Friday, 2 October 2009 - 8:23 pm

While the cat’s away

Hey, it’s Matt here.

Bet you didn’t think you’d hear from me again. Tell the truth, neither did I for a while, and I think Faith was there too.

She’s off at the admin building, harassing the General again. The rain’s running late tonight – it’s only a fine mist, but still not something anyone wants to walk in. She won’t be back until after it stops completely.

I hope she’s all right over there. She can look after herself well enough, but her mouth isn’t always smart. It has a habit of running away with her and they don’t even need their military weapons to be a danger to her. She still believes that basic decency will stop people from doing what they want, until they prove otherwise. Even after everything.

I had to insist that she go, though. She didn’t want to leave me – she thinks I’ll evaporate when she’s not looking. It’s touching but it’s time for her to do what she needs to do. If that means going to berate the leader of this place we’re in, then she should go do that. I’m still stuck in this bed, so I’ll be right here when she gets back.

I haven’t read over any of her posts. I won’t lie – it was tempting (who wouldn’t be tempted by a chance to read someone else’s diary? Especially when they might have talked about you?). She knew it was a risk when she left the laptop with me for safekeeping. But I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to see what the past few days did to her. I still haven’t got over it all myself.

She’s so thin. Not physically – well, she is a bit, but that’s not what I mean. She’s worn down and papery on the inside, so easily torn.

I’m not quite egotistical enough to believe that it’s all me. It’s this place. It wears at all of us – it’s not just her; I’ve seen it in others around here. Contrarily, the ones least affected by Haven are those I despise most: the Sharks. Not exactly a model that any of us with a heart and a conscience want to emulate.


I feel like there’s stuff I should write here. About nearly dying. About seeing the Sharks again. About Faith and her dad.

I’m not ready for all that yet. Faith works her issues out in words, typed into this blog as if that helps them make sense. That’s not me. Sometimes it is, but not right now. I guess we’re all hardening against the world in our own way.

I can talk about Faith and her dad, I guess. That’s okay. He’s a good guy, never gave me crap about anything, though once he did ask me, “Are you going to lead my girl into trouble?” I laughed – if anyone else had asked me that, I would have been angry, but he sounded like he didn’t want to ask at all. Always did struggle with the whole fatherly thing; women are a mystery to him, including his daughters. He did his best to tick all the boxes he knew about.

Back then, he frowned at me and said I’d better look out for her. And I did. I have no idea if Faith ever knew about that, my little promise to her dad. I think she would have been furious with both of us.

It was an off-hand comment from Thorpe that took me to find him. I haven’t had much to do with the machine shops and garages – they kept sticking me up on roofs, taping plastic down to keep the rain out. There are so many guys here that I just hadn’t seen him. Then the big lug goes and mentions a MacIntyre, and off I run to see if it really is my best friend’s father.

I wouldn’t have been so pleased if it was my own father, but that’s another story.

He was so surprised he nearly fell over. I grinned so hard I nearly cried and shouted, “Daddy Mac!” He frowned at me the way he always did and I laughed. He hates it when I call him that. When Faith was about twelve, she decided she hated her name and wanted to be called ‘Mac’, so it was only natural that her father became ‘Daddy Mac’. It gets a disapproving look out of him every time, but he loves it really. Well, it’s a private joke between us. Mostly.

Of course, he asked about his little girl, all propped up for bad news. He almost broke down when I said that she was not only alive, but here, right here. It’s so embarrassing when a guy like him cries – you end up looking away until he’s done, out of mutual discomfort and a weird sense of courtesy. He controlled himself and asked how she was. If I’d been looking after her. All that stuff.

I wanted to drag him off to see her right then, but he said he needed time to clean himself up. Like any of us can ever really wash any more (I still hate that). He made me promise not to tell her that he’s here – he wanted to do it himself. He wanted to go meet her. I wasn’t going to take that away from him.

Of course, that was days before he actually came to see her. I don’t know what held him up. I waited for a few days, got angry and asked him why he hadn’t gone to let her know that he’s alive, and decided to bring her to him. Then… well. That’s when I found Terry and the Sharks.

He got here eventually, though. I saw the look on her face when she saw him. Poor Faith, strong for everyone except herself. I guess that means she still needs her friends, huh?


Speak of the devil, here she comes. I’d know that doorslam anywhere. I’d better put this away and look pathetic so she takes care of me. Not that I need to – I’m pathetic enough already, thanks very much, and Faith is a big softie.

Can’t wait to hobble the hell out of here.