Briar lying on the cabin floor, covered in blood, her cheek and side slashed open. Briar standing over X’s body, clutching a blood-covered knife. Briar lying under me, scrabbling to get away. The images are so vivid, they almost seem real. For a moment, I just lie there, shaking.
Then I stand up.
The lounge is empty. The nest-bed Kenta and Glen made on the couch is just a rumpled pile of quilts and pillows. I look around the room, peering into the kitchenette, then through the window onto the balcony, but there’s no sign of life.
“Briar!” I call. My voice is rough and hoarse from inhaling all the goddamn smoke last night. I clear my throat, trying again. “Briar!” There’s no response. The hotel suite is completely still. Outside, a bird lands on the terrace railing, twittering.
I push out of the living room and towards her bedroom, but when I let myself inside, everything is untouched. There are still hair products and bits of makeup scattered around on the dresser from when she was getting ready last night. My chest tightens. I head into the ensuite. It’s empty. Her toothbrush is wet, and the sweet scent of her body wash hangs in the air. Where the Hell is she?
There’s no way anyone could’ve got in here without us noticing, right? X is in custody. And I doubt he’ll be able to walk anytime soon, let alone sneak into a guarded hotel room.
Still. This is freaking me out.
I slam out of her bedroom and stride down the suite to the guys’ shared room, yanking open the door. Again, it’s empty. I feel panic rise up in me. She’s gone. She’s disappeared. Something’s happened to her. I’m about to run and raise the alarm when I hear running water coming from the ensuite bathroom.
“Briar!” I cross the room and slam my fist against the door. “Briar. Are you in there?”
The door opens, and Glen steps out in a t-shirt and jeans, a towel around his neck.
“Hey, man.” He runs his eyes over me. “You good?”
“Where is she?” I rasp. “Where the Hell is she?”
“Kenta took her to meet Julie. They needed to decide how much they were going to tell the media.”
Fear slams into me. “Alone? He took her outalone?!”
Glen sighs, swiping the towel through his hair as he pushes past me into the bedroom. “The threat is gone, Matt. He took her to a private spot, she’s only going to need one guard.”
“You don’t know that!” I grab a pair of jeans out of my open suitcase and yank them on. “Tell me where they are.”
“I don’t know,” Glen says slowly, lowering the towel to watch me. “Matt—”
“Well, I’ll just ask him.” I cast around for my phone. It’s on the bedside table, charging. I lunge for it.
Glen steps in front of me. “Matt.” I try to push past him, but he grabs my neck in both hands, forcing me to look at him. “Matt, listen.” His voice is steady. “You need to calm down. She’s been through Hell. You’ll just scare her again, if she comes back to you freaking out like this. She’sokay.”
I don’t say anything. My fists clench by my sides. I’m breathing too hard.
Glen claps a hand on my back. “C’mon. It’s okay. Sit down.”
He shoves me into the lounge and pushes me toward the sofa. I sit down, running my hands through my hair. “She’s okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“She’s okay.”
I close my eyes, shaking my head. I can’t breathe right. “She’s not okay.” I know she’s in danger. I can feel it. My hands are shaking violently. “She’s not okay.”
“She is okay. You need to call her?”
“No.” Sweat drips down my back. I fist my hands in my hair. I don’t want her to see me like this.
I think this is the worst part of the PTSD. It’s not the flashbacks or the night terrors. It’s the slow, seeping fear that permeates everything.
During my time serving, I saw people get blown up. Stabbed. Shot. I saw entire villages get bombed. I saw kids step in landmines, and innocent civilians caught in crossfire. Five years ago, I made a split-second decision that plunged three of the people I loved most into a waking nightmare for months.
And then, out of nowhere, I got pulled out of it all, patched up, and sent home. People suddenly expected me to get a nine-to-five job, working in an office and saving up for a mortgage. I was surrounded by people who cared about getting promotions, and going on diets, and seeing the new Marvel movie.
To function in society, you need to believe that you’re safe. We all know it’s a lie, but it’s a lie you need to believe to survive. Realistically, everybody knows that they’ll die one day. Everybody knows that, every second, around the world, people are getting killed, and assaulted, and robbed, and hurt. At this very moment, people are losing their kids, being run over, getting diagnosed with terminal illnesses. We’re living in a motherfucking horror movie, but most people can convince themselves that they’re safe. And they go about their lives, thinking about money, and their annoying neighbours, and celebrity gossip, like any of that fucking matters.
