The Day After

[Applesintime]

After all the shit of the past two weeks, Matthew thought he'd just want to sleep. Get some real rest, the kind you can only get where you're somewhere safe and know you're not going to be stabbed or shot or just murdered in your sleep, as the past two weeks of rest had been. Especially with chief asshole Marshall shooting him (he'd get him back for that, but Matthew doubted he had the balance to deck someone in the face and he doubted the soldiers would take kindly to assault) all he really could do was rest. He wasn't like Evie with a leg wrapped up like a mummy at least, no bones had been broken when he got shot so he got to limp around on crutches on the rare occasions they let him out of bed. He was supposed to be resting, but, uh, he didn't like being alone with his thoughts. Shawn kept popping back up.

Right now, he was leaning on a sink, one hand supporting himself while the other clutched an electric razor, staring into the mirror.

He looked like shit.

Well, anyone'd look like shit after being trapped on murder island for two weeks. Matthew's eyes kept getting drawn to his new scar. It was an ugly red still stitched up, but he knew it'd fade in time. Still felt weird to breath through his nose, though. It was just like... something wasn't quite right. The knife had ripped through his nose, and what was left wasn't right or familiar, so something as simple and easy and breathing just felt off. He sniffed, letting it out in an exhale as he closed his eyes. Ultimately, he had a good story behind it. Better than a fucking improbable cooking accident. 'Knife fight in SOTF' would be much cooler.

Flicking the razor on, Matthew began to shave off two weeks' worth of stubble, although at this point it was moreso a beard than stubble. It felt like a transition in a way. From SOTF Matthew back to normal Matthew. But that was just something he was telling himself. Everything that had happened there wasn't gonna be leaving him any time soon. Shawn's fucked up death, the tinnitus (he was pretty sure it was tinnitus, he should bring that up), the scars.

But he was alive. No matter what had happened on that island, how many people he'd killed — he still wasn't sure what happened to that girl in the church, but he hadn't seen her — he was here because of that. As sure as he was that he'd receive a chewing-out from someone eventually for what he had done. Matthew couldn't bring himself to regret it. It was like, uh, the butterfly effect. If he hadn't done something, that could have changed things and instead of him being alive, he would be one of the hundred-something bodies on the island and someone else would be in his place, staring into this mirror.

He didn't feel any guilt, and in a way that made him feel guilty.

Shouldn't he at least feel something for killing so many people? One part of him argued.

Another part responded by pointing out that he was alive. That was what mattered.

And six people weren't alive because of him. He should feel something other than sort of going 'sucks to suck' internally, right?

He regretted Shawn. That was a mercy killing. As bad as it made him feel, he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about anyone else.

And what about everyone else? Can you really claim that you don't think about them too? Or is it just that you don't want to think about how you might be like Josh or Kat-

Matthew slammed the razor down onto the sink with a clatter. It didn't fucking matter who was right or wrong or whatever. He was alive. That was the only thing that mattered anymore. The island was done, he couldn't exactly go back in time and unshoot people so there was no point in agonising about what-ifs and should-have-dones. He had a reason to do what he did, not like those psycho sons of bitches. Running a hand through his hair, he figured that it could wait. Back home, he had an actual set of hair clippers, the kind that a barber would use. They'd do him a lot better than what he was using here.

Right, He was gonna sleep or something. Distract himself. Whatever the fuck he could do.

((Matthew Bell continued in Reflections))