Page 2 of Nemesis
He even ruined the word home for me because now, every time I thought of home, all I could picture was crimson painting the floor, fragments of brain decorating the family photos hanging on the wall.
Shaking my head from the memory, I reached over and grabbed my phone, glancing at the time: 4:00 a.m.
These nightmares were a regular occurrence, and you would think that after seven years, I’d be used to them, but they never stopped plaguing my mind ever since that fatal night.
Knowing they wouldn’t let me rest any further, I tossed the phone back onto the coffee table and leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees, pushing the disturbing images to a deep corner of my mind as I attempted to regulate my heaving breaths.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
I kept going until my heart slowed, my muscles relaxing. I closed my eyes, taking in one last deep breath before standing from the couch and heading toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. The apartment was mostly submerged in darkness, the only light coming from the TV screen flickering.
My apartment wasn’t anything special, but it was enough for what I needed it to be. The dark-brown couch I slept on sat in the center of the living room, while tables with files scattered onto them were set up throughout the space, the computer monitors I used for surveillance sitting on them.
There were empty paper coffee cups strewn across the countertops, and white to-go containers filled the room with the smell of takeout from the hole-in-the-wall across the street, leaving the nostalgic feeling ofmama’scooking in their wake.
Groaning, I shuffled down the hallway and rounded into the small bathroom, flicking the switch on, the yellow bulb above the sink cabinet fluttering before it buzzed alive. I sighed and braced a hand on the side of the sink as I flipped on the faucet and glanced up in the mirror. A stranger’s reflection stared back at me.
I watched as it lifted my fingers to probe against the ridges of my cheekbones, so sharp they cast deep shadows over the sunken skin.
My face looked drawn. Tired. Not that I’d had much sleep in the last few years.
I placed my hands under the running water and cupped a handful, bringing it over my face. I used the rest to swish around my mouth in an attempt to erase the metallic taste that seemed to linger when I relived the shooting.
After turning off the faucet, I flipped the knob in the shower behind me, the spray stuttering before the stream evened out. I waited for the steam to rise before stepping under, hoping the scalding water would wash over the sore muscles wounding my body and everything else that stuck to me.
I willed the punishing stream to replace the festering nightmares, allowing peace to douse over me, but the events from that night kept replaying endlessly in my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw their faces and reviled myself for not being able to save my parents.
I wished I’d died that night alongside them.
I tried enjoying the sensation of the water pelting my skin, letting it cascade over my shoulders and down my body. I even tried to close my eyes and breathe deeply, attempting to shake off the anxiety clogging my pores. But all of my efforts were to no avail.
Instead, my breathing picked up, my head dropping as I braced myself on the wall.
Gunshots. Pleading. Screams.
Deafening silence.
I scrubbed roughly at my cheeks, trying to pull myself back from the brink of an attack. I stumbled back and pressed my back against the cold tile wall, sliding until I was seated, knees clutched to my chest.
I tilted my head back and let out a heavy sigh, the water scorching me with its heat and steam. I closed my eyes in defeat, angry with myself for letting my emotions rise.
Just for a little while, I promised myself.
That’s how long I’d allow myself to mourn. How long I’d allow myself tofeelthe loss.
I sank even deeper into the tub and let the water trickle over my skin, focusing on the warmth it provided. My mouth parted on a muffled cry, capturing the taste of my salty tears mixed with the water trailing down my face.
Once the water ran cold, I stood and grabbed the shower gel, quickly washing myself before stepping out. Wrapped in a thick robe, I padded over to grab my pills, popping one into my mouth before sliding the medicine cabinet’s door shut.
I swiped a hand over the fogged mirror, granting myself one more minute before I left the helplessness behind and let my anger push back the tattered edges of my grief. If I allowed the ache in my chest to grow, I would end up drowning in it.
My body slowly settled back into the only emotion that had been fueling me for the last seven years.
Revenge.
