The sun still rises

:|5|:

      I stay close behind Peter as we make our way up the stairs and to his apartment. My whole body aches from the long flight and crammed car ride, making each step heavier than the last. Peter acts completely unfazed but I can see the bags under his eyes and slouch in his posture.
The door opens with a click of a key and I follow inside the little apartment right after him. I look around at the blank walls and lack of furniture, it's nice compared to my dorm which was always littered with food and clothes, but I expected Peter to at least have a picture of his family somewhere.
      I crinkle my nose in confusion and Peter gives me a small frown,"Um, I need to decorate and stuff. My parents left me this apartment when I left for the draft, so I haven't actually been here before."
"Oh ok, it's fine." I mentally slap myself.
What is with the monotone attitude?
What is up with me today?
I avoid his gaze, hoping my comment didn't offend him.
      "I'm gonna go shower. You can leave your stuff on the couch or...wherever."
We approach the apartment hesitantly, it's foreign to both of us.
      "Okay. Thanks again for letting me stay."
He merely nods and strides briskly down a hallway, his grip tight on the straps of his bag.
I sigh, plopping down on the too-clean couch. Running my fingers through my hair and taking off my glasses, I close my eyes and let myself relax for just a moment.
Now that I have nothing going through my head, a heart throbbing pain takes over. I know it's been three months but I still mourn my family's death. I had tried desperately in vain to find my brother, but the image of his sick stricken body is imprinted on my eyelids, making it impossible to imagine a good scenario.
I'm too numb to cry, my whole being aching for them and all I can do is stare with glassy eyes at a blank, creamy white wall.
With a heavy groan, I pull my back pack close and pull out one of my most treasured items.
      Back in 2012, when there was still working technology and luxuries like that, my mom had this Polaroid camera. We had gone to the neighborhood pool, which in itself was a huge adventure. My mom is trying to get a selfie of us, my dad is yelling at me as I cannonball into the pool, my brother has his hands up and mouth yelling a warning as I fall onto him, my face is split in a wide grin. The whole picture is complete chaos and makes my heart twinge.
I miss my mom's curly black locks, warm hazel eyes, gentle smile. I miss my dad's messy brown hair, cheerful eye crinkles, playful humor. I miss my brother's knowing smirk, unkept hazel curls, mischievous shine. Mom always knew what to say, even if it was hard. Dad always knew how to cheer us up no matter the problem burdening our shoulders. My brother always protected me even if I didn't want it. That's why I swore to protect him when he needed it...but I didn't.
      I clutch the photo tightly, not wanting to let them go, not to let them down.
      "What's that?"
      I break out of my haze,"My...my family." My words seem to just flow from my mouth, like I'm on auto pilot,"They...they died from the coronavirus. Well, I know for certain my mom and dad did. My brother could still be out there, but I doubt it. The city was completely taken over. I don't think anyone made it out alive. And I have no way of contacting him..."
Peter sits beside me, yet I wish he was closer so he'd hug me...or something. Some comfort from anyone, even if it's this closed off soldier, would be relieving.
"I know how that feels. I can't tell you the amount of friends I saw die right in front of my eyes with could do nothing about it. And now my family...anything could have happened. I don't know what's going on at home, but I assume it's pretty bad." He hangs his head down a little, wet strands of hair falling onto his face,"I just wish they didn't have to cut the damn phone lines." There's an edge to his voice, like he has more to say.
      I shift closer to him,"The world has changed so much and so fast. I hate it. I hate that it has to be this way."
      He stays silent.
     Why am I even telling him, a battle-beaten, reserved, soldier, all this? Why does it seem like he actually listens and cares?
I came here to start a new life, away from the tragedies of home, but am I just walking into another disaster?
"Your limp." I mutter.
     "What?" He raises an eyebrow, surprised.
     I look up at him,"Can I ask how you got it?"
His whole body tenses and his eyes fog up. His mouth slightly agape and his breathing getting heavier, soon his chest is heaving and his hands shoot out to stable himself and to push him back...away from me. Everything happens in the blink of an eye.
    "I-I'm sorry—." I try to take his hand, some sort of reflex, but he stands up.
"Doesn't matter." He mumbles sharply.
I look down, a part of my desperately mad that I triggered his PTSD.
"I'm going out to find food. You need to stay here. Don't answer the door for anyone, and don't mess with any of my stuff." He snaps.
"I'm not a child." I snap back. My anger at myself veering toward him.
     "Yeah, well you're lucky I'm even letting you stay here." He barks harshly,"And I mean it."
  I glare down at his shoes,"Fine, I got it. Sorry."
  He stomps towards the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out. The lock clicks into place and I'm left alone in this stranger's barren apartment.
What have I gotten myself into?