I woke in a sweat from dead of night. The silence pierced through the night like a knife on butter, even with my heart pounding loudly in both of my ears. It seemed to echo and drive me mad.
My feet found the floor as I ripped the covers off and stepped up from my bed. The darkly tinted walls seemed to close in on my as I gasped for breath. There were no windows in my small room and made the suffocation five times worse in the midst of my panic.
My vision was partly impaired, everything was a dark. It took me a few moments to remember why. Why couldn’t I see through both my eyes?
Oh yeah, because I only had one.
I snickered as I sunk down to the floor, my butt met the ground and I leaned back onto the edge of the bed. Reality had a way of finding me in the worst of times like when I was in fantasy land where I had both of my eyes. My dreams seemed to fall so deep, Angela keeps telling me it’s due to how much I work.
I shook the thought off and glanced around my room, my one eye had finally adjusted to the low lights. Just like I had left it, bare and empty like my soul, I found that I had little options now. Either continue to sit here and feel bad for myself or do something.
Naturally I had to do something, my body refused to sit still after being put through the panic of waking up. Now I was forced to stand and find something to do.
As I left my room in my sweat soaked sleep wear, I found that no one else was up. It must’ve been much earlier than I had thoughts and that meant I hadn’t lasted as long as I thought I had. Each night I woke up at a similar time, I was aiming for a much later time so I could pass it off and pretend that I was just an early riser.
It definitely wasn’t the fact that I had nightmares that forced me to wake up and face my new reality. It’s been my reality for years though, one would think I would grow accustomed to my limited sight. Nope.
It felt like I just got more and more scared of the truth. The truth being that my right eye is gone and I’m never getting it back. I’m not going to get a cool cyborg eye like Ana, I’m not a veteran in need of that eye to snipe for the team.
And what was I to the team?
I chuckled at the inner thought, my feet lead me to the gym. This is where I spent most of my time when I wasn’t fighting for my life with the others. The others, otherwise known as my team called Overwatch, knew that I spent most of my time here and they’d watch from time to time.
I would wonder if they actually knew why I was so angry all the time. Mccree had some inclination, but nothing drastic. I couldn’t bare any of them looking at me differently.
That got me angry. Before I was just filled with adrenaline and had planned to run around the track on the gym. Now I began to think over how they were most definitely going to toss me aside when they realize my trauma and that just makes me want to hit something.
My trauma makes me so angry. I wish I were stronger-
“Ace!”
I jumped at the sound of my name, glancing towards the entrance. I had already approached a punching bag ready to start venting but somehow I got caught in the act. I looked over the cowboy who had called out.
He wore a pair of low cut sweats with an Overwatch symbol on the right side. A dark red shirt was thrown lazily over his head and there was a cigar loose in his mouth. Even though he had his hat hung over his head he looked like he’d just woken up.
I said nothing as I began to wrap my hands. “You do know that’s it’s close to midnight, right?”
I let out a snicker, not bothering to look up. He groaned rather loudly before walking over to me. “Yeah, it’s been a rough night already.” I told him before going into battle mode.
He was silent, something fairly common for him, as he watched me. When I saw him in the doorway I had been a bit shook, but I knew he wouldn’t try to talk. At least not too much. “I gather ya don’t want to talk about it, but I think your form is fine. Maybe we could go get a drink or something instead, try and calm ya down a bit.”
I sent one more punch at the bag before whipping around to face him with a smirk. “Cowboy, you offering me some of your fine whiskey?”
A deep rumble of laughter seemed to shake the room, maybe that was just me. At least I could easily divert from the topic at hand. “I guess I did, but are ya going to accept?”
“It would be rude to decline. . .” I let my thoughts trail off as I looked over at the bag. I still wanted to let out my anger and tire myself out to get a few more hours of sleep, but allure of the Cowboy was strong. Mccree had trained me when I first got here and he might have a soft spot for me. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from our short time together. I gave him a nod, gesturing for him to lead the way.
He huffed out smoke from his cigar as he lead me away. “Jack’s gonna kill you for smoking in his gym.”
“And he’s gonna give ya hell for not resting before our mission tomorrow.”
“That’s what you’re here for, to keep me out of trouble, right?”
How could we bicker? How could I flirt like hell wasn’t going through my head. Each step toward his room, which I knew was more like a giant loft than a room, felt like a leap towards a cliff. As if I would slip and fall and I’d never get back up.
Was it anxiety? Maybe.
I was close to breaking down once more and just crying. I wanted to cry through both of my eyes, but I never would.
We reached the doorway, he opened his for me and let me. I made my way to the table on the other side of the room, I’d been in here many of times and knew exactly where to go. The cowboy poured me a drink and placed it in front of me.
I smirked, taking a swig. “So what’s on your mind, Mccree?”
“Ya know, once I share my whiskey with you it’s okay to call me Jessie.”
I froze, thinking back to my name. I’d always known his name was Jessie Mccree, but no one called him Jessie except for Angela. She didn’t really count though because she knew everyone’s name, with the exception of mine, and she was our healer.
I frowned, looking up to see he was hiding behind his hat as he played with his drink. Was he just as nervous as I was.
“Artemisia.”
He frowned, meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry?”
“You didn’t think my name was Ace, did you?” When he continued to stare I let out a small chuckle to relieve some tension. “My father named me Artemisia, I changed my name a long time ago when I realized no one could know that I was one of the orphaned.” No one could know I was damaged.
I let my gaze fall from the Cowboy’s eyes and to my drink. “Did you know Artemisia means Perfection?”