Chapter Text
The warm lights pulsed overhead, humming with a gentle buzz a sound, annoying, yes, but it was reassuring: the shadows of a lamp being cast against a wall, the outline fuzzy, the light hitting each corner of the room, swallowing the darkness. In the centre, a fan spun around and around, its blades slicing the air smoothly, a reminder of the darker past, the gentle cold breeze that it was emitting.
The old wooden bedside table sat there, not a single speck of dust; its old, rust-coloured wood giving a reassuring warmth, its turning knob edges cut perfectly smooth, the wood shining in the light. An old radio clock sat on it, the number showing 01:56 am; its box shape cast against the smooth white wall. A song was playing in the background, not a loud tune, but a nice, gently soothing song to fall asleep to
The bed was small but comfortable; a dent in the overly soft mattress showed someone had just been there. The sheets were ruffled – like someone had been tossing and turning like a leaf in the wind.
Warm light shone down the corridor, casting faint shadows on the wall. The bathroom was clean – spotless, actually. Marble tiles reflected the light like a pool of water when it hit them just right, the soft grey and black running through the stone like threads of smoke frozen in ice.
On the ground, a woman stood, palms flat against the counter, body hunched over; her usually tidy red hair was messy, proofed up in all directions, her face wet from washing cool water over it – another nightmare - every night the same one, her standing in the desert, the desert sand skipping against the boiling ground.
She was holding her shoulder, where, a few minutes ago, she had been shot, blood trickling down her hand, the pain not just in her shoulder but also flowing through her veins in her arm, reaching her hand – which she could no longer move – she took a step forward, searching for someone, something to be able to get herself out alive half a mile back her helicopter witch her and 4 of her closest friends had just been in, it had been shot down by a sniper – hitting her in the process- only her survived it felt so real so nerve wreaking every night the same dream the same pain every night she wakes up at 1:00 am not able to sleep.
What is wrong with me? She thought she was trying to be normal. Ever since she left the military, she has never been able to sleep more than 3 hours. She was fine with it; well, she was used to it. In the military, you wake up early all the time.
She slowly looked back up at the mirror, her reflection daunting, the way the shadows rolled over her features. She glanced away, eyes locking on a bottle of soap before turning back to the door. With a flick of the switch, the warm light turned off, the reassuring glow gone.
She lay back down in her bed; it hugged her softly. It was warm but cool at the same time; it made her feel safe, a hug she never got as a child. Her old clock read 2:20 am.
Her alarm went off, beeping like there was no tomorrow. She slammed her soft hand down on it, stopping it at once. She lay on her back for a few more minutes, her mind racing. She had not got any more sleep since she woke up from night terrors. I might go shopping today; well, I do need some more eggs, she thought. It would be the first time she had left her apartment in about 3 days – the PTSD made it hard; today would be the day.
Her car smelt like a mix of warm honey and freshly ground cinnamon. It was reassuring, mostly; just the thought of driving made her uneasy, but she pushed through, slowly turning the key in the ignition. The car roared to life. She moved her foot over to the accelerator before slowly pushing down; the car lurched forwards.
"Lyra, my favourite customer", John roared. He was a middle-aged man, probably around mid-40s. He had recently been divorced for the 2nd time. He had soft brown eyes that glinted in the harsh light of the coffee shop. He had a brown beard no longer than his chin. He had a soft, welcoming expression that stayed plastered on his large face. She flinched at his tone "Your usual, my darling", he asked, his voice becoming softer, realising what he had done. She nodded, her red hair -now pasted back in a tight bun- staying put. She walked over to her usual table, a small 2-person table hidden right at the back pasted against the wall. John had designed it specially for her, so that way she could scan over the entire shop, reading each person as she went along.
Good, no one seems to be much of a threat, she thought, her mind swelling with thoughts, thinking about the time she was wrong about someone and ended up nearly getting killed, but everyone and everything seemed normal.
She took out her laptop, a comfortable weight on her lap, she opened it her fingers tracing over the lines she traced her smooth fingers over the keys, before they reach for the on button she paused for a moment maybe she would do it maybe she would send an application letter to get a job as an ER nurse possibly. she had been thinking about it thinking about becoming one for a few years she went to med school when she was 18 her adopted mother had gave her a bit of money she knew how to treat simple injuries growing up in the foster system did that treating her own wounds and her foster siblings wounds was a big thing you had to learn every home taught her something whether it was to read people or to treat injuries.
It also helped that she was in the military she was a trauma surgeon saving lives being badass was in the job description making do of the little things like using a straw for a tracheostomy or using a general knife to perform a surgery she became good but she didn’t want to do surgery she only did it because her best friend – Eddie Diaz- was a medic she loved his family they became close after an incident at school one time when her foster father – an abusing piece of shit- hit her and hurt her Eddie noticed and his parents helped her and even fostered her for a few months honestly she thinks they both wanted to be more than friends but Eddie had Shannon his gorgeous wife so they just stayed friends.
But he died in the helicopter crash; he was dead. She would never see him again. And he thought the same; he thought that his best friend had died in a helicopter crash and he was the only survivor.
But how wrong they were.
The laptop flashed before showing a battery low symbol she sighed a long heavy sigh were is my coffee when I need it she thought she slammed her laptop shut it echoed across the small café her usual place she comes her every morning it reminds her of Eddie somehow made her feel safe it smelt like cinnamon honey sugar and kindness she came at 6 am every morning always getting the same item – an iced expresso with no whipped cream it reminded her of the army she would sit with her friends sipping a black coffee while they complain about the drill sergeant god she misses him “shit” she muttered under her breath of course it flat she thought.
“Here you go,” John said, his eyes glinting with friendliness and warmth. He was the type of guy who would take a bullet for you, always kind, always well-read, deciding whether or not to try to cheer you up or leave you alone. He was smart, kind, funny, and generally a good man “My nephew–Julio– is still single, you know. He is a good-looking lad,” he chuckled. She rolled her eyes playfully “Yes, well,” she paused for dramatic effect “, My Auntie Jenna is single; you might be able to shoot your shot,” she teased. He chuckled slightly, his eyes glinting in the light. He shook his head playfully before setting the cup down. She took a sip. Perfect, she thought; it tasted like kindness fu. Then warmth. She tucked her knees up to her chest, sighing.
Everything was perfect; everything was good. She was happy; she was fine. Nothing bad would happen today.
At least that is what she thought.