Little Tastes of Red Mire

(3) Saving Nila: Saving Amy

Nila

Thunder shuddered through the house just as daddy and Papa said their goodbyes, making me promise to call them if I needed absolutely anything. I tried to assure them in the most confident voice that I would be okay, but we all knew that there was a possibility of me not making it through the night without calling. Rarely did they leave me home alone, and it almost never happened on a night it was set to storm. This would be a first and I was terrified beyond all reason.

"I love you girls, y'all just call if you need anything, okay?" Papa said, pushing his mass of blonde curls from his face as he eyed me nervously. Honestly, I couldn't tell who was more concerned here, me or them. I rushed them off, trying to ignore the deep indecision written in my daddy's eyes.

Once the door was closed and I took in the eerie darkness of the silent house I couldn't help but beat myself up.

Why had I pushed them to go if I hated being alone? I tried not to curse myself too hard, instead focused on trying to stay calm. In a lame attempt to sooth myself, I checked a sleeping Cammie before tiptoeing to the kitchen and placing a kettle of water on the stove. I had the thought that a hot cup of chamomile tea might help ease some of the discomfort. Making the beverage succeeded in taking my mind from the problem at hand, if only momentarily. Slowly with my tea in hand, I wandered back to my room plopping down in the rocking chair and sipping lightly when it had cooled off enough. I watched the rain begin to pelt outside as I rocked, snuggling into the chair even more as the time ticked by. The tea seemed to be working well enough, my body relaxed little by little. So content in fact, that I hardly even noticed my eyes drifting closed. 

A soft ballad was playing overhead, dancing merrily in the air as I moved forward -- where I was going I wasn't certain, but I knew I wanted to go. My body seemed to dance with anticipation, stomach fluttering with excitement and my heart was beating a rhythm that could only mean one thing in my world; 

Walker. 

At the simple thought of his name, I seemed to take notice of the people around me, seated in pews along each side of me. They were all dressed to the nines, an array of expressions across their collective faces. Happiness. They were happy for me? I wanted to ask why, but as I opened my mouth to speak, I noticed a figure standing stationary out of the corner of my eyes. 

It was him. 

His blonde hair shone under a beam of light cascading in through the window, his green eyes practically glowing with each step I took closer. He was so handsome, dressed so nicely. It was almost as if -- my breath caught as I spared a glance down. I was in a white gown, carrying a bouquet of flowers, in a room filled with people beaming with happiness for me. How had I missed all of this before? It wasn't like me to be so unobservant. But, it seemed I was, because in an instant my hands were empty of any flowers instead filled with the warm, worked hands of Walker. Someone was speaking to my left, words I could barely make out. 

"Walker, you may kiss your bride." 

It was as he leaned in and my body prepared itself for the kiss from a man I'd loved for as long as I could remember that everything around us changed. Suddenly, I wasn't swimming in love and happiness from those I'd grown up with, the room didn't smell like roses and vanilla candles. I couldn't feel Walker's hands in mine anymore, didn't see a beautiful head of blonde hair. Instead, it was pitch black and greasy, covering a pale forehead carelessly. The room smelled like stale beer and body odor. Instead, my arms were pinned under the brute force of my attackers.

I was back in that bedroom losing the only thing that had ever truly belonged to me. 

I fought to move, but just like before, I couldn't control my actions. I was frozen, with fear or with shock or because of some paralytic in the drug I didn't know, and I was helpless.  I could feel hands but they weren't his, not my Walkers. I wanted to scream but felt as if I couldn't, as if it were impossible. Where was someone, anyone? Why wasn't anyone helping me? 

Walker

A feminine scream broke the silence of the air as I opened the door of my truck, sending a spike of fear through my body. I ran for the front door, seeming to forget that it was pouring out and that I didn't even have a key -- as another scream sounded it didn't seem to matter. It took a few moments, but  I was finally through the door, splintered wood from the broken frame flying across the small entry way. My heart was pounding fearfully as I raced through the house, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the scream -- this time accompanied by the wail of a child. 

Nila and Cammie. 

I knew instantly that they were up in her room and I ran, nearly tripping and falling on my face in haste to get to them. 

Cammie was screaming from the confines of her crib, fists thrown up in the air in protest and pacifier lying a few inches from her body still glistening with saliva. I assumed she been so surprised at the sound of her mother's scream that the soother had popped right out and had taken her comfort with it. I took hold of her as quickly as possible, soothing her as I knew while I finally took notice of Nila. While her screams had ceased, her face -- eyes closed, head back --  was streaked with tears and scrunched with terror. My heart clenched painfully at the sight, watching how she was curled around herself protectively even at the very moment she should've felt the safest. I knew enough about PTSD from the amount of research I'd done, which was something my mother suggested she had, to know that waking her in the middle of her terror could likely end in a violent reaction. I couldn't risk that while still holding my baby girl. Instead I rocked Cammie, who was still sobbing lightly, and called out her name. 

It took a few tries, my voice increasing in volume with each whisper of her name, but I managed to wake her. I, however, did not expect her to come flying from her chair in terror, yelling for her child. In an instant Nila had taken Cameron from my arms and was cuddling into the small bundle. 

We stared at each other wordlessly once it dawned on her that I was there, her tear streaked face reddening with embarrassment as she clutched her daughter. I yearned to not only step closer, but also to wrap both of them in my arms and offer my love and protection, but I knew it would not work. She would shy away no matter what I did. As I looked at her it wasn't hard to see the dark circles under her eyes and the sallowness of her skin, the dullness of her features. She looked as if she had been deprived of food, sleep and now sanity. I wondered how long it had been since she'd slept through the night soundly? Did she lack an appetite because of the stress? 

I had to do something or I was going to lose her to her demons.