The Code of The Alpha

Chapter Forty-Five - Survivor's Guilt

The first conscious thought I remember having was in the upstairs loft.

It was dark outside. The moon was hidden by storm clouds, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the room briefly.

I could hear the strong gusts of wind, the rumbling of thunder, and the sheets of rain that pounded into the roof above me.

I smelt like paint and misery.

The canvas I'd dedicated months to laid in front of me, it's frame mangled and bent. The once carefully detailed collage of colors making up a portrait had been smeared haphazardly with black paint that also coated my hands.

Sitting with my back in a corner, knees pulled into my chest, I felt a like a shell of a human.

All the emotional energy I owned had been completely spent.

I had cried until I couldn't cry anymore. My throat felt like I'd swallowed acid, raw with the screaming that came alongside mourning two traumatic deaths.

The only thing I had left was a broken, beating heart.

And all I could do was sleep.

I didn't want to be awake.

Because that was when I thought.

I thought about the vacant spot beside me as I walked down the aisle. I thought about the empty chairs and bleachers where one pair of my children's grandparents wouldn't sit to watch them play or sing. I thought about how hard every holiday season would be for the rest of my life.

I thought about how I would never be able to see blood again without remembering being coated by it. I thought about how I would never be able to hear the sound of a bullet being fired without a terrifying flashback.

For the remainder of my life, every snap of a twig or echo of a howl would bring me back to that moment and force me to relive the trauma.

So, from the thoughts and from the triggers, I hid in a deep and dreamless sleep.

Just as my drowsy, swollen eyelids began to close again, I heard creaking on the staircase as someone ascended to the loft.

I saw the shadow of his large, muscular frame as he walked into the room, stopping a few feet away to kneel in front of me.

A few moments of silence passed as he pondered what to say.

"You need to eat something," Luca whispered finally.

I remained silent.

"It's been two days," he said. "You're going to starve."

No, I won't, I thought. I'm not even hungry.

"I'd be happy to make you anything, or I can go get something... But, amore, you've got to eat," he pressed.

"I'm not hungry," I whispered.

Luca sighed before standing up.

I felt like a rag doll as he reached out and pulled my limp body into his arms, turning to carry me downstairs.

My eyes closed as I felt myself rocked by the movement of his steps, beginning to slip into another comatose state.

I was jolted awake by the blindingly bright light in his bathroom as he turned it on.

When Luca bent over to turn on the faucet of the bathtub, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.