Nighttime was always the hardest time for her to be alone, especially with the memories she had. The screams of agony, the looks on their faces before her partners died, the loud gunfire echoing in her ears... Hell, she wished she could use bleach to scrub her mind clean of all the filth and gore she'd witnessed, before and during her time serving over in Afghanistan.
Her eyes sprang open, and she drew in a loud, gasping breath. Not again...
Tears pooled in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip to stifle the sobs building in her chest. Her childhood had been easy to leave behind, start anew. It didn't bother her as much, now that eight years had passed since that bloody awful day. But then he had stepped in, demanded she clean up "her mess". Th trial was hard enough, avoiding everyone's judgmental stares. The jeers and loud taunts from the crowds she had to be escorted through as she made her way up the steps of the courthouse...
But the sting had faded immensely over the years, and had been covered by her nightmares of war. Her dreams were tinged with a blood-like red hue. The feeling of the cold steel of the guns in her hands was so realistic, that at the start of each dream she thought getting out of the Army had been a dream. But then she would look around, and see faces that shouldn't be able to smile at her, or laugh at the private jokes she and her mates had. She wanted to cry every time, to tell them to run and not look back, but it was as if her voice wasn't her own.
She gave a bitter snort, glowering up at her flat's cracked ceiling. Why kid herself? Her life had never been her own, so why should her dreams be any different?
Jamie Watson gave a sad sigh, then turned over, trying in vain to go back to sleep.