The reward for his efforts was, of course, more silence.
But that was not absolutely true. That they were in silence.
The classroom was full of people and the sounds that accompanied them. The chatter of students, their highpitched laughter, occasionally punctuated by the sound of chairs being dragged, tables being moved.
Now that the new students had arrived, that classes were finally about to begin, the atmosphere of the academy was very different.
Vibrant. Full of energy.
Of... Of optimism, he supposed. Emotions that the survivors of the massacre had had little reason to feel.
Not every moment since then had been bad, far from it.
But they had been, on the whole, more subdued.
That said for him and his team, but it applied to the other survivors as well. It was more than clear even though he hadn't interacted with them in any way.
They had expressions like those of a corpse. Cold, empty.
As if far away from the light.
Even when they looked happy, you could tell they were missing something. Was that what he looked like? What the three of them looked like?
In any case. Yes, the place was full of noise.
But he didn't care.
The person whose voice mattered most to him was remaining quiet. She was not here, but far away, and he was with her spiritually. Wrapped in a silence that weighed on him like a noose around his neck.
It was unbelievable how much he needed her.
Before this, he had lived alone for so long...and while he believed he had forged something lasting with Christina and Amy, something they would continue to forge day by day, it wasn't the same.
He believed he could bear the loss of those girls.
Whether it was their death, whether it was that they would get fed up with him and leave him alone, as much as he feared would happen. Yes, he was still afraid of that.....
But his savior? Abigail, his mother? Or at least the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had.
Not that.
Not that ever.
Desmond felt a hot ball of anxiety in his stomach. So hot it was melting his insides. It felt like the ground beneath his feet was shifting. Like he could slip and fall at any moment, if he let his guard down.
And his throat...
Desmond's throat was squeezed tight, to the point that it hurt. And the taste was as if he had vomited.
But it wasn't just about that, even.
It wasn't just about the effects of his body.
The whole world seemed to be in agony with him. Voices were getting farther and farther away. The colors were becoming duller. And the impression grew that he was an actor lost on the set of a play, so crazy that he didn't even know it was all fake, that the character he thought he was was just that, a character.
Desmond was dying inside.
But his slow and painful death, from which regeneration could not save him, had an easy remedy.
Listening to her voice.
He had spent dreamy days, having both his team and Abigail. But those days had come to a fi" they had stopped. He had gone too long without hearing the voice of his savior.
Some might call him greedy. That always, no matter what, he would be dissatisfied with something. That he should learn to be content with what he had.
And maybe that was true, in part, but how could he settle for this?
How could he let the woman who had given him everything just walk out of his life like it was nothing? No. If Abigail didn't answer his calls, he would abandon everything and go after her, wherever she was.
And he would visit the most terrible torments on the sons of bitches who had caught her.
Laura was dead, but there were plenty of animals like her out there on the loose. The hunt had only just begun.
A small inner voice whispered to him: What if she is captured, does that mean she can't take even a few seconds to talk to me?
In fact, her being captured would be an even better reason to come see him. Desmond was her only ally in the world.
Being in trouble, she could only depend on herself or him.
"Any questions?" asked the professor in front of him.
Desdmond had blanked out with the paper he had handed him in his hand, so it was natural for the teacher to assume that his thoughts revolved around that.
About the schedule that his school life would follow from now on.
Desmond shook his head.
"Well come on, get a move on. Go with your team. There's still plenty of lines left."
Desmond shook his head, this time with irritation. But he merely turned away rather than respond to her curt words. It wasn't worth it, first of all, because he was a teacher and, whether he was right or wrong, the one who would get in trouble would be Desmond.
Besides, none of the words that had come out of his mouth were wrong.
It was true that he had been in the way.
It was his fault.
He couldn't object without sounding like a petulant child.
It was very windy today. The howling of the wind hitting the windows as if it was trying to blow them down added to the already noisy atmosphere in the classroom. It crossed his mind that it was like a bad premonition.
Then he laughed at himself and told himself that he really was a kid, petulant or not. With that kind of thinking, he gave the impression that he hadn't lived past the age of ten. He had a better vocabulary than a ten year old would have, but that was as far as the difference went. Well, I was being a little harsh.
It wasn't as if he had no reason to think that things were going to go to shit again, sooner or later. In fact, it was already happening, or had already happened.
Desmond searched his team's table with his eyes. He should have known better, but he'd felt so lost that he'd missed that too. They were talking. Maybe about the schedule, maybe not.
He couldn't tell. Their voices were mingling as were the voices of the other students.
All in all, the place was so noisy that many times even the students sitting at the same table wouldn't pick up on their own conversations.
Even if he had pumped magical energy into his ears, he wouldn't have been able to hear what they were talking about from here.
Rather, he would have heard it all perfectly, but he wouldn't have been able to separate it. Pretty much the same thing.
He made his way to the table. As he sat down, the two of them looked at him as if they were surprised by his presence. As if he had sat at the wrong table. Desmond grimaced. Such absurdly negative thoughts.
"Did something happen to you?" Amy asked.
Ah, so it had been that kind of look. Concern, nothing more."
"Of course there's something wrong with him. He's been weird the last few days. More than usual. No offense."
"Yeah, right. But I wanted to be more diplomatic."
"With Desmond it's best to deal with things directly. So tell us. So tell us about it. What are you thinking about right now? Don't tell me it's because of the schedule."
I haven't even glanced at it, he thought as he did so for the first time.
"I have to admit, I don't like it at all. But it's less or less what I expected."
The schedules at this and any other academy were very flexible. Affinities fit into broad categories, but not everyone had the same needs. The type of class, its quantity, the number of hours each student was in class. In all of these factors, each student's schedule varied.
For that very reason, it was perfectly possible for members of the same team not to see each other all morning.
He hadn't been that unlucky, but almost. In only two classes would he be together with them. And in one of those two all the teams were together, without exception, because that was what it was all about. Team fighting. The team dynamics. All of it.
He had expected it, since Desmond hadn't discovered his own affinity. If he had any. If he wasn't so lacking in talent that his affinity, so to speak, was simply the blessing of being able to use magic at all. Rising from the dead would be a great affinity. But he owed that to Abigail. It wasn't his own.
Besides, even if it was, what were they going to teach him about it?
Someone else might be jumping for joy at having about half the morning off. He wasn't, though.
He wanted to spend time with them. As much as possible.
He was there for that.
Also for the sake of his savior, of course. Mostly for that. Abigail didn't want him to become a soldier, as he had thought for most of his life. What she wanted was to die and take care of her enemies. So it didn't bother him that he had so few classes, one of them brand new, because his ceiling was low.
That is, they had little to teach him, as far as magic was concerned, because there was little Desmond could do.
It shouldn't matter and it didn't matter. Anyone who had complaints could say them to Desmond face, he would respond with a hearty laugh. What did it matter that he was practically magically handicapped relying on spells that anyone could use, independent of affinity?
He had proven himself over and over again. Unlike the vast majority of the students here, and more than a few teachers as well, he was a hero who had emerged alive and victorious from two massacres. He was a true soldier, along with his teammates, who had gone through those hells with him.
Still, he found it humiliating.
"What is this? "Amy asked.
Ah, of course. He had found the special class. So "special" that the only one attending would be him.
"Exactly what it sounds like. Since I've come this far without affinity, they want to help me discover it."
Christina leaned back in her seat.
"Oh, yeah? It seems pretty clear to me, though."
"What do you mean?"
"That, well... Don't take this the wrong way, you have skill, but using physical reinforcement the way you do you should have destroyed yourself a long time ago. It's simply impossible for you to have such perfect control by natural means. That must be your affinity. An exceptional, what shall I say, superhuman, control of your magical energy. At least that's what I think."
Desmond gave it some thought.
He felt dejected and humiliated. It wasn't the perfect time to hear that the construction of his greatest weapon was something that had been handed to him on a platter.
Nothing more than a product of the affinity he had thought he didn't have.
However, Desmond couldn't say she was wrong.
Nor could he simply agree with her, but her words made perfect sense. That was a simple answer that would explain everything.
"Maybe." He summed up his thoughts in that dry way that summed up nothing.
"You seem upset, true, but that's not all of it at all," Christina continued. "And I think it's time we talked about it."
"Christina..."
"Don't make that face. You know very well that, if our roles were reversed, you wouldn't have shut up until you made me talk. Because you care about me. Now you shut up because you care more about us than about yourself, and I want you to know that I don't like that. Not at all."
Desmond didn't know what to say.
He swallowed his saliva. Christina's eyes stole his power to look away.
"You have to learn to let yourself be helped," and it sounded like a command on her lips. It wasn't threatening, though. It was a warm command.
Christina put her hand over one of his, squeezing.
"All right?"
Desmond nodded his head.
"So let go."
"No... It's not something we should be talking about here."
Amy leaned forward, arms on the table.
"It's to do with her, isn't it?"
"Yes," Desmond replied, though with some reluctance, because even if someone overheard the conversation, it wouldn't cause them to be alarmed. At least not at the moment, nor ever, if they kept it vague. "She didn't..."
Desmond paused, struggling to find a harmless way to explain his predicament clearly.
"She's not answering my calls. And I'm beginning to fear that something has happened to her."
It was a little odd, but not suspicious. He didn't have to be so paranoid. This, at least, he could say here.
"I see," Christina said. "I didn't think she... anything could happen to her."
"No, that's not what I'm talking about, I'm talking about, like back then...."
Now there was really no way to go on. Not without risking more than he was willing to. Desmond wanted to talk about this. He didn't know how much he needed to until he opened his mouth. But the risk wasn't worth it, the less the teachers knew, the better.
For his savior's sake and the three of them as well.
"We'll have to talk about this later."
"Luckily, the first day will be shorter."
"I know, but he shouldn't have to wait that long," Amy said. "You look bad, but that's only what you let on, and you always let on very little. Besides, it's not like you're worrying over nothing. It's a danger... very real."
Christina shrugged.
"I agree with you from a to z, but there's nothing we can do about it. Except wait. In fact... even if we wait, what can we do for him? All we can say are things he will have already said to himself a thousand times. And, as long as she doesn't respond, he can't be at peace. She's the only one who can do anything, not us."
Christina was right, of course.
All too often, words were not enough. Even if you knew how to handle them.
"That's true, but... I don't know. I feel the need to do something. Anything. I've never been good at... sitting still and waiting." Amy grimaced. "No, that's not entirely true. But this is a new beginning. I don't want to take the same steps as before. I want to... I'm rambling. If we ask, maybe they'll give us the day off, and we can talk about this. We've done a lot for this academy. We deserve it."
"Okay, I'm sorry, but I'm going to stop you right there," Christina said, releasing his hand, turning slightly in the other girl's direction. "That's what you want. Not what he wants."
"Hey!" It wasn't Amy who protested, it was him.
It seemed to Desmond that she had been too direct, even rude.
But, once again, Christina was right.
Talk... He supposed that was what he wanted, yes, but what good would it do? Desmond knew what he was looking for, to feel better, but not how he expected to get there through that. A simple conversation.
No matter how much they told him, no matter what they tried, the only person who could calm his heart was Abigail in this case.
Until Desmond knew she was okay, she wouldn't stop feeling this way.
A conversation wouldn't fix anything.
They wouldn't be able to tell him anything he didn't already know. It wasn't pretty to hear, but it was the truth.
"This is something she needs to hear. As do you. To get anywhere, you have to be honest with yourself first. Or at least that's what I believe. I would have looked for a softer way to say it, because it doesn't need to be confrontational, but in this case I don't think there is. Amy, why do you want it so badly? Why do you think it's necessary?"
"I... Well, that's what friends are supposed to do, right? Even if it doesn't do any good... Even if it doesn't fix anything... It's what we're supposed to do."
Even when she wasn't asking a question, she sounded insecure, as if she were. He knew why, of course.
Amy had already talked about this.
Amy didn't know what to do with friends for the same reason he did.
That she'd never had them. Not really.
That feeling of solidarity wasn't a bad thing. He'd tell Amy that it was enough, but he wasn't sure how to say it without sounding like he was pulling her leg, so he kept his mouth shut.
Coward, he thought. You're a coward.
"Sometimes all people need is for you to listen to them. Not you looking for a solution to their problems... that's something it wouldn't hurt for you to learn either, Desmond. And sometimes, Amy, sometimes you just can't help someone. But don't worry. Desmond isn't going to think less of you because you can't do it. Neither can I."
"That's not what I meant... Well, okay. Maybe it is, in part."
"You're very direct today," Desmond commented.
"I'm doing everything I can for us, for the team. Amy. My words will probably be as useless as anything I could say to Desmond. But you're worrying for nothing. Seriously, you don't have to be constantly proving yourself.
Amy ended up nodding. More for the sake of ending the conversation than anything else, surely.
Desmond didn't like the atmosphere at the table.
And he still didn't quite understand how they had gone from talking about their problems to what might well have ended in a fight between the two of them. If he had known, he wouldn't have opened his mouth.
"Well, it's almost time," Christina continued, breaking the awkward silence. Her expression didn't show that she noticed that the silence was uncomfortable. "We'll continue this conversation later."
"What is there to talk about?" Amy asked. Yes, she was angry.
Of course she was angry.
And now, instead of feeling better, what Desmond had was another problem on his hands. Good job, Christina, he thought.
I thought you had a way with words. Always saying what needs to be said how it needs to be said. And you usually do. But today you screwed up, damn, how you screwed up.
"I agree with you," Christina said, "Let's talk, but when we have a chance to do so."
"So, what's the point of protesting so much? Tell me?"
"Because the important thing about what I said is your feelings, not your intention. Even if it doesn't help..., there's nothing wrong with talking about Desmond's problem. If he agrees, of course. I've jumped the gun."
Both of their eyes turned to him.
"I don't know," Desmond admitted, "I felt like...like I was going to puke my guts out. I feel like I'm dying. And I want to feel better. But I don't know if I can. She's alive. I know she is. I feel it... inside me," he put a hand over his heart, "right here. But to me..."
He knew how to finish the sentence.
I knew it, deep down. But would he be able to pluck it from deep inside himself? Would he find the courage to face that fear he didn't want to utter even to himself, in the safety of his own thoughts?
Something changed in Christina's expression.
Amy's too, of course. No, it did not change. Simply the emotions already present became more pronounced.
"What's wrong, Desmond?"
"I want to talk about it. "He licked his lips. "But not now. Not yet."