Page 88 of Under His Guard

Swirling, tangled thoughts knock me to the floor. I’m covered in his blood, but then I’m not.

Pounding roars through my skull and chest. I’m hyperventilating. I’m sweating again.

My skin itches, and I want to run. I want to get the fuck out of my body to make this pain stop.

But it won’t.

Blinking is worse than ever, and all I get when I close my eyes is the memory of leaving him.

“You left him. You left that kid in that fucking building. They made you leave him.”

It wasn’t uncommon. We weren’t about to bury every victim. And he was just a casualty of war.

That’s what the commanding officer had said.

He was just a casualty to him, not someone’s son.

My stomach clenches, threatening to empty its contents onto the rug. But I know I won’t.

I’m not that lucky. I’ll sit here in the nausea for hours before I actually puke.

My shaking is causing my fingers to tremble, and I get up and snag a bottle of water from the counter.

Finishing it off, I’m quickly back to the whiskey I left on the coffee table.

That’s it, Luke. We’re done. I’m getting you home.

I can hear Jay’s voice ringing in my ears. He’d been injured shortly after, and we all went home.

Or did we?

I’d woken up so many nights after dreaming about being back, about our fucking father. And every time, the fantasy of the real world was just a dream.

I was still in that fucking hellscape.

Was I even back?

Was this all another dream?

“Fuck!”

Am I having a damn heart attack? At this rate, I’m really not sure.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to. No.”

I take the bottle in front of me and work to drain it dry.

I can’t feel this. I can’t fucking feel like this anymore. I’d do just about anything to make it stop.

Please, something, make this stop.

My mind starts to tunnel, blacking out over the edges, and I pass out again.

* * *

“Luke? Did you sleep out here?”

Clara’s voice cuts through the feverish frenzy that grips me, and I shoot up into a sitting position.

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