27. daegan

27

DAEGAN

It's cold and dark. The pain feels fresh, and I keep thinking about Dario…and God.

The last time I saw him, he was standing on his two feet, and we were talking about how he wants to run the next marathon whenever he gets a chance to do it and how we were going to stop by the tattoo shop that sits outside of the base that everyone goes to.

And now the last image I had of him when I was going in and out of consciousness, still unable to breathe right or hear, was blood coming out of his knees because his shins and feet were no longer attached to him.

My brother, even though we share different birth moms, needed me, and I felt helpless. I tried to overcome the blast wound and check on him, but I was consumed by black shadows and woke up in a basement surrounded by HVTs, and I knew I was fucked. I knew that I should have died during that blast because what they had planned for me was worse than death.

I stare at The Surgeon as he laughs with his friends. He's cutting me open, stabbing me with the goal to make me scream…but I never give him the satisfaction of hearing it.

"So I'm going to ask you again. What's your fucking name?"

"It's Creature, you asshole."

He stabbed me in my gut. The knife went through my skin and pierced my flesh. My body was starting to become numb to it all. A mercy I was grateful for.

"I'm sure your mom wanted to name you something different."

"She's dead, but yeah…no, thank you. Creature fits my smile, don't you think?"

The last thing I see is his dark brown eyes and wicked smile after I spat my blood in his face. I'll never forget that moment. Because that was when I knew he had more ideas of torment up his sleeves.

I bolt up from my sleep and clutch my knife tight in my hand, and I swing in front of me, stabbing the eerie silent air.

I'm breathing heavily as I growl. I pull at my hair in anguish.

Fuck these nightmares.

I look around, clutching the knife so tight it stings. My chest and lungs tighten, and I'm breathing harshly as blood rushes to my head. I realized I had put my palm on my blade, cutting myself open when I grabbed it. I drop it to my nightstand, carefully placing the knife I made from scratch back by the lamp and my cell phone. I'm sweating again, and my entire body is covered in it. My bedsheets and my boxers are drenched. I'm trying to tone down my breathing because I'm not in that basement anymore. I'm in a barracks room.

On babysitting duty.

Nothing scares me, and I thrive on that. I love pain, and I love to inflict fear onto people even more. I love to work, I love to shoot, and I love to protect my brothers when we're fighting alongside each other. I love to be their eyes on the sky, taking that stress off their shoulders, knowing I never fucking miss.

I look at the bottles of beer in the corner of my room. My lamp is on, and the fan is off—it's just how I like to sleep.

I get up from the bed and head towards the beer. I snap the top off and drink it fast. It glides down, and I gulp it like water in the middle of the desert.

I haven't had a nightmare in a while. I used to dream of my time in the basement every single night, but the nightmares died down. They went from daily to weekly until finally, it's rare when I wake up like I'm fighting for my life. And it all started when I saw Alessia for the first time.

I need to change this. I can't get attached. I shouldn't want to fuck her. But I do, and I want to fuck her all the time, and show her how depraved I can get when I claim someone as mine.