08| red

NADIA

I never knew it was possible for someone's scream to echo so loudly that it physically hurt.

The sound reverberated through my mind, making my head throb. I placed my cold hand over my burning chest, my heart racing like I had run a couple of miles. Every beat felt like a hammer pounding against my ribcage.

I could taste my own hot, salty tears rolling down my cheek, the bitterness of fear lingering on my lips. My breathing was uneven, and it felt like soon I wouldn't be able to breathe at all. The air was thick with tension, and my lungs struggled to expand. I was having yet another panic attack, the fourth one this week.

"Mama—" I tried to call out, but my voice was barely a whisper.

"Shh," my mom cut me off quickly, her hands covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear, but she tried to conceal it, pulling me closer to her.

She held me tight, her arms wrapped around me like a shield. She placed a kiss on my forehead, her lips cold and trembling. "You have to be quiet, sweetie. They can't hear us," she whispered, as if I was magically supposed to understand what that meant.

We were hiding in a closet, the bullets and the voices of a bunch of men battling it out just outside. The sounds were deafening, the smell of gunpowder and sweat filling my nostrils. I could feel the vibrations of footsteps through the floor, heavy and menacing.

"Where are those stupid kids?" I heard a man yell, his voice muffled by the closet door. I heard the sound of glass shattering, and my heart skipped a beat. Through the small gap in the closet, I could see a man with tattoos all over him, turning our home into a pigsty.

He was destroying everything, smashing furniture and vases, his eyes wild with anger.

"We can't leave without one of them dead men—the boss will kill us himself," another man said, his voice dripping with malice. I felt a chill run down my spine as I heard the sound of a gun being cocked.

After a few moments of shutting my eyes, trying to block out the horror, I heard a loud bang. My eyes shot open, and my gaze landed on my brother, Zeke. He was lying on the floor, his eyes wide open, a pool of blood spreading from his head.

I tried to break free from my mom's hold, but she pulled me further back, her grip like a vice. I looked at her, tears streaming down my face, and saw that she was crying too. The hot liquid on my body wasn't my tears this time—it was mama's.

I woke up with a jolt, my body practically boiling as I felt the dried tears on my cheek.

I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. My heart was still racing, my mind foggy with the images of the dream.

I ripped the duvet off me, throwing it aside as I got out of bed. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to move, my bare feet padding against the cold floor. I made my way to Zeke's room, my heart racing with every step.

I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Panic set in, and I didn't hesitate before opening the door without a second thought. He wasn't in his bed, and my mind started racing with worst-case scenarios. I checked the bathroom, but he wasn't there either. My breath came in short gasps as I made my way downstairs, my eyes scanning the empty living room. I resorted to the kitchen, my last hope, and finally found him there.

I exhaled loudly, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. It was just a dream, Alex. Just a dream, like momma always said.

When I was younger, I used to have nightmares similar to this, but mama would always reassure me that they were nothing and that it was normal.

This was the first one I had since I was 13, and I was 17 now, so it was weird. My parents always argued over me having therapy - mama wanted it, and my dad disagreed. Those days when they'd fight over me, Zeke would always be there to talk to, and he was the one who removed the idea from her head. I was thankful for that.

I couldn't imagine 13-year-old me going to therapy - I didn't think anyone wanted that for themselves.

I made my way into the kitchen, my legs still shaking slightly, and took a seat on one of the chairs near the kitchen island.

My brother looked over to me with a cheeky smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I made your favorite," he says, and I inhaled the scent of freshly cooked pancakes. M

y stomach growled in response, but I knew I couldn't eat anything without brushing my teeth - it was just impossible for me.

Once Zeke finished dishing, he handed over the plate, and I reached for it, only for him to take it right back, bursting into laughter. "You really thought I woke up to make you something," he teased, his eyes shining with mirth. I rolled my eyes, feeling a mix of annoyance. "You're such a jerk, Zeke," I said, shaking my head as I got off the chair to go brush my teeth.

The sound of his phone ringing caused me to stop in my tracks. My eyes landed on the caller ID, and my heart skipped a beat. It was our mom.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should answer it. But my curiosity I did anyways. "Morning, Ma," I said, trying to sound cheerful. Her face popped up on the screen, along with Dad's. They were both smiling, but I could sense a hint of concern in their eyes.

"Hey, who told you to answer my phone?" Zeke shot me a look, his eyes narrowing slightly. He grabbed the phone from me, and I rolled my eyes, trying to get it back. But he used his height to his advantage, raising the phone higher so I couldn't reach it. I huffed, feeling a bit annoyed. "Idiot," I muttered under my breath.

"Alex, why are you up early?" Dad asked, his voice firm but gentle. I blinked, not wanting to tell them the truth. I didn't want to worry them, and I definitely didn't want this to be an opportunity for Mom to get me into therapy. "I couldn't sleep," I half-lied. "And Zeke tricked me into thinking he made me my favorite breakfast," I added, trying to sound as believable as possible.

"Zeke, sweetheart, you have to stop doing that to your sister," Mom chided, her voice laced with amusement. "Boo-hoo. You guys are no fun," Zeke replied.

While Zeke was talking to our parents about God knows what, I decided to quickly slip away to the bathroom. My mind was racing with thoughts, and I needed a moment to myself. I rinsed my mouth, feeling a sense of urgency wash over me. It was time to confront my family about the secrets they were keeping from me.

I patted my mouth dry and left the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. It was like perfect timing, because Zeke was already off the phone.

"I'm tired of all the secrets, Zeke," I said, my voice firm but shaking slightly. He looked at me, his face falling as he turned his back to me. But I refused to back down. "Please," I exhaled, holding onto a thread of hope.

And finally, after 17 years of living in the dark, Zeke gave in.