Author's Note:
Ugh, it's so hard to post these chapters! I can't wait until everyone reads about their adventures. I'm so sick of the pre-chapters. It's hard to write them! But they're necessary, so here you go guys. Read and review!
Oh, and thanks to pinkalmonds for pointing out this horribly dumb grammatical mistake I made. Gotta stay on my toes! ^^
1994
"Well, Mr. Coen, you seem to be suffering from PTSD."
"What the hell is that?" he snapped back at the therapist the Marines employed. Throughout his past missions, he'd become a liability. If he ever slept, his crippling nightmares began to overcome him, until his teammates would wake him up to get him to shut up. Yelling in his sleep was apparently unhealthy.
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It—"
"I know what that is, and I know I don't have it." he rolled his eyes at the woman in front of him. He'd like to see her try tolerating traveling around, catching weird diseases and constantly with a gun in her hand. Christ. He didn't have that stupid fucking disorder.
"With the nightmares and episodes you've been having, Mr. Coen—"
The woman was in her mid-twenties, thin and blonde, with green eyes and plain features, covered by square glasses. She was trim and neat. What the fuck did she know about this shit? Whatever the hell she got in her textbooks.
Billy was definitely not a textbook case. And his nightmares didn't come from his missions.
He fucking dreamt about car accidents.
Billy and his mother had finally seen each other again, for an extended period. His mother, graying at the edges of her hair and wrinkles beginning to form around her tired eyes, had been delighted. They'd spent all their time together.
Until she had fucking been plowed into by a truck.
What the fuck was with his luck with cars? He had been almost completely unscathed, while his mother had a piece of glass shoved straight through her brain.
He was completely alone now.
Constantly working, Billy had been gone since the accident, and he would be on another mission now if he hadn't been sent to the fucking shrink.
"What is it that frightens you, Billy?" she used his name as a way to coax him. "Tell me, I can help."
"Fuck you." He said simply, in a calm, level tone. "I'm not putting up with your textbook bullshit. You can tell anyone that you fixed me, I don't particularly give a shit." He opened the door and she cried out:
"Wait! Don't leave yet!" she pleaded with him.
He turned, his eyes hard. "What?"
She sighed. "My next patient is a nymphomaniac who had sex with every woman he saw on his last mission. You Marines are crazy fucks, but I'd rather sit in a room with your hostility than be ogled at."
He was surprised at her honestly, and reassessed her. Maybe there was more to this woman. "Aren't you supposed to keep patient confidentiality?"
"It's not exactly a secret that he had about eighteen STDs," she answered dryly.
Anna laughed in his head.
God it was a relief to hear her.
Anna had been becoming weaker: her voice came to him less frequently, and when it did, she sounded tired, strained. He felt so fucking selfish and guilty for asking her stay around, instead of sleeping in his subconscious, or going to heaven or whatever the hell she did when she wasn't with him, but he needed her.
He loved her too fucking much, and he couldn't let go.
"If we're all crazy fucks, why are you a Marine therapist?" he rolled his eyes.
"Because crazy fucks pay better than sane ones." She answered smartly. "Why are you in the Marines?"
He felt a grin creep across his face. He leaned against the door. The clever bitch was trying to get him to open up, and he knew it, but he decided to give her something to work with. "I signed up after my girlfriend died. She was eighteen."
Anna yawned in his head. "Are you going to tell her how much you loved me?" she teased, and he felt the brush of her kissing his cheek, although nothing was there.
She nodded, obviously refraining from jotting down notes on her little clipboard. He smirked to himself. She was pretty good.
She looked for something to say that wasn't clinical. "That must've been rough on you."
She has no idea, he thought to himself. He really was a crazy fuck. She had put it aptly.
"Working on letting go," he lied, grinning as barely masked delight came over her face. He was a bastard for toying with her. But he couldn't bring himself to really care.
"I'm all torn up about it on the inside," he shook his head, placing a hand on his heart.
She looked up at that, her eyes narrowing. "You're not supposed to lie to your therapist," she answered, irritated at his games.
"Never said I'm lying. Have fun getting ogled at," he answered, walking out the door.
"Bastard," he heard Anna say sleepily to him. He grinned. He had only done what he did to rouse Anna. She mostly only came to correct his manners or to reproach him.
"What a thing to say to your boyfriend," he teased.
The term 'boy'friend no longer fit Billy in any way. He was a hardened soldier, a cynical asshole, and a human tank. He paused for a second, wondering what they were to each other now. He loved her, sure, but she was dead, nothing but an intangible presence. She had loved him, but she was gone now, bound to him by… something?
It would be way too corny to admit. Bound to him by… his love? His fucking completely overwhelming, everlasting love for her?
Christ, how had he fallen so head over heels when he was just a kid? How had he stayed that way?
The combined loss of Anna, his mother, and his grandparents had completely turned Billy cold. He cared about nothing but his men, keeping them safe and under control. He was determined to see his duty through. It was all he had left.
He wanted to sell the house, but couldn't bring himself to do it. It was completely his now. His grandparents had bought it years ago, and paid off the mortgage with the help of his mother. The house held too many ghosts and skeletons for him, and he couldn't bear to get rid of it, despite how he was haunted.
And he looked it too. With constant five-o'clock shadow and the tired eyes of a man three times his age, Billy was lifeless. In truth, he often felt as if there was nothing to live for. He couldn't bring himself to make acquaintances, to renew friendships, to find a new girl to hold on his arms. Billy was celibate. He no longer even felt the urge, not when he saw a beautiful woman, not when he was flirted with.
He didn't understand any appeal he had. He was a bastard, an asshole. He was stoic and solid, completely responsible. He had changed so much over the years that he was unrecognizable.
Even to himself.
Claire winked at Rebecca, her reflection showing a girl with red hair and long lashes framing blue eyes. Rebecca stood next to her in the full length mirror and looked at her dress. They were preparing for Claire's school's homecoming. Claire had a date, a boy named Jay, and Rebecca was going to Jacob.
She had been officially dating him for three months. She was somebody's girlfriend.
She was excited to be going to a homecoming. As a senior in college, she had missed out any chance to live a normal life, to go to high school and join a sport, make friends, do a club. But Jacob was taking her to a real live dance.
She was beyond excited. It was still two months away, but Claire said they needed to get the prettiest dresses they could find.
Claire's dress was short and green, with tiny strap sleeves. It sparkled with glitter and Claire decided she loved it. Chris had given her just enough money to get this dress, and it was perfect.
Rebecca however, wasn't having much luck. Her hair couldn't decide between red and brown, her eyes between green and hazel. The dress she had on now was white, with a halter but going down past her knees. It was pretty, but it didn't feel right.
"I don't know what to get, Claire!" Rebecca sighed. She hated all of this dressing and undressing, shopping and switching and deciding on outfits. She wore a uniform of jeans and a t shirt, usually a gray or a green. She wanted to try something different with her dress, to be pretty enough to surprise Jacob.
Claire grinned at her. "Don't worry, he thinks you're gorgeous already!" the tall, striking girl promised her friend.
Rebecca pulled on the last dress she had picked out. It was a deep blue, longer than the other dresses she had tried, but sleeveless. The cloth nearly swept the floor, and the sapphire color highlighter her eyes, making them a deep, ocean green and her hair a shining auburn.
Claire nodded. "That's the perfect one! I told you you'd find it!" she gloated. "You look great!"
Claire cheered and Rebecca concentrated at herself in the mirror. She was five feet, two inches tall, while Jacob had grown to be five ten, although just as skinny as ever.
"Are you two done yet?" Chris had a clearly hopeful tinge to his voice.
Rebecca smiled. "Yes, both of us!" she stripped down and pulled on her clothes, carefully taking the dress and walking out. Claire grinned at her older brother. "I have just enough to get this dress!" she gloated. He frowned. He had purposely given her a small amount to make sure she'd need to ask him for permission to get a dress, since it was his money.
Rebecca still got regular checks from Umbrella, seeing as her GPA was still one of the highest in her class. She would continue to get them until the end of next year, when she graduated.
She had saved a good deal of money by eating with Chris. She was wealthy enough by now. She was emancipated, something necessary to her lifestyle, and could get herself her own apartment. What she was worried about was getting a job. She'd need to support herself. She'd be fifteen years old.
She realized she really would have to start looking at the future. She resolved to call Johnson when she got back to her dorm. He'd know what to do.
She handed the cool, green bills to the young woman at the cash register and hugged the bag to her chest happily. She couldn't wait for the dance, even though it was far away from now.
"Do you girls want lunch?" Chris asked, eager to escape the store filled with young, giggling girls casting eyes upon him.
"Yeah, can we go to McDonalds?" Claire begged her brother, giving over-dramatic puppy dog eyes. "Please?"
Chris rolled his eyes. "Wipe that stupid look off your face, Claire. I hate fast food, and since I'm paying, I pick."
Rebecca smiled softly at the two sibling's banter. "Why don't we just go to Emmy's?"
Claire sighed. "But I want McDonalds!" she complained, although her heart wasn't in it. Claire loved the burgers and milkshakes Emmy's sold. Rebecca usually ate a salad, ever conscious of what she put into her body, refusing dressings, drinking only water at restaurants and eating lots of fruit.
As a biochem major, she had taken several health classes, as well as anatomy and nursing, and she was acutely aware of the effects food, exercise, and sleep had on her body. Since she was constantly staying up all night and drinking gallons of coffee, she figured she'd need to be healthy in every other way. She wasn't looking forward to health-issues that she could have in the future, and took as many preventative measures that she could.
Chris, as a part of the Air Force, made sure he ate healthy, although he never went overboard. Claire just ate whatever looked good to her. Her favorite food was cheeseburgers. She loved Emmy's, McDonalds, and even the burgers that Chris grilled in the kitchen. She loved cheese and grease, and she could afford to eat so badly because she was so athletic. Not only was she into sports at her school, but she had begun to show an interest in motor cycles. Chris hated the idea of it, and squashed down every suggestion of them.
"When you get your license, move out of my house, and learn to wear a helmet when you ride a bike is the day you'll own a motorcycle," he'd told her more than once. "I do not want a kid even imagining riding in one of those death traps."
"You ride airplanes and helicopters and all sorts of things!" she protested. "How is that any less dangerous than a motorcycle?"
"One, I get paid to do that. You get a job and pay for it yourself. Two, I'm not a reckless idiot."
Even Rebecca had trouble hiding a snort at that statement. Chris was bullheaded, temperamental, over protective, and just as reckless as his younger sister.
These personality traits dominated Chris' life. His impulsiveness meant that he acted rashly, without thinking and usually bulldozed himself into trouble. He'd gotten in trouble at work several times already for disobeying orders, because he thought they were wrong.
Walking back to his car, he saw someone he recognized. "Hey, Barry!" he shouted. "Barry!"
The man, Barry, turned around. "Who?" he asked loudly, not seeing Chris. "Who? Who's there?"
"It's me, Barry!" Chris yelled. The man saw him and strode over, a big grin on his face.
"Hey there, Redfield!" the man boomed. He was a tall, stocky man, with a blunt face and a wide smile. "What are you doing out here on such a wonderful day?"
"This is Rebecca, and my younger sister Claire. I'm taking them shopping." He answered with a sigh.
Barry laughed. "I'm waiting for the wife and kids m'self. I don't know why they dragged me along, except to make me chauffeur them! Hi there, Claire-o." he smiled at the tall redhead, then turned to the smaller, auburn topped girl. "Hey there, Becca! You two are a bit older than my girls. Want to see?" he didn't wait for an answer, but whipped out his wallet and showed them a picture, of two young girls laughing and an older woman with an exasperated expression.
Rebecca smiled at the picture of a happy family. "It's very nice," she told him sincerely.
Claire seemed rather subdued, and gave a distant smile to Barry.
"Well, I should go before the wife starts wondering where I went!" the older man shook Chris' hand. "I'll be seeing you soon, Redfield!"
He walked away boisterously, and Claire burst out: "Was dad that corny, Chris?" she asked, her voice oddly small.
Rebecca felt her heart go out to her friend. Chris put a hand on each of their shoulders and smiled at his younger sister. "You better believe it. He had a picture of you from when you were a kid, butt naked and laughing, spaghetti sauce all over your face. He showed it to everybody he met. It was awful," Chris's eyes glinted with laughter. "He showed it to my friend's mother once, this prim older lady, and she nearly had a cow. It was awesome."
Claire giggled at that and immediately was back to her own, bubbly personality. "So, are we going to Emmy's or what?" she grinned happily, clutching her shopping bag.
Chris ordered for them and sat in the booth, sucking down a milkshake just as eagerly as Claire. Rebecca drank a sip of water, feeling hot. The weather was nice, but it would be August in a few days, and she could feel the oppressive heat. At least Emmy's had a nice AC system.
The sweet, older waitress, Betty, brought them their food quickly. It was a slow day. Not many people wanted to venture out in this heat too long.
Rebecca dug into the salad. Being regulars, the cooks knew exactly what Rebecca liked: spinach leaves with tomatoes, red, green, and yellow peppers, carrots, peas, and orange juice drizzled on top. It was a strange flavoring, but it was better than dressings. She squeezed a lemon into her water and sucked it down thirstily. Betty chattily refilled it for her, asking about their lives, when school would start, if they had any boyfriends, telling Chris to keep them out of trouble.
Rebecca liked the older woman. She was short and stout and motherly. Rebecca offhandedly wondered if Betty had any children of her own. She seemed the type.
Chris invited Betty to sit with them, and she did, filling up the hungry silence with conversation, questions, and facts. She had never been married, Rebecca knew, but that didn't necessarily mean she'd never had children.
She listened absently to the conversation and suddenly realized that Betty was working whenever the threesome ate at Emmy's. Rebecca suddenly wondered what the future had in store for her. She was suddenly eager to get back to her dorm room, filled up with books and clutter and the ever-present scent of coffee. She'd grab quarters and run to the payphones and tell Johnson all about her life and worries, and he'd comfort her and tell her what to do. It was a familiar pattern and Rebecca was soothed by it.
Change was scary.
No, it was beyond scary.
Rebecca was suddenly filled with a cold terror and excused herself to the bathroom before throwing up in the dingy toilet. She could barely breathe, and wheezed, seeing stars in front of her eyes, little dots that made her vision swirl. Her depth perception failed her, and her head felt as if she had stood too fast after a nap. She felt sweat drip down her back as she suddenly felt hotter than ever, on fire from the inside, her skin the only thing keeping her blood from bursting into flames, combining with oxygen to make a deadly explosion.
She was crazy. She was tired. She was stressed and exhausted and she had been up all night for weeks and hadn't had a real night's sleep in months and she was ranting and raving in her head and she was only fourteen, why did this have to overwhelm her so soon, so fast, it wasn't fair and it wasn't possible and she blacked out.
Her head hit the stall and woke her instantly. The whole process had only taken a few minutes, and she ran to the sink, splashing her face with cold water and staring in the mirror at her crazed reflection. Hazel eyes, auburn locks, and pink cheeks returned her gaze. It wasn't a whole person. It was features, put together in the guise of a person
The bathroom was blessedly empty, and she didn't have to make excuses. She was scared and worried and suddenly it seemed as if the future was right in front of her, staring her down with cold, black eyes, bottomless like voids.
They'd suck her in if she let them.