Nevada Winds - TFP

4.

KAYDE

The fabric of the cap in his hands was enough to make him emotional, not something he was most of the time. The storm was a mixture of pain and fury as he grasped onto the camouflaged cap, staring at the muddled greens, greys and browns. At the corner of his eye, an old jacket hung in his closet, one with a patch that had his name. On the same hanger a silver dog tag had been tied onto it. Kayde set his jaw, sucking in a sharp breath and setting the hat gingerly onto the vanity.

In the darkness of his room he was safe. Rather, it was his parents room or had once been. He still hadn't brought himself to sleep in their old bed and yet, he still couldn't move it out. The aching in Kayde's heart as he even thought of the idea forced him to not even fathom it. Instead he slept on a cold, stern mat place in the center of the carpeted room. A thin blanket was the only thing he'd offered himself, he didn't deserve anything else. Shirtless, he stared at the various circular scars on his left upper arm and the one left in the center of his chest, the one that'd nearly killed him.

Kayde snapped his eyes away from the mirror when the echoes of gunshots rang in his ears and goosebumps raised over his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled and his legs became weak when he shook. He let himself fall onto the ground when he couldn't hold himself up anymore. He brought his legs up to his chest and covered his ears, shutting his eyes tight and hiding his face in his knees, rocking himself back and forth with his back against the vanity. The circular wooden knobs on the drawers dug uncomfortably into his back but he didn't care.

Not while the sensation of hot wind and dirt began to creep up his skin, like a blazing capsule that completely wrapped around him. Kayde's brows furrowed, his nostrils flared to take in more oxygen. His stomach churned. With a gasp, he forced himself to his feet and quickly rushed into the bathroom connected to the bedroom, keeling over the toilet just in time to vomit into the bowl. He pressed his forehead up against the back of the seat in an attempt to cool himself down, the sweat on his forehead beaded, running from his face to the tip of his nose and dropping off. He swallowed bile and heaved again.

When there was nothing left and the heaving was over, Kayde used the counter of the sink to help himself stand and pressed down on the handle of the toilet to flush down the remnants of whatever he'd had for dinner that night. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and used his elbow to turn the handle on the sink, thrusting his hands under the water. He grabbed onto the bar of soap and scrubbed, but that wasn't enough. He let it fall to the floor in a flurry of panic, then scraped at his skin with his fingernails until his arms were raw and his fingers hurt.

When it was all over, the shut the water off and clumsily fumbled for the towel to dry off his hands. He checked his face in the mirror. He had scruffy stubble, his black, wavy hair as disheveled as ever. Grown out, not buzzed short. A sloppy bristle, not a clean face. He licked his lips to wet them, they'd dried and the skin had cracked. The taste of salt burned his tongue from his sweaty skin. He panted and swallowed it back. He staggered into his room and with shaking hands, opened a bottle of pills and dropped two into his hand, tossing them back. They scratched his throat as they went down with no water.

Kayde wasn't sure how long it took or the amount of time he'd stood there before his tired, fast-beating heart calmed and his muscles relaxed, the relief of their statue-tensed pressure letting steadier blood flow back to his hands and feet so they were no longer cold. Soon his pale and sweaty face flushed back to normal and he breathed a sigh of relief. It's been a while since one of these. He thought to himself. Come on. You're better than this. Can't be this dramatic. Shape up. He ran his fingers through his hair and padded over to his mat on the floor, sitting down with a grunt.