Are You Always Like This?
The night was quiet. All that could be heard was the continuous spins of the fan that stood above you. Spinning and spinning as your eyes were shut closed, your attempt at getting some sleep for this restless night.
Sleep was not much of luck to achieve. Especially during midnight. But tonight, let's just say you were in some sort of luck.
But, as you thought peace would finally sleep over you, that's when the gunshots came in. Ringing across your ears, you found yourself back in the field. As men fell back with blood across their bodies, gushing out faster than you can comprehend, you turned to see a man through a window.
And before you knew it, your feet were dragged into the steps you remembered all too well.
Though the shots continued, you made your way through the bullets until you found yourself kicking the door down, pointing your sniper to the man who stared right at you.
In your awaking body, your breath quickened, hitching onto itself as your chest sucked in into a dramatic and deep breath that you took. "No...", You muttered under your breath. The recall of events happening to quickly for you to process — too quickly too even acknowledge the pain that comes from them one by one.
In your ears you hear the echoing cries of a woman after the gunshot went out. hysterically crying behind you. Turning around to see her, face to face, the image in front of you turned to be yourself holding the gun.
Shooting at the same place where the man had been shot by you.
Jolting your hand up quickly to cover your face, your eyes opened wide, wincing at the remembrance of the loud bullet coming off against your ears.
Its noise too intolerable.
Gasping out loud, you caught your breath before looking around, seeing no one in your way. The morning was just coming out as your thin curtains paved the sun behind the other side.
Breathing deeply, you slowly closed your eyes just for one moment of silence to last. All until everything come back the moment you opened them to finally wake yourself into this day of hell. One that was just like the other.
Lowering your back into your pillow, you sighed out the words, "Shit," as you pulled the covers out of your way.
Groaning, you made your way through your flat, a sense of your reality takes place as you stare at the drapes — covering each mirror you could find, preventing the reflections from staring back at you.
The streets were consumed with noise. Around every corner, through every wall, each were a noise that rang across one's ears, even from miles away that noise will still infiltrate their very minds.
Walking through the crowded streets, it was almost suffocating. Almost. As much as it felt like that, I was just another person passing by as much as the others.
Rolling off the sidewalk, you made your way to the side of the curb. As cars continuously passed by, you waited until the path was clear to make your way through the streets. one by one, they passed.
Staring down at the windows for a moment, a car slowly passed.
And that's when you saw them.
Dark figures hiding behind you. Their heights scattered — some taller than you. Engulfing you almost. Your body froze. it couldn't move. It couldn't. Stuck in place, you parted your lips, a small gasp coming out as your body tensed, gripped onto itself.
No, this isn't real.
Your breaths turned more ragged after each second you stared into his eyes.
'This isn't real', you repeated yourself. A mantra that could never be convincing.
The fear struck in your body until the car had finally completely passed. Taking a step back, you held a hand across your chest, trying to catch your breath.
You could feel the stares. Behind you. In front of you. Staring at the woman who had just seemed too paralyzed to move in a large crowd. It grew annoyance — not only to them, but to you. To you because you couldn't stop being afraid whenever they showed themselves to you.
Holding a firm grip onto you that only violated you with fear.
Entering Gena's Diner, you walked to the end, seating yourself in the last booth. Looking out, there was only three other people sitting throughout, enjoying their mugs of coffee that got them though the day as they stared down at the news paper. Their heads remained down, almost as if they wanted to shut off the voices and noises made by the entire world itself.
Hearing footsteps reach you, a lady dressed in white and pink smiled at you, holding out a note pad to take your order. "Can I get you something, hon'?"
Composing yourself, you took a quick look down at your menu."Yes," you stuttered over your words, pointing down at the name of, "The Flapjacks, please."
She nodded before looking up to the ringing of the bell. Her smile soon glowed even further as came over to a man, a hoodie over his head. As the woman brought the man into a tight hug, it almost sounded like he was choking. Giggling, she pushed him back softly.
"Long time, no see, darling. The usual?" she asked.
The man waved his hand, pointing to you, "Has she ordered, yet?"
"Mhm."
Walking over to you, he sat himself down in front of you, his hands clasping together as they rested onto the cold table. "Then I'll have what she's having." Even through his covered eyes, even as his face was hiding, you could even feel the smile this man had drawn across his face.
Without recognizing the man, it was enough for you to reach down to the inside of your jacket, feeling the gun you hid inside. But, before you could even pull it out, the man had pulled down his hoodie, revealing a face you recognized too well out of anywhere.
Your lips parted, your surprise took a hold over you. Returning the gun onto into its pocket, you shook your head — completely dazed at the sight in front of you. "Shit,"
"Never thought I'd see you again." He said.
"Could say the same for you."
Smiling gently, you began to think back into the moments the two of you spent together. The tireless nights spent outside, underneath the stars in the cold nights. The burning sky raining down on the two of you two scattered around the sands, through mines, laughing at his pointless and ironically funny jokes that would occasionally make no sense.
In the night, when winter came, he would always lend you the same jacket. And you would give it back to him the next morning. That was until the day he left without a say. Discharged without you knowing. And now, here he was in front of you. Like a ghost coming back from the dead.
"So, how's it been for you?" you asked, furrowing your brows as you waited for an answer. "Last I heard from you were getting into some trouble up in Cairo."
Ah, yes. Cairo. A place Marc had recognized too well after spending years of his life there. A place that haunted him whenever he was dragged to return back. And he wouldn't do it willingly. Not after what happened. All unless something was urgent there. Besides that, nothing would want to make him return. Too many haunting for him to bare.
"If saving people is trouble then I am a dead man," another goddamn cocky smile came from him.
Giving him a small chuckle in return, your expression switched back into its serious as your face was drawn with concern now. You didn't want something, this, to be a joke he could laugh out of with you. The day he was discharged, left without a word, a moment you thought he was gone.
That this man that was very much alive was very much dead. "No, but seriously. What happened?"
He sighed.
Looking away for a moment, the silence grew in between the two of you. No longer filled with such brightness and happiness like the years before. Now, the moment the two of you shared was just surrounded by continuous sizzles and the teasing smell of bacon.
Marc shook his head. "We can't talk about it here, you know." He said. For a first, he was scared. And remembering him back in the Marine Corps, he was never scared. Not unlike others.
Gena came in between the two of you, holding out a pot of coffee — the smoke coming out of the top as she brought it near the two mugs near you. "Damn, Spector," she laughed. "Didn't know you had it in you to be a pussy."
"Thanks, Gena." He smiled. "Wonderful to see you again, too."
"If you must know, hon', he got himself married to fine woman." She said before walking away.
You raised a brow, your expression as shocked as it could be before you looked back at Spector — his face hiding in his own body, embarrassed what he would have to go over to explain his own marriage to someone but himself. "You got married?"
Taking the mug into his hand, he rose it, a gesture before adding, "And divorced." He drank the steaming coffee, hoping to not say another word or continue the conversation even further before this all got worst.
"Oh, shit." Your smile of surprise dropped as soon as those words hit.
Shrugging, he lowered the mug back to the table. "My wife -ex wife," He corrected himself. "We wanted different things," No shit. Always from what you've heard relationships were hard. But marriages? Jesus, it's like you need a God to take away the chaos from the outside before the chaos from the two of you collide.
"...Something that I couldn't let go haunted me. And it hurt her, of course."
You frowned, looking down at the table for a moment before glancing back at his eyes. "Sorry about that."
He nodded, taking your condolences. As the silence grew in between the two of you again, you brought your attention away from him for second. But as you tried to gain the courage to bring up the mood, take out the despair, your own despair came in.
The silence grew even louder. The sizzles of food cooking became muffled as the voices of the fellow customers became faint. Your panic rose, knowing what was about to happen, and how you would react.
You tried your best to turn this silence away, to push off this cover of panic that submerged you. But even trying wasn't enough in this case.
Turning your head away, you closed your eyes, wanting to draw away the silence. And at this point, you could feel the presence somewhere. Taunting you. It knew you felt it. It knew you were feeling it. It knew. And it wasn't going to let you pass through it. Not now. Not ever.
Opening your eyes, you found yourself looking out across the parking of the diner. Through the streets, crowds were filled, passing by one another without spot. That's where you saw it again.
The dark figure in the middle of the crowd. It'a black bandanna covering its face while it's evil eyes stared right into you. Fuck. Your body grew tense, your fingers dug into your nails, relieving some of the fear that was held inside of you.
"And you?"
Turning your head back. His words managed to take you out of the grounded silence. Your eyes widen, to hear his words clearly, confused but also relieved. Taking in a deep breath, you composed yourself, clasping your hands together, you met his eyes filled with worry.
He tilted his head to the side, asking, "You all right?" The simple and easiest answer was to say no. The smart decision would be to be honest to him. But knowing how crazy you would sound, how when the words would come out you would just be another woman out of the Marines, losing herself as others had assumed previously.
So, you lied. Looking down at your filled mug, you lied. Just for the sake of seeming like a mad woman."I'm fine."
"Are you always like this?"
You glanced up at him. "Like what?"
"Paranoid. Anxious," He started, leaning closer into you. "Last time I remember you weren't afraid of anything." Damn, he was right. Truthfully, of course you were scared. But all those years ago you kept your fear inside. But now? Now, your fear was the one that controlled your every move. Not your pride, not your dignity.
You remained silent. About to look away, his voice reached for your attention again. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"Do you know why I was discharged?" You asked him.
"IED took out your convoy, I heard. Sent you down on a spiral."
You wish that was just it. Just the IED, and the fact that you made it out alive. You wished for nights that that was all it was. "After the...the IED, there were more of them coming after us. They tried to murder my entire unit. I was one of the ten who survived,"
He frowned, scared knowing that if you weren't this afraid, then there was nothing to worry. But you looked afraid, which meant that it was only the opposite, that he should be concerned on what happened after. "What'd you do?"
"I avenged the ones who died." You confessed.
"I went on into a line of work. Assassinations, interrogations. I spent years of my life there until I specifically found the ones responsible for the attack."
"Someone lived, didn't they?"
You nodded. "Marc, I need help," You begged. "Your help."
Knowing that his answer would be a simple yes or no, that was what scared you. There would be no negotiation. If he wanted to help you, he knew the consequences — you hope he did. But, if he said no, there would no further pleading.
Marc was left to be in shock. Left to have to make a decision that would change every aspect in his life. He'd promised that no amount of money, or fortune would make him come back into his past — but, for you, he might have to make an exception.
The moment you asked for his help, he ran out. He left you. Left you to feel alone. Part of him has always ran away in situations. He ran away from Layla. He ran away from his marriage. He ran away from his home. He never ran toward, he never had the courage to run toward and confront the things that ruined him more.
This was another prime example. He remembers that night too well. The gunshots, the sand, the dying heat, the screaming, the pleading, the blood. Oh, the blood.
He remembers the way he dragged himself through the sands for hours. A voice behind his head taunting him —Khonshu.
Throwing his jacket onto the floor, Marc closed the door with his foot, dragging the palm of his hands across his face, exhaling a loud sigh. A moment, a spilt moment of peace, came before him. But then reality came back to him as soon as he heard Steven's voice; his tone filled with worry and fear.
'Marc, you aren't seriously thinking of coming back to this?' Marc had turned to the closest mirror. Staring into a small circular mirror hanged on the wall, he faced Steven's expression: his brows furrowed, his lips drawing a frown.
He didn't want to lie to him. For most of his life he has been lied to, he wanted to have it different with Steven from now on. Sighing, he confessed, "Trust me, buddy, this is the last thing I want myself.
From the looks of it, Steven backed away from Marc through the reflection, looking down as his fingers as they fidgeting.
"Steven, talk to me, buddy." Marc came closer to the mirror.
It took a moment before Steven gave a reply. It wasn't anything like a plan, but it was the root of his worry. The main root. Not whether Marc was ready, not whether they were ready to help, but it was, "You don't it could be him, do you?"
The words struck him hard. His eyes widen, Steven's did the same seeing Marc's reaction.
Quickly, without a second thought, he took out his phone and dialed the number you left with before he stood up and left. If you were somehow a part of this, even the slightest, then you're already dead. Just another human walking around the Earth. No thoughts but needing to survive. Your innocence corrupted.
Shaking, he waited for you to answer.
You were at an open bar. The light and faint sound of music surrounding your body as you felt the drums even beneath you. Having all of your attention on a way to get out, you zoned out before you heard your phone ring, buzzing until you flipped it to face you, seeing a number appear on your screen.
It has to be been him.
As soon as you answered, you picked up the phone to hear the words, "What was his name?"
Shaking your head softly, you furrowed your brows at the sudden rain of questions coming forward. "The victims? It's a long list-" He cut you off.
"No, your boss," he corrected. "The one who put you in the line of work."
Fuck, you thought.
Sighing, you knew once you put his name out you wouldn't even be considered alive. Swallowing thickly, you closed your eyes, hoping that you could return back through time to ensure your mistakes were never made. Hell, you never had pleasure in killing. There was no joy in it. There was none of that. But, somehow you still took it. Somehow, you still killed them. You killed them all.
That's why you were still here. You couldn't learn how to stop. Wrong deeds always came your way until killing was the only way out, until it was the way to survive.
Opening your eyes, you answered his question. You spilled out his name knowing the consequences. But you were already dead. "Bushman. Raoul Bushman."
Quiet. Silence. There was no immediate reply.
That's when your worry began to come in. When was your last mission?"
"December of last year." You answered.
Another question. "Do you know if he's still active?"
You didn’t answer. After a while, you asked him a question of your own, "Do you know him?"
No answer came from him. You repeated, "Marc, do you know him?" more harsher this time.
He sighed. "I do. Yeah, I do."
You thought of this as a confession. The way you interpreted his answer was way off than Marc had realized as soon as you asked, "You still working for him? Did you follow me to the diner knowing it was me?"
He scoffed through the phone, almost convinced. Almost. "No, I'm not. I didn't follow you anywhere."
You wish you could believe him. But after a while, it’s hard to find people you can trust.
"Marc, don't play dumb with me." Through your tone, Marc began to tense knowing that the same paranoia was most likely going to get you killed if you would begin to run around, trying to take yourself off Bushman’s game.
"Stay the hell away from me. Tell Bushman the same." You warned him.
"I'm not workin-" Before he could finish, you had ended the call, leaving him to worry, his concern rising as he rushed toward the door, picking up his jacket from the floor before opening the door, throwing it closed as soon as he walked out.
"Where are you going?" He could hear Steven from the headspace.
Marc had prepared himself for the cold night as he dragged the jacket over his arms. "If she leaves, she's dead. They have eyes on her."
Taking another shot into your mouth, you winced at the burning of the alcohol. Soon enough, the bartender handed you another one, in which you thanked him before he left to attend another customer.
You had to think of plan. One that you could get out of here without being noticed, without being followed, all until you can finally get out of here. Go somewhere where no one can find you. Somewhere safe.
Gazing around left and right, as if they objects around you has answers, you let your mind wander. Turning your head left, you stared at others drinking. Your fear wasn't getting the best of you until you recognized a face of a man sitting on a chair, taking a sip out of a drink himself. His eyes looked straight at you, leaving no confusion in between the two of you but an understanding on who he was.
"Oh, fuck," you whispered. Moving your head away, you tensed your body, wanting to hide in your clothes. But, no. One more minute in here and you wouldn't be getting out of here.
Letting out a deep exhale, you took the next shot before returning the glass back to the counter, leaving it with money. Pushing yourself off the chair, you made your way into the bathroom, passing besides people.
As you passed couples making out in the halls, you finally made your way into the woman's restroom. Waiting for the last woman to leave, as soon as she did, you locked the door in which the last bathroom was in.
Spotting a window, you decided that that could be your way of escaping. Lifting your feet into the toilet seat, you stumbled back before catching yourself. Opening the window you became hesitate that you wouldn't even be able to fit. Jesus, what were you thinking.
Before you could even begin to panic, your body suddenly was dragged back, meeting the eyes of the man who was staring at you, "Where you think you're going, pretty lady?" he smiled, a devilish smile you will say that.
Breathing deeply, you focused on the men that surrounded you, letting your impulses get the best of you before you kicked the man the furthest on your left in the crotch. His hands immediately jolted in between his thighs before he stumbled back, falling into the toilet.
Hearing the splash, you punched the one in the middle right in the jaw, sending him back until his head hit the wooden stall. The last one on your left panicked, walking back before you kicked him further, hitting his head against the sink.
As soon as you were about to flee the scene, your body was drawn back, arms around your neck as you tried your best to jerk your body away from him, "Fuck!" you screamed out, their elbows hitting your head.
Struggling to breathe under their arms, you saw the man in front of you being himself back onto his feet, looking at you with the same smile. He dragged his fingers across your hair, "I think we got her, don't ya think?"
You bit him before you kicked yourself against his chest, sending him flying back again before you flipped, causing the man that was holding you to fall behind before his back could break.
As the men grunted, the one from the toilet finally stood himself up to you, holding a gun directly at you before you swiftly pulled it away, hitting him with the back of it. Holding the collar of his shirt, you punched him. Over and over and over again. With his blood splattered over your face, you threw one finally hard punch at him before he was unconscious.
Taking a deep breath, you turned around to face the other two men, seeing they had guns of their own. Your eyes widened as they pulled down on the trigger. Covering your head with your arms, you shot back at them.
Hearing the sudden screams outside, the footsteps of the customers were heard as they all screamed out the word 'gunshots'.
With the weight of their bodies, the sink broke, water spurring out. Grasping their guns, you threw it across the bathroom before you pulled the trigger yourself on the gun you still held.
The last man standing kicked you on your back, sending you falling. Holding yourself on your palms, you turned your head back to see his knife coming after you. Dodging it, you held his arms as he tried pushing it toward your neck. Grunting, you stared into his eyes, determined to see your blood, determined to see your dead body lying below him.
Pushing him as hard as you could, you brought yourself back onto your feet, adrenaline spiking over you as you grabbed the broken piece of the sink.
Rushing to you, you threw it across his face, immediately his body fell.
Without the sounds of the constant grunts, it sounded like another night outside where silence completely dazed over you. Looking down at the man, blood was spreading over the floor.
Your chest rise and fell, still gripping hard on the weapon you held. Feeling another presence staring right at you, you noticed the door opened. And right at the entrance was Marc. The grip was tighter now, intending to use it to take him out.
"Over there!" you heard someone yell out. Your attention turned away from him before he yanked your body towards him, running out of the bar through another exit.
No matter how hard you tried pulling away from him, you followed. Through the bullets that impaled the wall, through the screams of the innocents inside, through the evil and chaos that lurked inside this bar, no longer filled with the feeling of thrills.
As soon as Marc shut the door, you jerked away from his grip, backing away from him, "What are you doing?" you asked bitterly.
Seeing his eyes glance left and right until it stayed in place, you pushed onto his chest, but he didn't move. Anger flowed inside you, demanding for an answer that didn't come out of him. He remained still, paralyzed. "Marc." you called out.
No response out of him made your attention turn to where he was looking at, seeing another man stand in the alleyway where the two of you stood. "Holy shit," the man began, gazing at the man in front of you, as if he was looking at the devil himself.
"Marc Spector," where the words that came out of him before he rushed up to him, throwing a punch.
The two of them began a fight, blood sputtering out of their faces as grunts filled your ears.
Panic began to grow inside of you seeing them both fall onto the floor, the man bringing his foot onto his chest, making Marc's head hit against the concrete. A loud groan came out of him. Seeing the man pull out a gun from his holster, you did the same, grasping onto the gun you held in your jacket.
As Marc attempted to regain his conscious from the rapid movements, he saw the man point the gun to his head.
"Go to hell, Spector." he said, about to pull down the trigger.
But before he could do himself, the man was sent down, blood splattering against Marc's face as he remained still from fear for a moment before holding his upper body with his elbows. Looking left, he saw you lower the gun that had shot him.
A confused expression laid upon your face until you looked at him, relieved but alas i'm distress. "They didn't know you were alive." you said, more as a statement than a question.
Pulling himself up, he walked over to you, and to his surprise you still pulled yourself away from him. "I told you, you can trust me."
He understood your drift from others, your isolation. For most of the times when we spend so much time alone from others, we learn it's best for it to stay that way. He found that out the hard way. "I know it's easier said than done but you gotta learn how to trust people or you're not gonna make it far enough to stay alive,"
He had a point. It's been years since you had last relied on someone. You weren't going to make that same mistake. But, if you wanted to remain alive, maybe that cycle would have to break.
"Remember," he sighed, "trust has to go both ways."
"I won't let them get you. I promise."
You nodded as he put his jacket over you. Just like he did all those years ago.