Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
A battlefield erupted before Fish's eyes. The scene was thick with smoke. The stench of burning debris singed the hairs of his nose. Explosions rocked the ground beneath him, the sharp crack of gunfire piercing the chaos.
His hands fumbled as he tried to press down on the gaping wound in the soldier’s chest. The warmth of the blood seeped through his fingers. It was everywhere—slick and sticky—staining his hands, soaking into his clothes, pooling on the ground. The soldier’s eyes were wide and glassy, his life slipping away with every passing second.
“Stay with me,” Fish commanded, his voice trembling as he fought against the rising panic.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, his fingers numb and useless. He wasn’t a medic; he didn’t know how to save a life, only how to disarm a bomb. He'd done that. He'd gotten the civilians out safely, but it was gunfire that had taken one of his men down.
The soldier’s bloodied hand gripped his wrist. His touch was weak, desperate, and then…nothing. The grip slackened, the light in the soldier’s eyes dimming into a haunting void.
A cold dread squeezed his chest, making it hard to breathe. The helplessness surged through him like a blast wave from an explosion, sudden and overpowering, leaving him disoriented and gasping for air. He was failing this soldier, flailing at leadership, like shrapnel extending from a blast. At the same time, he couldn't move. He was trapped in the relentless grip of a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
He was dreaming, he knew it. This wasn't the present. It was his past, but the nightmare had its tentacles stuck in him. That was the way of PTSD.
“Fish, it’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up.”
Fish tried to open his eyes but couldn't. His mind was still trapped in the nightmare. His hand shot out instinctively, gripping at a neck. The moment he felt her skin under his hand, a jolt of clarity pierced through the fog of his terror. His eyes slammed open to see a fresh new hell: fear in Jules' beautiful eyes.
“Fish?” It came out choked.
He released her immediately, horror and shame flooding through him. “Jules, I’m so sorry.” He scrambled away from her, his back hitting the corner of her couch. “I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry.”
Jules rubbed her neck, her eyes still wide but now filled with understanding rather than fear. “It’s okay, Fish. It was just a dream. You didn’t mean it.”
Fish couldn’t shake the guilt. The thought that he could have hurt her, even unintentionally, tore at him. “I should have told you,” he said, his voice breaking. “About the nightmares.”
The room was quiet, the only sounds the faint rustling of leaves outside and their labored breathing. The air smelled faintly of the brownies they had baked earlier, a comforting scent that contrasted sharply with the turmoil in his mind. Had it only been a few hours ago that she'd closed the door in Amari's face? They'd sat on the couch with her plans for the bakery spread on the coffee table. She'd gone on and on about her plans until her eyes drooped. Fish had risen to go, but she'd stayed him with a hand on his forearm.
Now she reached up to touch her neck, her fingers brushing over the marks he'd left there. She winced slightly, but her eyes remained gentle and understanding. The red imprint of his hand stood out against her pale skin, each finger outlined in an angry, crimson hue. The sight of it made his stomach churn, a visceral reminder of the nightmare he had just woken from.
The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing down as guilt and shame washed over him in waves. He had done this. He had hurt Jules, the person he cared about more than anything. The thought was unbearable.
"I should go." Fish rose to leave, but once more Jules stayed him with her hand on his forearm.
"I had nightmares after my mother died. I dreamed my father would die soon. And then, he did."
It was the weight of her words that made Fish sit back down. His hands reached for her without his permission. His arms circled around her, pulling her close without hesitation. He felt her tremble slightly, her small frame leaning into his for support. The scent of vanilla and cocoa from their earlier baking filled the air, mingling with the faint hint of her shampoo, creating a comforting cocoon around them.
"I'd wake up screaming and crying, my arms and limbs flailing like I was running and fighting at the same time. Jacqui caught it in the eye once or twice."
Jules wrinkled her nose as if remembering her distasteful behavior from the past. A shadow of guilt flickered across her face, her eyes dropping to the floor as if she could still see her sister’s startled expression in the dark of those nights.
"Jacqui is a lucid dreamer. She always told me to simply change my dreams, as if it were that easy. But a lot of things came easy to my big sister." Jules smiled faintly at the memory. "Still, it was good advice. I started thinking positive thoughts before I went to bed at night. I’d think about all the good times I had with my parents and how much they loved me. Pretty soon, the nightmares went away."
Fish listened intently, his heart aching for the pain she had endured. The idea of her struggling with nightmares, feeling that same helplessness, struck a chord deep within him. He tightened his hold, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a quiet reassurance against her cheek. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The silence between them was enough, filled with the unspoken understanding of two souls who had both battled their demons, and somehow, were still standing.
"Maybe you could try it too," she suggested gently. "Think about something good, something that makes you happy before you go to sleep."
Fish nodded slowly, the idea resonating with him. He could try that. He could think of her.
"I'm sorry about last night and Amari. I'd like to say that he's not usually like that. But that wouldn't be the truth. He's used to getting his own way."
"I'm not interested in his way. I'm only interested in your way."
"After you clear my path." Jules pulled away from him, seeming to realize they weren't being entirely professional in this moment.
"What do you need me to move out of your way today?"
"Well, this morning I need to go and see an immovable object that is beyond your power: my grandmother."