The Mimics

Chapter 16

Matthew POV

The barracks was a chorus of heavy, rhythmic breathing and the occasional metallic creak of a bunk frame. To anyone else, it was the sound of rest, but to me, it was a hollow noise that only amplified the static in my head. I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Knowing Aurora was officially gone felt like a physical weight on my chest, heavier than any tactical vest I’d ever worn.

I moved with the practiced silence of a scout, reaching under my cot to pull out a relic from a world that had burned away. It was my junior year high school yearbook, the edges frayed and the cover stained with the dust of a dozen different bunkers. I flipped through the glossy pages until I found the section for the cheerleading team.

There she was, front and center. She was mid-cheer, captured in a moment of pure, vibrant energy with a high ponytail and a smile so big it seemed to radiate off the paper. God, she was beautiful. I turned the page and found a candid shot from Mr. Baker’s art class. She had a smear of gray clay across her cheek, laughing at something her friend Claire was saying.

I took a deep breath, the stale air of the barracks stinging my lungs. I hadn't just liked her for the way she looked. Everyone liked her for that. I liked her for the fire in her personality—the way she seemed to see people that everyone else looked right over.

My mind drifted back to the very first time I realized I was in deep. We were twelve, a lifetime ago, at a party at a mutual friend’s house. The parents were out of town, and the group had decided to play a round of spin the bottle. Back then, I wasn't the "Chief." I was the opposite of popular. I was a scrawny kid with a face that hadn't quite grown into its features yet, especially my eyebrows. They were thick, arched, and light-colored, giving me a perpetually intense, slightly startled look that the other kids used as a punchline. But Aurora never joined in. She was the one who always stood up to the bullies when they got too loud.

When it was my turn to spin the bottle, the world seemed to slow down. The glass base screeched against the floorboards and slowed, the neck pointing directly at her. I’d never felt so nervous in my life; I felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my throat.

We walked into the dark hallway closet together, and the door shut with a final, heavy click.

I sat there in the dark, sweating through my shirt, my hands shaking in my lap. The silence felt like a physical pressure.

"Matt? You okay?" her voice came softly from the darkness. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"But if we don't, they'll say I chickened out," I whispered, the fear of the Monday morning locker room talk already making my stomach churn. "They'll make fun of me even more."

I heard her giggle, a light, melodic sound. "Who cares what they think? Just because everyone else is doing it doesn't mean you have to. If they all jumped off a bridge, would you?"

I thought about it for a second, the logic of a twelve-year-old taking hold. "No."

We spent the rest of the seven minutes just talking. I told her about the books I liked and how I wanted to join the service one day like my dad. For those few minutes, I wasn't the kid with the weird eyebrows; I was just Matt. I felt so comfortable with her, like the closet was the only safe place in the world.

But as the muffled countdown from the other side of the door started, the panic returned. I knew they’d be waiting to tear me apart.

Aurora must have noticed my breathing hitch. Suddenly, she reached out, her fingers running through my hair, pulling at the strands until it was a messy nest. She reached for my shirt, unbuttoning the top two buttons and popping up the collar with a quick flick. Then, she licked her thumb and gently ran it over my lips, making them look swollen and wet.

She tossed her own hair, letting the waves fall over her shoulders in a disheveled mess. Then she looked at me, her eyes soft in the sliver of light from the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Before I could ask what for, she punched me—not a haymaker, but a sharp, localized jab to the stomach. It was enough to make me hunch over and breathe heavy, but not enough to knock the wind out of me completely.

Just then, the door swung open.

The light blinded me, but I could hear the collective gasp of the group. "Dude... did they actually make out?" someone whispered in awe.

Come to find out, every other boy that night had chickened out. But thanks to Aurora, it looked like I was the only one who had actually gone through with it. That single night changed everything. It made me popular, gave me a shield against the bullies, and it was all because she decided to protect me.

I sat on my bunk in the present day, the yearbook heavy in my lap. I gently ran my thumb over her picture, tracing the line of her jaw.

"Thank you, Rory," I whispered into the dark. "For everything."

I closed the yearbook, the heavy thud of the cover sounding like a final nail in a coffin. Sitting there in the dim glow of the barracks' emergency lights, I was hit by a wave of regret so nauseating it made the mess hall sludge feel like a gourmet meal.

I had spent my life chasing ghosts and status, and in the process, I had traded away everything that actually mattered. My biggest regret wasn't a tactical error or a missed shot; it was the fact that I let popularity become my personality. I got so wrapped up in being the "Chief" that I let the only person who truly saw me slip through my fingers. I spent all my "firsts" on the wrong girls, treating milestones like boxes to be checked off in some high school hierarchy.

I thought about my first kiss with Amber Madison. It was supposed to be a movie moment, but it was just clumsy, wet, and awkward. Then there was the night with Blake Barnes—an experience I’d rather scrub from my brain entirely, a blow job that ended with her getting sick on my shoes. And my first time actually sleeping with someone? Whitney Hodges. It was super awkward, a fumbled mess of nerves and zero connection that left me feeling more alone than before I started.

Looking back, I would have traded every single one of those encounters just to turn back time and share those moments with Aurora. I knew deep down it would have been a completely different world. With her, it wouldn't have been about performing or status. It would have been wonderful because she had that effortless way of making me feel comfortable, making me feel safe even when the world was trying to tear me down.

She was the one who made me feel like I was enough, even back when I was just the kid with the weird eyebrows. And now, the realization that I’ll never feel that kind of safety again hit me like a physical blow. Because she’s gone, and I’m just a soldier left with a book full of pictures and a heart full of "what-ifs".

The yearbook slipped from my hand, thudding softly onto the floor as exhaustion finally overrode the ache in my chest. My eyes drifted shut, and for once, the darkness behind my lids didn't bring the familiar, jagged images of the war.

Instead, I was back in the warm, golden light of a summer that never happened.

In my dream, everything was different. I wasn't chasing a reputation, and I wasn't trying to be the "Chief." I was just Matt, and she was just Rory. We were sitting on the hood of my old truck, the air smelling of jasmine and freshly cut grass. When I leaned in for that first kiss, there was no awkward fumbling or wet, clumsy teeth. It was soft—a slow, electric pull that felt like coming home after a long journey. I could feel her smile against my lips, a silent promise that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The dream shifted, blurring into a quiet room filled with the soft glow of a bedside lamp. There was no Whitney, no Whitney-induced nerves. It was just Aurora. She looked at me with those deep, knowing eyes, her hand resting on my cheek, making every bit of noise in my head go quiet. She made me feel brave, not because I was a soldier, but because I was loved.

Every "first" we shared in that dream was effortless. There was no pressure to perform, no fear of being judged for my scrawny frame or my eyebrows. It was wonderful—a symphony of shared breaths and a safety so absolute it felt like a shield against the rest of the world. In the dream, I didn't have any regrets because I had finally chosen the right girl.

But as the dream began to fade, her face started to blur, and the warmth of her hand turned into the cold, recycled air of the barracks. I tried to reach for her, to pull the memory back, but she was slipping through my fingers like smoke.

I woke up in the dark, my face damp and my heart hammering a frantic, lonely rhythm against my ribs. The dream was gone. And so was she.