Anyways as always characters drawn as cat but written as humans
Story warnings: mentions of death
Gone. That's what I must be to you. I think about that often, despite my efforts. The world still reminds me, my back still hurts. I wished I could at least say goodbye, at least tell you why I was gone, why I can't come back. But I can’t. Now I can’t even try. I hope you’re safe, Bill. Despite my moving on, I still look in the mirror, and I still confess… I still love you.
You are safe, I hope, I hope that Edward spoke the truth, I hope he changed, shifted that focus. But… I doubt it. He’s probably out there causing more harm. Killing more people, even children… his operation has probably grown. That fact makes me sick, I wish I could go back, I wish I could fix it. But I can’t. I have responsibilities here.
How I met Catherine still seems like a blur, with many, many details filling up the film, the snapshots of memory that swirl in my head. I can remember it, but no way I can properly describe it. You’d never believe me anyways. She was beautiful, but it took me a while to move on, accept that I’ll never see you again, never feel your comfort. But I’m across an entire wasteland, a deadly, rotting wasteland. And so I’ll never see you again. And that’s okay.
I loved her like I loved you. I still love you. Together we started a project, her project, Project Purity. Together we were making the world better. Us and our teams, we got so far, but not close. Not enough. Especially when it all slowed, because Catherine was pregnant, pregnant with my daughter. I was so excited to be a father; she was excited to be a mother. But she never will be. Because she died upon her birth. And so I have another person’s death on my hands.
I know you’d love her anyways, my daughter. She’s so sweet, so small. I love her with a love I’ve never felt. I know this world is dangerous, I know this world isn’t safe. She’s so small, so helpless, isn’t ready for the world. Which is why I do this, which is why I live in a Vault, Vault 101. We’ll be safe, she’ll be safe.
I try not to think about you, about either of you.
But my back still hurts.
And the verse Catherine loved circled in my head, telling me it isn’t over.
It makes me wonder if this is right, the Vault, the Capital… if I’m making the right decisions. But I can’t take her with me, when she’s not even a week old, across the unknowing wasteland. I know there is someone like me with you, another man of faith. But faith doesn’t dictate whether you are good or evil. Doesn’t stop you from bad decisions, going down a dark path, like I knew he was, even if I can’t remember his name.
I know what faith is meant to be: hope.
And when I look to my daughter, that’s what I feel.
So I will tell her as much as I can, about me, about my life. Teach her as many lessons as I could. But she’ll never know you, about who we were together. About what it’s like to love like that twice. About the pain of losing someone suddenly. But she’ll know about her mother, about her smile, about her personality, and her favorite passage:
“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely.”
I repeat that, at least once a day. To myself. It stings, but it reminds me of her. It certainly doesn’t hurt as much as the pain in my back. The pain I must ignore. The pain I must work through. Worth through for her.
