Page 54 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Twenty

Where am I?

It’s the first thought that filters into my brain. The answer doesn’t come. Only heat. The smell of gasoline.

Pain.

Unbelievable pain.

I look down to discover my shirt is torn, stained with blood, under it, something white poking out of my side.

My rib.

“Fuck! Alex!” Jonathan’s voice cuts through the air. “Alex! Your sister! Fuck! Your sister!”

Sirens cut through the night air as a camera flash goes off. The light illuminates the scene, and I see Sarah, her hair plastered to her forehead, her legs bent at an unnatural angle to the side.

“Sarah!” Blood gurgles up my throat, and I choke on her name. I try to claw my way across the slick pavement, fumes making it difficult to breathe. No, it’s something more than that. More pain—like my body is trying to collapse in on itself. I try to push past it. “Sarah!”

Another camera flash goes off. Another. The cameras are everywhere. I can’t help feeling like we’re driving into an Austen novel as we approach the antique, wrought-iron gates. One of the leeches with the camera bends to help me, camera still in hand, and I swing instinctively.

“Alexander, wake up!”

I want to. God, I fucking want to wake up, but this nightmare is real. This is happening. Sarah won’t move. I can’t tell if she’s breathing.

Suddenly, I’m all alone with her in an empty street. There’s no car. No paparazzi. Just me and my baby sister. I lift her head, wondering if I should do CPR. Something hot and sticky coats my hand. Blood.

This can’t be happening. I close my eyes. Night becomes day.

When I open them, I’m staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. I breathe in shallow pants, waiting for the searing pain to catch up with my waking brain. It doesn’t come. Glimpses of the night before flash through my mind. The party. Arguments. A red rose.

Her.

The bed is empty. I turn instinctively to find her. She’s staring at me, arms clutching her stomach. “Clara?”

She makes no move toward me, and that’s when I realize one palm is rubbing her stomach. Her eyes are wary, alert—too alert for someone who was asleep until moments ago.

“Oh god,” I murmur. “What did I do?”

I can only think of reaching her. Swinging my legs out of bed, I’m out of it and on my way to her with the trained response years of military service drilled into me. But Clara backs away, still watching me with wide, doe eyes. I stop, finally understanding what’s happened. “I hurt you.”

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. I shift direction towards the clothes I’d left on her floor. I’d known this would happen. Years of restraint and one night upends it all. Why did I think it would be different? How many times had my buddy Brex woken me in the barracks in the middle of a nightmare? Every time he’d been ready, fists up, trained to expect my violent, subconscious reaction.

Clara didn’t stand a chance. She still doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say, buckling my pants. I tug on my shoes. “I warned you. I’m so, so sorry.”

She still hasn’t spoken by the time I reach the door.

“What were you dreaming about?” Her soft voice asks behind me.

No. I won’t burden her with any more of my crosses. I spin to her, shaking my head. “I won’t ask you to carry my demons, Clara.”

She finally moves, but instead of backing away again, she walks toward me with gentle eyes. I see the forgiveness in them, and I hate the hope that springs in my chest.

“Maybe you could just let me hold them for a while,” she says.

“It’s too ugly for you. You’re beautiful, pure—”