It is about two o’clock in the morning when the screaming starts. The shouting comes next. “Jack!” He yells. I wait a minute for the screaming to subside as it sometimes does. Thankfully, this is one of those times. I roll over in my bed and pull my sheets up to my chin, there seems to be a draught in the room.
It’s then I hear the coughing and retching coming from the room next to mine. I scramble out of my bed, tripping over the white sheets in the darkness of my room as I do so. I switch on the landing light so that I can see, I can’t believe that it’s only at these times I forget the layout of my own flat. I knock on Alex’s door out of habit and politeness and let myself in. I turn on the main light in his bedroom to find that he is tangled in the sheets and had thrown up on himself. I untangle the sheets carefully from around him as he calls her name and tries to break free from something. I lift him up in my arms, noticing he is shaking, and carry him to the small bathroom across the open-plan kitchen-living room. I nudge open the door with my elbow and place Alex in the bath tub.
I pull the shower head from its holder and run it over my hand to get it to a reasonable temperature; once it reaches it I begin to pull off the t-shirt Alex was wearing that was covered in the little I forced him to eat at dinner. I throw it on the floor and begin to spray the lukewarm water over Alex’s back and shoulders. This normally calms him down and I can see that he has curled himself up with his knees tucked firmly into his chest and arms wrapped around them.
“It’s alright Alex.” I say to him; I keep reassuring him. His shaking seems to have subsided a little. He hasn’t said a word to me. I carry on soaking him with the shower. I run the water over his hair and it flattens slightly and becomes darker. I place the shower back in its hook, letting the water carry on raining over the boy in the bath tub. I take the shampoo from the shelf and place a small blob in my hand before running it through Alex’s hair, lathering it up until the white foam covers his hair. I wash it out and see that Alex is watching the bubbles disappear down the drain intently.
“Feeling better now, Alex?” I ask him softly. He gives me a nod and turns his head towards me a little, a good sign. He reaches out a hand a turns down the cold tap so that the water is hotter and I run my own hand through it to make sure it isn’t going to burn him. He has scars from burns on his body as it is from his mission in Kenya. I pull the body puff from its hook and squirt some shower gel on it and run it under the water to get it all frothy then rub it over Alex’s back and down his arms, it's only as short while before his hand reaches out and takes the white body puff from me and begins to do his other arm that I can’t reach and his legs.
“Thank you.” Alex says quietly. I smile at him and his attempts a smile back. I look at my watch and notice it’s nearly quarter to three. I rinse off the soap covering Alex’s scarred body and turn of the shower. Standing up, I grab a towel from the rail and hand it to him.
“Dry yourself off Alex and I’ll go and change your sheets.” He nods again and steps out the bath tub. I enter his room and pull the bedding off the single bed. I grab a fresh set of blue Chelsea FC themed bedding from the airing cupboard and begin to put it on the bed. I am just finishing off the duvet cover when Alex walks in. His hair is scruffy and the towel is wrapped around his middle. I take a t-shirt and boxers from the chest of drawers and them hand it to him. I leave the room and go to the kitchen and make myself a coffee. I keep his medications in the cupboard above the kettle and grab out a small bottle and two packets. I punch out the tablets that he needs to take; Prazosin, Oxycodone and the anti-depressants from the bottle, the glasses are in the next cupboard over and I take one out and fill it with water. I hate giving them to him, they make him space out a bit. I know they help; Prazosin for the PTSD, anxiety and the infrequent panic attacks he suffers from. The Oxycodone helps him to manage the pain of the bullet wound Scorpia gave him.
The door to Alex’s room opens and he wanders across the hallway, he stares at the carpet the whole way and barely looks up when I give him the glass of water. He takes it without fuss like he did at the start. We would fight for an hour just to get him to take his tablets. Alex didn't want to take them, I didn’t want to give them, but it had to be done. Alex had to get better. I tried a therapist and a psychiatrist, they didn't work, and he just stared at them for the hour long session. Even when they offered to visit him at home, he would ignore their questions.
I hand him one tablet at a time out of the five he has to take, on the doctor’s orders. We found an agreement that he only takes them at times like these, after a bad nightmare or after a panic attack. We sit at the dining table, there are four chairs, but only two get used most of the time. K-Unit used to come over, but since I was seconded to MI6 we haven’t spoken. I don’t think seeing them will be good for Alex, he’s only just coping with going to the local corner shop and back.
“What was the dream about, Alex?” I ask him, my voice is stern. He needs to understand that telling me will help him. I switch the kettle on and spoon some coffee granules into my mug and add a little milk, mixing it with the small spoon.
“Nothing.” He replies. That’s what he always says.
“Alex.” I say.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ben.” He raises his voice. I hate it when he does that.
“Yes you do. Please tell me Alex. For your own sake.” I tell him. He seems to think about it for a short while. The kettle clicks off and I pour the hot, steamy liquid into the cup.
“Jack...” It’s the first time he has said her name to me.
“What about her?” I ask, venturing to when I know he won’t go. He shakes his head. I move from the counter to where he is sat and take hold of him, he presses his head into my chest and I can hear him crying quietly. It’ll be his secret; his secret of the soul.
