Brief note, this is written in James' POV unless I specify otherwise. It's completely unrelated to Operation: Save James. It's a major AU from the end of Class A. Disclaimer, still a teenaged girl. Not Robert Muchamore. *le sigh*
I woke up with a scream for the third time this week. I shook my head and checked the clock that sat on my desk. It was three in the morning. I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I never could, every time I was thrust back into Miami with a gun in my hand. The man in front of me had a sharp piece of vinyl stuck out of his hand.
The man lashes his hand out trying to grab the gun. The sharp piece of vinyl catches my arm and the man swings his other arm, his hand curled into a fist. I hear a person scream in the next room over. The man advances on me, my hands shake and my finger slowly curls around the trigger. I call out through the deafening silence.
"I'm sorry!" I call out before quickly pulling the trigger. The bullet was dead on target. I knew that I had alerted the other intruders that I was there. They came rushing in and I pulled a quick disappearing act. I dashed passed the intruders and into the kitchen. Two people were tied up on kitchen chairs. I cursed and picked up a kitchen knife. I untied them and the other living intruders came into the kitchen. I held out the knife in front of me. I inhale quickly.
"Listen, we don't mean any harm. I won't harm you if you all drop your weapons and call the police." I say calmly. A man pulls out his phone and the others put down their weapons.
"No funny business, otherwise one of you isn't going to leave without a knife sticking out of you." I say gesturing to the knife in my hand. One of the men called 911.
"Put it on loud speaker." I demand. The thug does as he's told and I speak softly to the operator.
-General POV/ third person-
"We need the police to (Add street address here ^u^) A group of men broke into the Miami home of Keith Moore. I've got the men under control but we need the police dispatched ASAP." James told the operator. On the other end the operator silently frowned at how young James sounded. Calm and collected, yet a young boy too old for his exterior. The operator took the details anyway and dispatched the police.
When the police arrived, they were shocked when the saw the fourteen-year-old boy staring down a load of thugs with a kitchen knife grasped tightly within his palm. When the thugs had been hand cuffed and the dead man was taken away James dropped the knife onto the kitchen table and sunk down to the floor…
-James' POV-
That's always when I wake up. After seeing the dead man's face for the last time, after sinking to the floor with my head rested in my hands. I can never sleep after seeing him again.
I never told anybody about the nightmares. I guessed people had figured it out after I came back from Miami. They'd all heard what had happened out there and had never seen me so sleep deprived before. Because it never used to happen, even after my mum died I never had nightmares.
I wish if my mum could see me now she'd still be proud of me. Her little soldier, fighting the bad guys. I doubt she would. The heroes of the stories don't get nightmares after killing someone. The hero of the story probably wouldn't kill anybody to begin with. I'll never be a hero- like the ones in movies. It's really depressing, being sat on the floor at three am, hyperventilating. I never wanted to kill anybody.
Scrap the thought about my mother- I know she'd never be proud of me, she was always more fond of Lauren. It didn't matter how many trials and tribulations she forced me to do, little Lauren was her favourite, forever and always. My breathing was becoming more rugged.
I didn't even know I was capable of having panic attacks, until I was laying on the floor gasping for breath, my heart beating so quick I thought it'd shatter my rib cage. I felt sick, nausea hitting me in waves. I curled in on myself to the point where I was as small as I could be.
I could see the man I shot, in front of me. He was stood, with a woman and two children.
He had a family.
That's all I could think; all I could see. One child turned to its mother and the man disappeared.
"Mummy, where's daddy?" The child asked. It wasn't real- it couldn't be real.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I yelled. Tears streaming from my eyes.
It's not real! It can't be real!
The child turned around again, the woman had a harsh glint in her eye.
"You killed my husband!" The woman hissed.
"You killed our daddy!" The two children cried.
"No- No! I'm sorry. Please, I was scared." I plead with the woman.
She isn't real! She can't be real!
The woman swung her arm at me.
"Your killed my husband, you little Devil!" She shrieked.
"Please, stop." My breathing hitched, and I actually threw up.
"I didn't mean to! I promise." I gasped out, my words fragmented.
I need to calm down- this isn't real!
One of the children lunges forward, I grab him. He wiggles and turns to face me a gun in his hand.
"For daddy!" The child yells. I panic and twist its head around. I hear its neck snap.
"YOU KILLED MY SON!" The woman screams.
"You killed my brother." The other child says slowly.
This isn't real, I didn't just kill a child.
He was younger than Lauren, I killed him and he was younger than Lauren.
"You killed my daddy and my brother." The other child says again slowly.
"My husband and my son, both dead and you to blame." The woman screeches.
I hear a series of taps, they're real. Coming from outside my door. Somebody heard me.
Shit.
It was Morse code. 'Are you okay'
Am I okay? I'm not sure.
I tap back, 'whos out there'
I wait, 'Its me Kyle' gets tapped back.
I reach for the lock and undo it. Kyle enters slowly. He looks at me and whistles before shutting the door behind him.
-Kyle's POV-
I heard someone making noise from a room down the hall, I check the time on my phone, it's three-thirty am. I can make out a voice, it calls 'I'm sorry I'm sorry.' I run out into the corridor. The noise is coming from James' room.
He hasn't been the same since he came back from Miami.
We all knew what happened in Miami, James shot somebody. He wasn't proud of himself. I knock on the door softly; I don't get a reply so I try Morse code. Now that got something and the door unlocks. James was sat sobbing; I didn't even want to know about the puddle of sick next to him.
"What happened?" I ask. I'm pretty sure I already know. I used to have panic attacks when I was a kid, it started after I came out to my mother as gay. She started abusing me and everything went downhill.
"Panic attack, Miami- the guy I- Oh my God- I can't believe I shot him Kyle." He choked out.
"I- He probably had a wife, and kids. I saw them." He sobs.
"It's not real. It wasn't real. It couldn't have been real." He hisses at himself.
"I- uh, saw the kids. One of them ran at me with a gun and I- I." He puts his head in his hands.
"It wasn't real, remember." I said calmly.
"I- snapped the kids neck, his other child and his wife- they saw." He cried. I'd never felt so helpless.
Someone knocked on the door.
"James? Are you okay? I saw Kyle leave his room, through the CCTV." A female voice said from the other side of the door. None other than Zara Asker.
Zara opens the door; I look at her than at James. I shrug.
"James, what happened?" She asks softly. Cringing at the puddle of sick.
"Panic attack, Miami, oh God." He sobs.
"I think he was hallucinating. He said he could see the man he shot, and his family. He ended snapping a child's neck." I add before rubbing James' back and whispering "It wasn't real you're okay."
"I'm sending you to a councillor tomorrow. No arguments, this isn't normal. You'll probably need sleeping tablets." Zara stated matter-of-factly.
"Kyle- go back to bed." Zara said softly. I nodded.
"Are you okay now?" I ask. He nods slowly. I was pretty sure I saw something on his wrist, I'll check tomorrow.
"Goodnight." I wave before leaving the room.
-James' POV-
"You need to go to bed." Zara said to me.
"Goodnight James, I'll get you a meeting with a councillor ASAP." She smiles.
"Don't worry about the sick, give me a sec." She disappears and comes in a minute later with some sort of powder stuff. She poured it over the sick.
"There, that'll stop it smelling, goodnight." She waves before exiting.
I haul myself up from the floor and lock the door- tomorrow was gonna be bad.