Sinbound

(5) Nightmares

Alex pinches the bridge of her nose, bowing her head as she sat on the edge of her bed. Could she not just have one peaceful night? One night without the memories of the war coming back to haunt her.

She'd been home after half a year, she was hoping they'd have died down. That they'd have eventually become few and far between. But no, every night they crept up on her. Stealing her from the peaceful slumber she dreamed of and taking her away, sifting through the darkest parts of the war.

Reaching to her bedside she grabs a cigarette, lighting and taking a drag before running a hand through her hair. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it all to just stop. She wanted to be left alone.

She knew her brothers couldn't escape the war either. But they never spoke of it. It was something they each had to deal with alone. Individual experiences that shouldn't be spoken about.

When she went to war she didn't imagine there would be life after it. It's one of the main reasons she went. She didn't want there to be a life after it. But suicide is always deemed as selfish. She was hoping to die over there, and that it'd be seen as a meaningful sacrifice.

She stands up, pacing around her room for a few minutes before staring in the mirror. She didn't notice much about herself, or the person staring back at her. Her eyes always deviated to the 11 inch scar that jagged from her lift hip to her right rib.

She always what could've happened that day. What could've happened if Bentley hadn't found her in the depths of the trenches and carried her limp body to the infirmary. What if Bentley hadn't shot the soldier dead and the bayonet had been plunged into her stomach just like he was millimetres away from doing?

The questions always circle her head. That could've been her way out. The bayonet that had slashed her torso open. Now she was just stuck with the longing. The longing that she had taken her last breath.

She was never meant to live long. Bad habits always catch up to you, that's what Sheila had reminded her. You live a bad life you die in a bad way.

At 11, when she would be lying on the floor, clutching her ribs after her father had come home drunk, she didn't think she'd make it it to 12.

At 12, when she started hanging around certain people, she definitely didn't think teenage years would be an option.

So at 18, when she went off to war, life after it never seemed like it would have to be an option. But it was. At 23, she was still here. Still in Birmingham. Still in an everlasting state of emotionlessness, and longing for the next stage.

But it wasn't an option to leave now. How could she ever look Bentley, or Melanie, or any of her family members in the eye knowing it'd be the last time? She couldn't. She wouldn't. So though it may pain her to stay, she has to.

The hand still holding the burning cigarette, trails over the scar. It was the worst part of her. It symbolises her willingness to leave. The willingness to just abandon everyone.

It's why nobody had ever seen it. Her top had never been removed in another's presence since it had happened. With Kalianne, with the women after, Alex had always left at least her vest on.

It was her secret. Her darkest, most shameful secret.

There was a knock at the door to her apartment, and Alex hurriedly throws on a shirt, placing her gun in her waistband, doing the buttons of her top up as she walks towards the door.

Peeping out the little hole, she sees Polly standing there and all the tension in her body is alleviated. She opens the door to her aunt, "is everything okay?"

"Yes, I couldn't get to sleep, and something didn't feel right, are you okay?" Polly questions, as Alex further opens the door, allowing Polly to walk in.