Road to Damascus

Chapter 4 - Steadily

Duke heard the front door shut softly just a little after eleven in the evening.

Since he'd walked away from her in the morning, he'd cocooned himself in the suffocating room, keeping the stains and dust company. He'd heard her leave just after he'd trotted off but paid no mind to whatever it is she had to do.

The day was mostly spent exactly how he'd started it – on the stiff on mattress, watching the waterlogged ceiling morph in whatever shapes his mind conjured up as he drifted in and out of sleep throughout the day.

Each time he woke, he felt the fatigue ten-fold. No amount of drifting off allowed him respite from his continuous fatigue, as each dream he slipped into was a revisit to hell. A live theater performance of the chaos and havoc he'd endured in the past year.

It was a cruel rotation of memories.

His latest dream is what had him gasping awake, drenched in sweat, with his heart ready to burst through his ribcage.

He'd been in service for nearly over two decades, and he'd seen his fair share of gore, brutality and the darkest of mankind – but the visuals that haunted his dreams had his body in visceral turmoil.

It didn't help that he was losing his grip on his sanity subconsciously, but the panic had found him during his waking hours.

Groaning, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, and the torsion of his waist yanked his upper half upright.

The way he'd woken up in the morning left a steady reminder of the state of his body. Today, his mind wasn't letting him forget.

Steadily, he pushed himself off the bed, he made his way out of the suffocating room and to the bathroom but paused at the sight of scattered apparel at the threshold of his roommate's door.

He let out a gruff breath as he remembered the chaos and havoc he'd created just a few hours ago.

As soon as he heard the unmistakable click of the front door, Duke yanked his bedroom door open and rushed to the small living room and began tossing the cushions on the tattered couches.

His hand sinking and digging into the crevices of the couch, ignoring the questionable textures he felt.

Logic fought with his panic, knowing that it was there.

There was no way a gun case could fit into the cracks of the couch – but he wasn't stopping until he'd exhausted all his options. The idea of not knowing where his fucking gun was something that didn't sit right with him.

As he moved through every open pocket, corner, crevice and crack, his frustration only grew.

A missing gun – in a shared space with a stranger – that was something he would not live with. Hell, he was barely accepting his current living situation.

His mind instantly flashed to his neighbour, and her odd behaviour.

Would she shoot me in my sleep? How would she attack?

Duke was bigger than her, and even one arm down and his years of service – he knew he could overpower her. She was a tall woman, probably ballparking at 5'10, and had meat on her bones, but she was still dainty. He knew at first glance that most people would say otherwise, but he wasn't most people.

The Captain was trained to read people in the span of 5 seconds, and she was too soft.

The idea of that woman attacking him struggled to plant itself firmly into his mind but the frustration and lack of sleep rolled in like dark clouds.

Pulling himself up from the ground, where he'd been sweeping his hand under the couch, Duke found himself marching back towards the hallway and stopping right in front of his roommate's door.