Posted by Lieutenant Nathan Harland (Assistant CNS/ Child Psychiatry) in Between The Buried And Me - Nathan’s Quarters
Spartan was most likely what anyone would call Nathan’s quarters as he entered them. He hadn’t arrived more than two hours onto the Outpost, but it had already become one of his top ten worst days of his life. Irony was that almost all of the top ten days had only happened in the past year, to the day in fact. Taking a large breath Nathan looked around as he nodded silently to himself. He had a large family quarters, four bedrooms of empty space that seemed like haunted memories as he looked around at his new surroundings.

To the right of the entrance the few things he had brought had been stacked up, three boxes and a duffel bag. Seeing as the Loki had never been to him home, he never brought a lot with him. For Nathan his childhood home he had grown to hate as a child became a beacon of love as he shared his life with Chloe. That world though had been shattered in the past year, or longer if Chloe had a chance to tell her side. Choices made that set worlds aflame created a chasm that neither seemed to be able to cross. No life between Nathan and Chloe now felt more like living ghosts passing and fading as the world moved on around them.

“Computer… dim the lights 40%…” came Nathan’s request as he moved the bag from the top of the boxes as he began opening up the boxes as he searched for the treasure he needed most in this moment. The clink of glass on glass was the sign he had gotten to what he needed, as he pulled out the bottle of Grecken 72, far less in than there was a few months ago as he grabbed the soul glass he had brought with him as he walked over to the couch as he flopped in. This time the springs felt firm and new, time would change that as the bottle got more and more empty.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to eternities. That is what it felt at least to Nathan as he stared at the dark empty walls, the scars of his past seemed to follow him everywhere and the barrenness of the room seemed to fuel his sorrow as every burning drop he drank seemed to force away all emotions he kept, bottled inside like his own dark secret that would never be opened. To open that bottle might shatter everything else around Nathan, and he could only shatter so much before nothing was left and a husk was all that remained.

Nathan Harland

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Two days later.......
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A home was made up of two things: scents and sounds. When one arrived home from an extended trip, you knew it based on inhaling the air when you stepped into the room. Things like the occupant’s perfume or cologne often soaked into the fabrics on a couch, chair, or bedding. The air might carry traces of lavender, vanilla or spices from candles burned to change the ambiance of the room. Foods enjoyed by the individuals often left their scents to seep into the walls and counters of the eating area. All of this combined to make the individuals entering feel like a soft blanket was draped over their shoulders. Sounds were the second part of knowing you were home. For families, it allowed the individual entering to know whether they were walking into a war zone or the idyllic dream they signed up for. Still crying toddlers, laughing children, or rambunctious preteens screaming pew pew as they ran through the house all signified life in a home. Nathan’s quarters contained none of this.

As Chloe entered the quarters she stood in the doorway letting her eyes adjust to the lighting and the deafening silence contained between the four walls. It was so low the room seemed almost black. Not having the ability to see however did not mean Chloe was unable to gauge what was going on in the room. Inhaling deeply she knew exactly who lived here and for how long. The cloying scent of bleach and a gym locker room vied for the top position in her senses. The bleach and antiseptic scent came from the cleaning crews who prepared the room for its next occupants scrubbing all remanents of those peoples lives from the space. The locker room fragrance came from someone who had not showered due to either a sporting event or from someone on a bender that simply did not care. Choe knew it was the latter and scanned the room until she found what she was looking for. Sprawled on the couch was Nathan with one hand slung over the back cushions and one leg half falling off the couch. On the floor beside him was an empty bottle. Chloe knew there would be no stain on the carpet because it was drained long before it left his hand.

A knot filled her throat seeing him like that but she did not have the strength to fix him even if she wanted to, not today of all days. Raising a hand to her nose she closed her eyes focusing all her energy on remaining standing. If she gave in and joined her husband by lying in a crumpled pile on the floor of the dark representation of hell he had created here, Chloe would never be able to get up. Sniffing back her nose she ran her fingers through her hair and headed to the kitchen area. She did not care about the tears that slipped from her eyes. Her cheeks had been stained with them since she had awoken that day. More would fall: there was no reason to wipe them away.

Her hands shook as she replicated all the foods she needed. She had to get through this simple task but the simplicity of it was what tore at her soul the most. One year ago today the day started the same with breakfast. Only the end was what had changed. From that moment forward in her life, there were no giggles of roughhousing as Saturday holotoons played with Nate announcing it was time for breakfast and to get to the table. Using the knife she began to dice and chop all the things she needed into bite-sized pieces. She could have replicated this but it was good to stay busy and complete tasks that had beginnings and ends. At least that is what every counselor had told her since January of last year. The chopping of the onion echoed like a heartbeat in the room cutting through the silence with a dull clack clack as it left the soft flesh of the vegetable and encountered the hard surface of the counter. As the tears fell down her cheeks Chloe felt a small sick smile cross her lips as she realized she had no idea if it was from the syn-ropanethial-S-oxide of the onion or the memories that refused to leave her head causing her to cry. Peppers, onions, tomatoes, and mushrooms were tossed in a pan and as they began to sautee among hunks of crumbled up sausage to add flavor. Chloe whipped up three eggs, began to toast the bread, and started several slices of thick-cut bacon to cook. The more she prepared the more she wanted to cook. What was supposed to be a simple meal was turning out to be something far grander than she planned.

Chloe Kendrick