free the long mane of hair she’d been growing since things had gotten serious with Izzy, since they’d moved in together near the end of their academy days Earthside. Lips curled back, teeth baring, parting slightly under the burning exhale that came in place of a scream, a tortured moan. Tears forced themselves from squeezed lids, traced hot lines down her cheeks as one fist tightened around the scissors, the other around the severed tail of her butchered hair.
A change. Came the sudden thought, and for a moment the pain subsided, turned almost to relief, gratefulness. Eyes opened, tears breaking, flowing freely.
A change.
