Page 74 of Make Me Trust Again
I still don’t see my best friend.
Or what is left of him.
I silence the voice coming from the back of my mind as I look around until I spot him.
His arm seems to be at an unnatural angle. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Broken bones will heal.
I push myself to the brink, my only thought is about getting to him as fast as I can.
“Foster,” I call out when I get to him.
His eyes are closed, his face full of cuts and bruises. His uniform is torn from the blast, a dark red color coating his jacket on his right side.
“Foster, wake the hell up.”
My fingers grip his shoulders and jerk him relentlessly as more blood soaks his shirt.
Then his eyes fly open, anger shining in their brown depths as he glares at me. “It’s all your fault.”
Sucking in a sharp breath, I sit upright. My arms are shaking as the dream replays in my mind on a loop, my heart hammering wildly against my ribcage. Sweat coats my skin, making my shirt stick to my back.
I swallow hard, but my mouth is dry, my breathing ragged. My ears are ringing, but even so, I can hear a low whine comingfrom my left. I curl and uncurl my fingers, trying to regain some of the composure as I push the memories away.
My living room.
I’m in my living room.
Not in a freaking desert.
Home.
I’m home.
Shadow nuzzles my hand with her snout. I uncurl my fingers, gently patting her on the head. She licks my wrist, still whining. I spread my fingers and sink them down her neck, into her fur, letting her sharp hair ground me.
Slightly calmer, I take in the space. The TV is still playing, the soft light from it illuminating the dark room. A quick look at the clock on the wall tells me it’s almost midnight. The sound of the firearm blasts from the speaker, making me jerk. An action movie, it’s just an action movie; is that what brought back the memories?
Hardly.
Lately, they’ve been more frequent again, the nightmares coming almost every night, more vivid than ever.
My lungs feel tight, the walls of the room narrowing in on me, making it hard to breathe.
Out.
I need to get the hell out.
Pushing upright, I ignore the pain at the sudden movement, my focus on one thing and one thing only.
Slipping into my shoes, I go for the back door, Shadow on my heels. The moment I get on the porch, I tilt my head back, sucking in some fresh air. Although it’s late, the June night is warm, and there is a heaviness in the air.
I tap the side of my leg, calling Shadow to follow after me. I don’t have an idea of where I want to go; I just know I can’t stay inside for a second longer. I need to move. I know there’sno escaping the memories, not really, but I’m still going to give it my best try. God knows I won’t sleep anytime soon. I have a hard time sleeping on a good day, falling asleep after a nightmare? Forget about it.
I walk around the barn and toward the woods. The ringing in my ears has subsided enough that I can hear the moving of the animals around me. The insistent chirping of the crickets, the soft buzzing of a handful of fireflies, and even a low hoot of an owl somewhere in the distance. I’m just about to move deeper into the woods, toward the treehouse my father built for Becky, when a trickle of light coming through the darkness of the trees catches my eye.
Slowing my steps, I glance toward the cabin, and sure enough, the light coming from the kitchen is on, but that’s not what demands my attention. It’s the form of a person,a woman, sitting on the porch.
What is she doing up?
