Dust gathers in the pan with each sweep, tiny flecks catching the lamplight. I empty it into the trash, then lean the broom against the wall in its spot, lined up next to the mop.
Routine. Always routine.
The house is too quiet otherwise.
I wipe down the kitchen counters next, the rag damp with cleaner, the sharp scent of ocean breeze filling the air.
Scrubbing until the surface shines, I then fold the cloth over itself, smoothing the edges before setting it back under the sink.
My boots creak against the hardwood as I walk down the hall. The lights are off in the bedroom, shadows stretching across the floor. My shoulders ache, but I keep going.
As I enter the bathroom, steam from my shower still lingers on the mirror, leaving faint streaks that fog the glass.
I grab the towel hanging by the sink and slowly drag it across the surface, clearing a patch.
My reflection looks back at me; my beard has grown in, lines etched deeper into my face than I remember, and my eyes look way too tired.
My gaze drops to the chain at my neck.
The dog tags rest against my chest, cool metal brushing against my shirt as I shift. I lift them, feeling the familiar weight in my palm, my thumb tracing the grooves of the letters etched into the steel.
Beau.
My throat tightens as I lean closer to the mirror, tags dangling between my fingers, the bathroom light glinting off their edges.
The memory slips in before I can stop it; Beau’s laugh, his big, stupid grin as we cleaned the fire apparatus, always messing around.
His voice was always cocky as hell, promising he’d beat me one day for my time at tying knots.
One stupid accident during a fire containment drill, and I remember it all.
Smoke filled the air, and alarms blared overhead. Flames raced faster than our feet could carry us.
We both collapsed from lack of air, our SCBAs beeping, alerting anyone else in there that our oxygen was low.
I tried to drag him out, but he pushed me away, and his words will forever haunt me.
“Go, brother, it’s okay, go.”
His shout was cut off too soon. I was lucky to get out of there when I could, but the survivor’s guilt I carry consumes me every fucking second of the day.
The fire should have taken me instead, but now I’m left with this grief and disfigurement that’s too heavy to bear most days.
My grip on the porcelain sink tightens as I feel the cold surface beneath my hands.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to push the images away, but the memories claw at the inside of my mind until a single tear escapes, sliding down my cheek.
I bow my head as my shoulders tense, and my dog tags clink softly against my chest with a hollow sound that echoes in the bathroom.
My phone rattles against the counter, sharp in the quiet. I flinch, dragging my rough hand over my face, before reaching for it.
The screen lights up the bathroom in a pale blue glow, cutting through the fog on the mirror.
My throat tightens just looking at her name.
For a second, I stand there with my phone in my hand as my heart races faster than it should.
I unlock my phone, and her words fill the screen, small, simple, and sweet, asking if I’d keep her company while she edits.
