Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen: They're Back

***Filler chapter***

Chapter Sixteen: "They're Back."

"COME ON, I promise, we'll only be there for not even five minutes. I'll just go in, and come back out."

I look at Taylor with wide, worried eyes. We've already been doing a lot more than we should, and soon enough, they'll be taken down.

And I'll be going down with them.

"Taylor, please don't go. We owe them so much."

"I have to, Brookie. Just cover me, and we'll have no problems."

I gulp, taking the object out of their hands and hold it like my life depends on it–which it absolutely does.

"Okay." I say unsurely. "But what happens if something goes wrong?"

"Then we do what we planned."

I nod. "Okay."

I follow them into the house, trailing behind Taylor a little scaredly. I may have done this a bit, but every time scared me and every time was usually more dangerous than the last.

In and out, five minutes, I keep assuring myself.

"Here." Taylor says, handing the leader his shipment.

The taller man looks down at Taylor. "Where's the rest of it?"

"That's all we have," Taylor tells him. "I swear, Davis, that's all we have until next week."

"That's what you said for the past fucking month, TJ. I gave you so many extensions, and what did I tell you about paying the price?"

"Look, I'm sorry, just please give us until Friday–"

"No!" He shouts, and then it all happens so fast.

Bullets begin flying everywhere, and the only thing I do is stand there and scream.

Taylor grabs my arm, leading us outside in a sprint, and soon enough, shots are being fired at us.

The tears are already streaming down my cheeks.

The rain that was broadcasted this morning is now making its appearance, causing the thunder and lightning to fill the abandoned street.

"Shoot him!" Taylor snarls at me.

"I can't," I whimper, pushing my soaking wet hair out of my face quickly, like it was fire.

I was never a fan of rain. Or storms, for that matter.

"You can!"

"I can't." I repeat. "You know I can't."

"Give me the damn gun then, Brookie." He growls, but I know–hopefully–that his anger isn't directed towards me.

Taylor goes to run back for the gun in my hands but instead trips into something–probably slipped on the wet ground–and falls, but I don't go down with him. Instead, I'm getting pulled into arms bigger than my head and dragged back to where we ran from. The gun drops from my hand. "You're next, sweetheart."

A flash of lightning lights up the night, and I see the worried look on Taylor's face.

A few moments later, more lightning flashes, and I see the gun pointed, and hear the safety click off.

"No! No! Taylor! Taylor! Taylor, no, please, come back. Taylor! No!"

The shot goes off.

I wake up screaming, panting because I'm out of breath, and sweating. I begin crying and wheezing, remembering the events of that life-changing night, and my heart beating so hard and fast, for a minute I think I'm having a heart attack.

I'm pulling at my hair's roots and gritting my teeth when I hear footsteps storm up my stairs but I don't pay attention to them; I'm too busy trying to breathe and get the nightmares out of my head.

I didn't like bad weather because it made people turn into bad moods. I loved sunshine and brightness. I was never a fan of the rain and storms for that reason.

Now, whenever we get them, I'm terrified.

It gives me memories I can't rid of and reminds me of how stupid I was. I cower whenever I see lightning, and I cry and hide in the arms of my friends or between my mattresses.

That will probably never change.

Neither will the flashbacks.

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"What's wrong?"

"Why the fuck are you screaming at one thirty in the morning when none of us is in here screwing you?"

I don't notice I'm trembling and unresponsive until someone wraps their arms around me, then moves them to my face.

It's Ella.

"Brooklyn, sweetie, what's wrong?" She asks softly, ignoring the groaning of her sons.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." I'm not even acknowledging her. I'm still in a daze, apologizing to myself. Apologizing to Taylor.

"I should've just done it. He deserved it. I should have just hit him." I whimper, more heavy tears coming down my eyes.

"No, no, no, don't worry about it." She assures me. I come out of my trance, open my eyes tiredly, and look at all who came up. Ella, Thomas, and the twins.

Crap.

Landon.

Oh double crap!

"You can all go back to bed, I'm sorry."

"Are you okay, Brooklyn?" Thomas asks.

I shrug, wiping my eyes. "It was just a dream."

"That was one dream," Landon breathes. Well, I don't know which twin it was at this point.

Too bad it was actually a reality, I think defeatedly to myself. I give them all reassuring smiles, even though it's guaranteed none of them buy it, and Ella hesitantly drops her hands from my cheeks and steps off the bed.

"If you need anything, anything, don't hesitate to wake us up, okay?" She says–well, more demands, and I give her a small nod. They all disperse out of my room, and I rub my temples tiredly, tears coming out of my eyes again. I'm so tired of having these dreams, let alone remembering the whole event. It's tiring; not even therapy helps. Maybe it's time I start going again. . .

"That was a façade," Someone says. I jump, still startled, and sigh.

"Just go." I tell him. "Please?"

"What's going on, Blue? You were fine, what happened?"

"It was nothing, Landon. Like I said, it was just a dream." I tell him.

"It wasn't 'just a dream', though!" He argues. "I know what nightmares are like, okay? I faced them as a reality and a subconscious creation. I know the difference between a dream that was a dream, and a dream that was a repeat of a horrible event."

"I'm not telling you my hauntings." I snap. "Seriously, go. I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Landon sighs, "Brook–"

"Landon," I whisper, on the urge of another breakdown. "Please. Please I am begging you to drop this. Please. Not now, Landon. Not tonight."

"Fine." He says defeatedly. "If you have another, come down, okay? I know what it feels like. Comfort is nice." I shrug; a small nod, too. "Maybe some cuddling and making out?"

I roll my eyes, but nonetheless, a smile appears, and soon enough a laugh comes out of my mouth. "In your dreams."

He smiles; a genuine smile. "Every night, Blue." He winks. I thank him once more before I'm left alone again. I sigh, reaching over the pillows that have been thrown around from my nightmare, and grab my phone.

It rings twice before getting picked up.

"Brooklyn?"

"Hey," I sniffle.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know what to do." I whisper, tears starting to pour down my dampened cheeks again.

"Oh honey," Lacey says. "I'm sorry."

"Lacey I'm having nightmares about everything," I sob, "Taylor, last year, prison the first time, prison a few weeks ago. I've been here three days and I'm breaking. I don't know if I can do this. I don't think I can do this."

"Brooklyn," she says, "it's just the beginning, alright? Listen, you seen a shrink and it worked last year! You should think about seeing another. Maybe they can help. Maybe they can prescribe you something to help with the bad dreams–"

"I don't want pills, Lacey!" I exclaim, "I'm already taking a lot right now. Nothing works! Nothing is working, not even the antidepressants and the sleeping pills aren't doing anything but keep me up throughout the night. I'm not eating, I'm stressed about everything and this household isn't making things any better!"

"Shh," she coos, "I know it's hard. It's the worst, okay? Don't give up yet, Brookie. The Brooklyn I know is the Brooklyn who wouldn't let anyone stomp around on her. She wouldn't let one bad occurrence ruin her night, and if it did while she was having fun, then she'd ignore it and cry about it the next day so nobody was put down–"

"I cry about it everyday, damn it!" I interject.

"Things will only be harder if you let them be, Brookie, but I promise you that they'll get better in time. You've been at their residence for two days, alright, there isn't going to be any change for them for a short while. They'll open up to you once they get to know you, but you can't play the mysterious role all the time. Whether you let them know or not, but talking about it can help."

"What if I don't want them to know?" I whisper.

Lacey sighs. "Brooklyn, whether you want to tell someone or not, that's your choice, but let me tell you something: talking helps. And when it starts eating you alive inside, it'll be nice to know that you can talk to someone about it."

"Thank you, Lace." I say softly.

"Anytime babe." I can hear her smile. "What time is it over there?"

"I don't know," I sigh. "One of the boys said something about one thirty, so I assume it's around one thirty."

She laughs. "Yeah, it's a lot later over there than it is here. Go to sleep, and call me when you wake up, okay?"

"But we're ahead of you. You'll be sleeping." I frown.

"Then call me around lunch." She says in a 'duh' tone.

"Okay, okay," I reply. "I'll talk to you in a bit. Thanks, Lace."

"Of course, Brooklyn. You can call me whenever."

"I know." I smile. "Say hi to the group for me."

"You bet. Love you."

"Love you too."

I hang up, and it takes about five minutes for me to fall asleep again.

Not nightmare free.