𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 | 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐊 [Collins]

Chapter 33 - Another Sort of Scar

(revised)

It was just a slight noise coming from the front of the flat, but it was enough to wake me up and alert me. I despised myself for having fallen asleep when I was supposed to look after my family. I had to protect them, I could not let someone hurt them. I scanned the room in the soft light spread by the bedside lamp, but I did not catch anything unusual. Everything was where it was supposed to be, Freya was still sleeping by my side, and breathing, and there was no one else in the room. I thought I had dreamt it, when I heard it again, the noise. Something very faint, distant, almost inaudible, but I had learnt to notice them and be vigilant. It was a matter of survival.

I got out of bed as quietly as possible, making sure Freya was not disturbed, and I walked to the door, keeping my ears open, determined to discover where that noise came from. My senses were all on, I was perfectly alert, expecting to discover an intruder at any moment, but my heart rate was slow, my footsteps were quiet. If war had taught me something, it was to control my fear, to stay calm even in the worst situations because fear would prevent me from doing the right things.

Stepping into the dark corridor, I immediately turned my eyes towards Tomas's room, but the door was still half-closed, as Freya had left it before joining me in bed. I walked into nonetheless, feeling the need to check on him, make sure he was okay. Only the moon lit up the room and allowed me to see him in his cradle, lying on his back, his arms spread on each side of his head, perfect picture of peace. He, contrary to me, did not need a reassuring light at night.

I walked backwards, careful not to wake him up, closing the door, when I suddenly felt a presence behind me, followed by a hand grabbing my shoulder. I turned around almost immediately and pinned my assailant against the wall, one of my hands pushing firmly on his shoulder, the other tightening around his throat, ready to get rid of him. There was nowhere I was safe; the enemy was everywhere, in my head, in my home. I could not find peace, they would not let me go, but I would not let them hurt my family. The anonymous hand clutched my arm, asking for mercy, but there was no mercy on the battlefield. I was about to squeeze harder when an imploring voice calling my name made me stop. It was as if I was seeing again, as if I had woken up, and the intruder before my eyes wasn't one, it was my wife. The enemy had never existed.

I released my hand from around her throat and backed up, horrified by what I had just done. I saw Freya slip to the floor, holding her neck, trying to catch her breath, with difficulty.

"Freya..." I worried as I quickly kneeled at her side to help her, but she did not let me approach her, raising her arm in the air as a mechanism of defence, shielding herself from me. The fear that I saw in her eyes at that moment was enough to make me understand I had to disappear.

"I'm sorry," I said as I stood up and left to seek shelter in the bathroom and hide from her sight.

I opened the tap of the sink and splashed cold water in my face, hoping it was just a nightmare, praying for it to be a trick of my mind. I wanted to erase it all, to go back in time. I wished I had never touched her, but the reflection I met in the mirror was the monstrous representation of whom I had become. There was nothing of the Andrew I had once been, and I wondered why she had decided to stay with me after all. What I saw was a man so destroyed it was written on his face. Worry had dug wrinkles on his forehead, his furrowed brows had become his only expression, dark circles had settled permanently under his eyes and every trace of joy had disappeared a long time ago. I hated what I saw, I despised this man, this monster that Freya had seen. I loathed what I had become.

Overwhelmed by rage, I sent my fist to crash onto the mirror, shattering it into pieces, destroying what I could not bear to see anymore. Only fragments remained in place, sending an incomplete image of my face, a more accurate depiction of reality. Blood started dripping from my knuckles but I did not feel anything, not even the slightest amount of pain when all I wanted was to punish myself for what I had done to her. I forced myself to release the tension in my fingers, unclenching my fist, observing the scarlet liquid cover my skin as my hand started shaking again and I was unable to control it. There was something wrong about me, and I could not get rid of it.