Promises

Last summer, I wrecked my life and took others'. I never wanted to, but somehow, life has its way of messing with you, torching you. And watching my 5-year-old sister die before my eyes were the cruellest trick the world could play on me. And yet it was my fault. I can still remember her small body, life fading.

***

I say nothing, gawking into the empty face of my sister. My sister that I love so much; my favourite person in the world. It must have been hours sitting next to Carrie, but I refuse to leave. Someone has tried to force me away but that didn’t end well and they left me alone. Every time I look away, I’m afraid of what will be there when I look back.

Then it happens; for the first time in hours, Carrie slips into consciousness.

“Darsal,” she croaks, voice raw.

“I’m right here, Carrie,” I whisper, as I edge closer.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I—I love you too, Carrie,” I say, kissing her on the forehead, ignoring the heat burning my lips.

It’s the first time I’ve said these words. They feel strange to my tongue, but I know it’s right. I love Carrie more than I will ever love anyone else.

“I love you, Darsal. I love you,” she breathes until there is nothing left; as her eyes slowly close and her hand loses its grip; as the burning heat slowly cools and as her face goes bloodless.

“No! Carrie, no!” I sob, cry echoing.

Tears well up in my eyes and slide down my face. Her grey eyes close slowly. I know it’s my last time seeing those eyes; large, grey, admiring eyes. My limbs go weak and I crumble under the weight of the realization. I will never hear her laugh, watch her run across the green fields, chasing butterflies. I will never hold her again as she falls asleep.

Carrie is dead.

***

I wake up screaming until my throat feels raw; the sound of pure terror. My heart pumps so hard, I can feel it against my ribs. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. Sweat drips down my face, soaking my nightgown. My hair is damp with it, hanging low in my back. I’m going to die. Fear squeezes my throat in its fist until I can’t breathe. I’m going to die. My chest feels as if trying to squeeze itself into a bottle. I’m going to die. My breath seems to catch up, coming into quick gasps as I sit up. I hiccup as tears slip down my face. I can’t seem to jam enough air down my lungs. Sobs interrupt, breathing turned into only short, choked hiccups as I cry and cry and cry. I bury my face in my hands as tears stain my face. I can see the face of Fear, an evil grin curling its lips into a sneer. His large body constantly moves, dripping off of itself, glimmering in the darkness. He looks like oil, the colour of emptiness, shapes unendingly shifting, but keeping the vague, towering body. It raises an arm in my direction. It was only a nightmare. I’m going to die. Black oil drips off as Fear extends its three long claws towards me. But I’m oblivious to everything but its eyes; cold, empty eyes that hook onto mine, displaying all the things that I fear most; I can see Carrie, laying in a pool of blood, motionless. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I shiver from beneath the drenched sheet, wrapping my arms around myself. Fear’s claws seep into my skin at the thought of what I might see when I open my eyes. I do it before I can change my mind. 

My eyes scan the dark, empty bedroom. I do my best to control my breathing, taking deep, large breaths. It was only a nightmare. A warm breeze floats through the open window, brushing against my face. I shake uncontrollably, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. 

“I will not die. I will not die,” I have to whisper to myself over and over until my breathing returns to normal. But Carrie is...

I swallow hard, wiping my tears. I sit still and alone for a long moment, shivering. I wait for my heartbeat to, bit by bit, go back to normal. The image of Fear slowly drains out of my veins but refuses to do so completely.

 “It was only a nightmare. It was only a nightmare,” I keep whispering to myself.

I get up and go turn on the shower as hot as it can go. I stand under the jet, letting the water wash over my body. The boiling water burns my skin to the touch, turning it pink, but I don’t flinch. The physical pain seems to help blur out the mental one. By the time I turn off the water, the bathroom is heavy with warm steam, desperately clutching onto anything it touches. My feet crisp against the cold tile floor as I wrap myself in a thick, fluffy towel. By now, my heartbeat seems to have come back down to normal, my muscles slowly releasing. I get dressed slowly before heading to the kitchen and making a cup of tea. Carrie is dead... Shut up, Darsal. Shut up!

I hardly have the time to sit down when there is a muffled cry. I quickly get up, rushing to the spare bedroom. Harper is curled into a ball, on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet in her small fist. From the doorway, I can see her tiny figure trembling. 

“Shh, Harper. It’s going to be okay,” I whisper gently as I approach her.

“Darry,” she whispers in her sleep. 

I sit on the bed, scooping the four-year-old girl in my arms. Slowly, her body stops shaking. As I slowly rock her back and forth, my thoughts wander. No four-year-old should have nightmares, however light they are. Her father, Black, died in combat not a month ago, her mother in childbirth two days ago, Harper, orphaned. I can still hear her mother’s last words, pressed with force into my palm. “Keep her safe, Darsal. Keep her safe.” And so I promised I would. But how am I supposed to do so if I keep my other promise? I told them I would go. I promised them I would save the Guardians. Tonight, no less, but I can’t very well leave Harper here, alone. She would go into foster care and that would be that. But isn’t that why I wanted to go? So that Harper can grow up and not have the nagging knowledge that she’s one day going to spit out on the battlefield, like a cat with a hairball; so that the war can stop and there wouldn’t be any more foster care. I have to go. I cradle her in my arms as if to protect Harper from what I know I’m going to have to do next. As much as I can’t just leave her here, I can’t bring her along. It’s a suicide mission; the same one that shattered my childhood. The general’s words echo in my mind. I’m sorry, Darsal. I'm just not ready to lose someone else to the same cursed mission. But what choice do I have? 

Harper wails, clutching onto me.

“Shh,” I say softly, rocking her back and forth, “I’m right here, Harper. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

A harmless lie. Well, relatively harmless. I hold her closer against me. She calms down a little, falling back into an agitated sleep. No one so young should have frequent nightmares, only to wake up finding the real. She slowly eases out of her nightmare.

“Darry,” the young girl says, “Darry, I’m scared. Don’t leave me. Never leave me.”

“I’m right here,” I whisper.

“Promise me you won’t leave me. Stay with me forever,” Harper insists.

“I promise,” I say.

Another cursed promise.

Carrie... I miss you.