American Dynasty

T W E N T Y - O N E

Flynn rarely slept in the same bed with a beautiful woman without satisfying his needs. He rarely cuddled with said woman. But most of all, Flynn rarely had nightmares.

He found himself in his old childhood home, sitting at the small, wooden dining room table. The bright sun shone through the windows, allowing him to bask in its warmth.

A quiet humming caught his attention and his breath caught in his throat when he saw his mother standing by the sink, washing the dishes. A wonderful smell was coming from the oven, no doubt her famous chicken and leek pies.

His mother turned her head and smiled at him. "They're almost ready, A stór, just a few more minutes."

Flynn found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. She was as radiantly beautiful as he remembered with her long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. The front door opened and a deep voice filled the room.

"My, doesn't it smell absolutely marvelous in here!"

Flynn turned to see his father standing in the doorway, his cheeks rosy and his smile as bright as ever. "How is my favourite son?" His father said jubilantly, ruffling the hair on Flynn's head.

"I-I am your only son," Flynn managed to say, a crooked smile making its way onto his face. "

Does not mean you cannot be my favourite," his father responded, winking as if they were sharing a private joke. Flynn watched as his father placed a hand on his mother's waist and pressed a loving kiss to her cheek. How he longed for a love like theirs; for someone he could hold and cherish until their dying day.

His mother opened the oven and pulled out the piping hot pies, placing one on the table. "Be careful, A stór, it's very hot," she warned. She slid a knife into the golden crust and cut out a hefty slice. She scooped it onto one of her favourite fine china plates and placed it in front of Flynn. The heavenly aroma reached his nostrils and Flynn closed his eyes and took a deep breath, smiling dreamily.

All too suddenly the smell of the pie was replaced by the smell of burning wood and Flynn's eyes flew open. The once brightly lit and cozy kitchen was now in flames. The red hot tendrils engulfed everything in sight, including the chair he was sitting in.

Flynn leaped to his feet, searching frantically for his parents. A strangled sob forced its way out of his throat when he saw their charred corpses lying on the floor, frozen with their mouths open agape in a moment of pure terror.

"No!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. The acrid smell of burning flesh made his stomach lurch as the flames rose higher around him.

He could hear the shouts of alarm from people outside, but he knew it was too late. It would only be a matter of time before the flames consumed him too.

Flynn sat bolt upright in the bed, breathing heavily. A layer of sweat coated his body and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, barely acknowledging the tears that were slowly running down his pale cheeks.

Stella was still sound asleep beside him, snoring softly as she cuddled closer to his side. Flynn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid his mind of the image of his parents' blackened bodies. Despite having taken place over thirteen years ago the wound of loss was still felt fresh.

Flynn tried to steady his breath as he rubbed his hands over his face. He gently pulled the covers away, careful to not wake Stella. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

The wind blowing against his sweaty body made him shiver as he stepped out onto the balcony. His large hand curled to cup the end of the cigarette, shielding it from the soft blowing of the wind as he struggled with his lighter. Once the cigarette was lit Flynn took a drag and tilted his head back, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. The familiar head rush of the nicotine left Flynn letting out a sigh as his pounding heart finally began to relent.

He held his hand up and examined how it trembled uncontrollably. He grimaced with distaste and let his hand fall back down to his side. He hated how weak his nightmares made him.

His sharp blue eyes scanned the deserted street, searching for any signs of life. He didn't know whether to feel comforted or uneasy about the fact that he was completely and utterly alone. Or so he thought.

"Flynn?" He spun around to see Stella stepping onto the balcony, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She took in his dishevelled hair, pale complexion and bloodshot eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Smoking," Flynn said, holding up his cigarette.

Stella rolled her eyes. "I can see that, but why are you smoking at half past three in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep," he replied curtly before taking another drag.

"Flynn." Her quiet voice surprised him as he expected her to be irritated with him. Her lips were pressed together in determination. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I saw two," Flynn whispered, barely audible.

Stella hesitated, wanting desperately to know what Flynn was hiding but getting the feeling that this was not a topic to visit quite yet. "I just need to know that you're alright." She murmured softly.

When Flynn didn't answer she padded over to him and hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm fine," Flynn muttered, shrugging her hand off. He instantly regretted it once he saw her slightly hurt expression. "I'm sorry, angel face, I just-I..." Flynn trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Stella studied him intently, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to put together. "You don't like letting people in," she said finally.

Flynn didn't answer, but she knew she had hit the nail on the head. Stella watched him take the last few drags of the cigarette before he pressed the butt into the balcony railing to put it out and tossed it over the edge into the street below. "There's barely anyone I can trust," Flynn said quietly. "And even the people that I do...they don't know anything about what I've seen, what I've experienced."

"You can trust me," Stella whispered shakily, afraid that she had overstepped her boundaries. Flynn pulled another cigarette out of his pack and lit it. Stella watched the tendrils of smoke curl from the end as Flynn took puffs. It seemed like an eternity to her before he finally spoke. "Where shall I start? My childhood is a roadmap of bad experiences."