Mature Content 17+ || Savage Wolves MC Book Two
In the wake of tragedy, Callie never fails at staying positive. But, after having her brother and the rest of the club nearly taken from her, she's a little more cautious, albeit still upbeat.
So caut...
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•Gray•
I scream, shooting up in my simple twin bed and clutching my chest, my heart threatening to beat through my ribs.
Sweat drips off of my body, soaking the cotton sheets under me.
I'm taken back to the dream... nightmare... memory.
Maniacal laughter fills my ears. A bloodied skeleton mask. The sound of screaming that won't stop. Of begging for mercy when there is none to be given.
"You good, mate?" Sean asks, sitting up in his own bed across the tiny room. His eyes are sleepy and I'm sure he's barely awake, but I take comfort in knowing he still bothered to ask.
I nod and wave him off, breathing deeply and pushing the memory back down where it should stay buried forever. If I could choose to forget, to remove the memory from my mind for good, I would. No one should have to watch and remember what happened that night over and over again in their mind.
With my heart still pumped up, I know sleep won't come back easily and I get up, trudging out of the room and heading down to the communal bathroom the prospects share.
I hear a few female moans coming from one of the spare rooms and it sounds like at least someone is having a good night still.
I rub the back of my neck before stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me.
While the patched members have their own, individual bathrooms attached to their rooms, the prospects share a dingy, little room with a couple of showers and a couple of urinals and one toilet.
Though, it's cleaned meticulously every day by one of us, there are permanent black stains on the outdated tile flooring and scratch marks around the giant mirror on the wall. The sinks and toilet both have unremovable hard water stains and the shower stalls are sketchy enough that shoes are still required to be worn. Graffiti from current and former prospects cover the walls as art, but that isn't something that turns me off from this dank room. It's actually interesting to see current members names scrawled along the tile from when they were prospects themselves.
Checking myself in the mirror, I take note of the flushed skin around my chest and on my cheeks. Sweat still glistens all over my bare chest.
I brush my teeth quickly, flossing and rinsing before heading over to the shower and turning the faucet on, letting the cold water run until steam can be seen.
Stepping out of my boxers, I hang them onto the hook outside of the shower where my personal towel stays and step into the spray, letting the heat work through my tense muscles.
This happens often. More often than I'd like. My therapist had told me that it was to be expected. PTSD is very common and flashbacks in the form of nightmares were a regular occurrence in people who have suffered through a major trauma.
