Page 31 of Loving London

The pieces as he was blown apart.

I hit the wall, and the blackness comes.

But it doesn’t stay.

It’s followed by the pain, the sheer torturous ache that will never leave.

I want the blackness again. I want it to pull me under its depths and never let me surface.

Take me away.

Please take me away…

“Loïc?” a familiar voice questions hesitantly. “Loïc? Are you okay?”

Maggie?

Her voice is so out of place in this hell. She doesn’t belong here.

“Loïc.” This time, her voice is soft, soothing, but there’s an urgent undertone present.

Opening my eyes, I take stock of my surroundings. It’s dark. Releasing the position my body is in, I release a weary sigh. Slowly, I lift my head, pulling it away from my knees. When I blink, Maggie comes into focus.

“Loïc, are you okay?” Her words quiver now as unshed tears fill her eyes.

I’m scaring her.

“Yeah.” I slowly nod my head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I try to remember why I’m crouched under a pole on a patch of grass that separates the sidewalk and the street. Then, I recall the loud boom.

Damn fireworks.

Independence Day isn’t for another week, yet the nightly cracks, pops, and explosions have already started. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost myself to fear because of the noises. They take me back to my nightmare, and it feels like it’s happening all over again.

I can manage it a little better now from home. This one caught me off guard. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve left my house since returning home two months ago. I didn’t want to leave my house tonight, but Maggie wanted to meet up for a quick dinner after her shift. I couldn’t say no because it’s Maggie, but I should have.

Just look at me.

“Why are you on the ground?” Maggie asks, concerned.

“I’m…it’s…” I release a long sigh, not knowing what to say. “I need to go home.”

“Of course. Yes, let’s go back to your place. No problem.” Maggie extends her hand, and I take it. Once I’m standing, she says, “I’ll drive. We’ll get your truck later.”

“Okay,” I agree, knowing I’m in no shape to drive right now anyway.

Maggie grabs my arm, and the two of us walk toward the parking garage where she left her car. She doesn’t say anything, but every minute or so, she gives my hand a gentle squeeze to reassure me that she’s here. I’m grateful for the silence.

Once I’m back in my house, more of my anxiety leaves me.

“I know you’re probably starving. We have some leftovers. Sarah made a huge chicken potpie last night. It’s good. She’s becoming a great cook,” I offer as I take a seat at the kitchen table.

“Where is Sarah?” Maggie asks as she opens the fridge.

“At work. She’s waitressing at that new barbeque restaurant downtown.”

“How can she be on her feet all day like that when she’s so pregnant?” Maggie pulls the glass container of food out of the refrigerator and places it on the counter.

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