Past, Conscience, and Sea Sickness

My heart drummed against my chest, and I felt completely defeated. He'd caught me, and now I was...dead? Then Wes did the oddest thing; he smiled.

"It's alright," Wes said. I assumed he said that because my facial expression must've given my guilt and fear away. As Shia had said, I was as easy to read as an open book. Wes continued to look at me. I was surprised there was no suspicion on his face. It was more of a mixture of amusement, and what was that...arousal?

Yes, that would be the word. My conscience was getting annoying. It was getting very annoying. However, I was happy about the annoyance because it helped hide my fear. But now, I had two fears, the first of being caught and the second of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Wes sat up, and my body pressed itself flat against the cupboard doors. A knob stuck into my back, but I dared not to move. Wes's face took on a pained expression.

"I'm not going to hurt you," He said. His voice scared me. I'd heard this low and trustworthy voice before in his movies. That was the problem. In his movies! I had to remember that Wes was an actor. A good actor who could act his way into earning my trust and ... well...I didn't know what else exactly. That was a problem in its own right.

"I don't want to know what you were doing. I can only assume that you were searching for something to prove that I had another agenda which I swear I do not," Wes said carefully.

I didn't move, nor did I speak. Wes's expression then went from a pained expression to one of careful scrutinization.

"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" Wes asked gently.

"No," I heard myself answer with defiance.

"I didn't think so," Wes said and stretched his arms above his head.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I said in silence. It was more of a statement than an apology. I wasn't sorry; I was more elated. Or, at least, my conscience was. But, I was determined not to let my conscience get its way. I would do nothing. I refused to fuel the fire within.

"It's perfectly alright. I shouldn't sleep too long anyways; it gives me the worst headaches during the day," Wes said in his careful voice.

Listen to his voice. Listen to it and become attached to it. You know you want to. The voice was still annoying, but it was telling me the truth that I refused to admit to myself. I wanted to like Wes, maybe even consider something else. It struck me funny that I was the bane of Shia's existence, and Wes had just become mine.

I felt myself walking towards him. Coming closer and closer to him. He had this little odd smile on his face as if he knew just what he was capable of. And what is he capable of, Jen? My conscience purred into my ear. Good question, but I felt I was just about to find out. Wes sat perfectly still as I went up and ended up standing right in front of him. Suddenly, against my conscience and its wishes, I wanted to know more about Wes. I didn't want to like him for his looks. I wanted more out of him. I wanted a reason to either turn him away or not.

"Tell me something," I began.

Wes looked taken aback. It seemed as if he'd been waiting for the same thing my conscience had been. "Sure, anything."

"Tell me what you're hiding," I said, my resolve clear.

"Hiding? What are you talking about?" He sounded hurt.

At this, I thought I had made a mistake, but I just happened to see the flutter of fear in his eyes that gave him away.

"Yes, you're hiding something. Is it guilt? Is it that you know something that Shia and I do not?" I asked.

A look of pure anger crossed his face, but he controlled it. "No, Jen. I'm not hiding anything but the scars of my past," Wes said, ever so elegantly.

"Scars?" I asked gently.

"Yes, my memories and the pain that I hide. Other than that, I'm not hiding anything from anyone. If you want to know something, just ask."

"Why were you chosen?" I asked him.

"Probably because I'm pretty close to Shia," Wes answered after a frown.

"He's close to plenty of others, so again, why you?" I demanded more firmly. Wes smiled at my determination.

"You have a little fight in you. I like that." He was trying to distract me. My past loathing for him was returning, and I was seeing him in the eyes of disgust that I always should have. Ask him about his past, and you will see the good side, my conscience prompted.

"Thanks. I see you refuse to answer my question about that, so tell me about your past," I said, sitting beside him, no longer afraid of doing anything stupid other than attempting first-degree manslaughter because I was beginning to dislike him more.

"My past? Ah, I see; you want to analyze me from my past experiences to determine my worth, right?" He asked, smiling.

"Something like that," I answered, awed but still keeping my loathing for him in the front of my mind.

"Ok, my past. Let's see...it's uncomfortable to speak about this, but since it's just you and I trust you," Wes paused, "then I will tell you what you want to know."

I folded my arms and scooted to the wall, my knees separating me from him.

"My parents were both ministers. I had three other brothers as well. All was well until my parent's business was shattered when I was nine. My father turned to drink, and he began to go against his ways...and he abused me.

"Now, I don't know why he picked me out of us four kids, but I knew I was afraid of him. I often did stupid things to avoid him. I ran away several times and found myself lost on the streets. I started to drink when I was twelve. It helped to take the edge off, but it wasn't enough. So I started to do drugs and then play soccer. No one ever found out about the drugs. I was told never to tell a soul. When I graduated, my parents were back on track at another church, and my father quit drinking.

"When I took off to Julliard, I thought all those things were behind me. My father's still an evil man. However, no one else knows. All they see is the glamour that surrounds me. It's not like that, though. I'm still a scared little boy, running away from all that bothers me.

"People misconstrue me because I'm popular and successful. I get the pleasure of feeling that way, sometimes. Then I'm trapped inside my own head once more, reliving the torture. I guess that's why I'm up for all the fucked up movie roles. My philosophy is that a reflection of an exact image is the closest thing to you so that you can see it, but it's far enough away to understand it. There is real life in the movies I do, but it hovers just an inch above reality," Wes said with final conviction.

"What is reality exactly?" I asked.

"This is reality," Wes answered, blinking back tears. "Being here and offered a million dollars to deliver two people to the middle of who knows where," Wes smiled.

"Oh, Wes, I'm so sorry. I had no idea," I said gently, putting my knees down and breaking the human barrier I had made for myself. I placed a hand on his warm one and sighed. I was melting—again and I had asked for it.

There you go, that's a good girl. Now, here's your chance! My conscience was right. I reached up and looked into his eyes for a second; seeing his pain, I made it my own, and I could feel that he wasn't a bad person. He had worth. I closed my eyes and leaned in. He chuckled slightly and brushed his lips against mine ever so softly.

"What in the hell are you guys doing?" Shia asked from the stairs. I jumped and fell backward, landing on the floor with a thud and banging my head on the cabinets.

"Just talking," Wes replied coolly.

"Really—" suddenly, I watched as Shia opened the door to the bathroom, and I heard him throw up into the toilet.