Hourglass

Grain

She walks toward me, a haunting grin stretched across her face. I hold the gun in shaking hands as she advances.

"I'm not scared of you," she says, her voice calm and even. I back away, my heart dropping into my stomach. "You won't hurt me."

"I will if I have to," I reply, pointing the barrel at her chest, directly over her heart.

She won't stop moving forward.

Her hands move upward and she closes her eyes, the grin falling away. I stop walking and tighten my grip on the gun.

The familiar sickening feeling rises in my throat, but I have to do this. The way I do it every day, the way I will continue to do it for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger.

She looks down at the crimson gushing out of her chest, staining her clothes in rivers. And just before her knees give way and she collapses to the ground, I see her brown eyes open wide in shock and pity.

I dash forward and catch her limp figure, clasping her body close to my chest. She's going cold, her skin freezing to the touch and pale. A gasp escapes her lips.

"No... stay with me, please," I beg uselessly. One single tear slides down her cheek and she clings weakly to my blazer with trembling fingers. "Please."

She closes her eyes one last time as I cry out, "Jemma!"

Phil's hand is the first thing I feel when I wake up, smoothing back my damp hair. I sit up in my bed, my movements quick and frantic.

He hushes me softly, handing me a glass of water. I sip and it soothes my raw throat. The blankets are tangled around my knees, the pillow lying discarded on the floor.

"You were louder than usual," he comments, taking the glass back and placing it on the floor.

"It was worse than usual," I reply. Following my gesture, he climbs onto the bed beside me and I lean into his side, copying his gentle breathing patterns. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me in close.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks and I frown, biting my lip. "I understand if you don't, but -"

"No, it's okay," I cut him off. "I'll talk."

The feeling of his warm hand against my skin calms me slightly. "I was in Bahrain again, like the normal nightmares. But this time it wasn't Katya. It was Jemma."

He inhales sharply, his grip tightening around my waist. "Oh, Mel."

"I shot her. She died in my arms," I say shortly, my voice still hoarse from the screaming that alerted him to my distress. I don't even feel upset, just hollow, like someone cut me open and chiselled out my insides.

His thumb traces patterns on my hip. "Do you need me to stay for a while?" he asks quietly and I nod, so he settles down in my bed. It's much too small for two people but the proximity is comfortable. Nothing can happen to me while I'm in his arms.

✈

He leaves around three hours later, when the slightest hints of sunlight appear through the gap in the curtains. I remain in bed for a while, stuck in the haze between slumber and consciousness.

I can't go back to sleep or I'll have to do it all again. I don't want to stare into those deep brown eyes and watch the life drain from them, especially since I'm the one who caused it.

The nightmares of Bahrain are nothing new; they've plagued me since the night after I emerged from that building a shadow of who I used to be. I've learnt to resist them, to submerge them far below happier thoughts, but they've always been lurking in the shadows. But nothing could ever prepare me for this new version.