Now I’m here, and I don’t know what the hell this is. A bad dream? A punishment?
I look around the room. My desk, my books, the collection of crystals I used to believe in. Even my plants and herbs.
None of it matters.
It’s just empty stuff sitting in a room that doesn’t feel like mine.
Everything blurs, like I’m not really here. I float out of my body and watch myself from somewhere near the ceiling.
The drugs are wearing off, dragging a dark cloud inside my head. It’s maddening, because I recognize the dissociation. Naming it doesn’t make it stop.
My father was right.
I’m nothing, always have been. It doesn’t matter how far I get. Sooner or later, I end up back on the ground.
It’s not fair. For the last four years, I’ve worked so hard to get my life together.
It’s not fucking fair!
A flare of rage shoots through me. I sweep my laptop off the desk.
God, the sound of it crashing to the floor feels so good.
It isn’t enough.
I grab the amethyst from the shelf. The heavy crystal I always use during meditation. I raise it high and hurl it straight through the glass table. The shattering hits my ears first, followed by the shards flying at me.
I close my eyes. The shards hit. Glass at first, then metal. Shrapnel.
I’m not here anymore. I’m back in Afghanistan.
The landscape is empty and deserted, nothing but a terracotta-colored dirt road and olive brown mountains rising in the distance.
My gaze fixes on a lone rock formation at the side of the road. It looks unnatural in the landscape. My arm lifts, pointing it out.
And then… sharp, piercing pain. The smell of blowing dust. The copper taste of blood.
Black.
I sink to my knees on top of the broken glass. Everything flickers—images from now, images from then. Glass… metal… glass… pills… pain. So much pain.
More pills.
Tom. Where is Tom?
But then, Paul. I’m staring straight into his gray eyes.
He’s on top of me. Blood is gushing from his neck, spilling through my fingers no matter how hard I press. I yell for help that doesn’t come.
“I love you.”
“No,” I whisper, panicking. “Paul, look at me. Stay with me.”
He smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching. There are shards in his hair and dust all over his face.
He tugs me close. “Yosh, it’s okay. It’s all okay.”
“No. No, Paul. Don’t you dare.” I press harder against his wound. “You’re not leaving me here.”
