‘He had seen those buildings as a child; a school trip he couldn’t quite remember.’
LOST OR INCOMPLETE
Marcus Rivera & Katherine Rivera
prompt: scarred
Dragging one of his hands back through his hair as he stepped out of the bedroom, he tossed his shirt over the back of the sofa, and subconsciously flicked on the television as he passed it. His morning routine was always the same on a workday; wake up when the alarm went off, hit ‘snooze’ once, wash, dress, turn on the TV, and then go for the coffee. All the time he’d been with the LAPD, it had been the same, and the Riveras were not the type of people to just change a routine once it settled. They were stubborn and determined… like clockwork, some people said. He just liked knowing what he was doing on any given day; he liked to be prepared.
He was in the kitchen staring at the trickle of coffee in the percolator when he heard the sudden shift in the television’s sound, and his brow furrowed. Standing upright, he cocked his head, and moved to the doorway, blue eyes immediately drawn to the screen.
Oh my god. Though his jaw dropped, the words never left his mouth. The coffee was forgotten. He shut everything out. Feeling his heart thunder suddenly in his chest after taking in what the announcement had said, he practically fell over his boots as he stepped into them hastily, grabbing his jacket and keys as he went out the door. He didn’t even turn off the TV. He just left.
He didn’t have far to go.
Moving with a brisk jog by the time he got to the lobby of his own apartment building, jacket swiftly pulled on as he’d taken the stairs three at a time in his descent, keys still in his hand, he broke into a run as he headed for one of the other buildings; there were three in his complex, and he went from one to the other, not even taking his eyes off the door as he ran for it. Someone was coming out in a hurry as he went in, and he slipped in past them; it cut out the need to buzz, and as he sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the elevator, he started automatically rifling through the keys on his chain, not even needing to look down to know he’d found the right one. When he reached the right floor, he used his shoulder and arm to push bodily through the door rather than use his hands, and he could hear movement on the other sides of doors as he passed them, shutting it all out as he honed in on one in particular.
Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, he pushed the key into the lock, and opened the door after it clicked.
She was sitting on the sofa, half-ready for work herself. She was completely silent as he closed the door quietly behind him, and she turned to look at the sound. Their eyes met. He frowned, and as one, they looked back to the television opposite her couch.
Dumping his keys in the tray, and shrugging his jacket onto the floor as he walked across the room, he silently sat himself on the arm of the chair beside her, noticing the way her hands were knotted in front of her mouth. She was paler than normal; her hair hadn’t been tidied. He imagined he looked the same, on some level, and didn’t care. He hadn’t even bothered to tie his laces before he’d left his own apartment. It was a wonder he hadn’t tripped on the way over.
Together, they sat, watching the announcements. The anger and pain in the room was shared between the two as they listened, not saying a word to one another… not needing to. His hands were draped loosely over his knees as he leaned forward, feet planted on the ground below him as he barely even dared to blink. Everything seemed so surreal, and twisted, and wrong. He had woken up, and everything had seemed so… normal. Now, as he watched and listened, everything seemed to turn upside down; his world seemed to turn at an angle, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and fear.
They watched, in shared horror and agony, as the second tower erupted in flame, and he felt something in his chest constrict. His eyes closed with an internal curse that he didn’t have the strength to sound. He pulled in a shaky, deep breath, and felt one of her hands slip into his own. He wrapped his fingers around hers, and they squeezed one another’s hands as his eyes opened, looking to her. In her green eyes, he saw his own heartache and bewilderment; the complete lack of understanding surrounding the chaos they were watching as it unfolded before them.
Even now, so many miles away from the city where they had grown up, he felt a loss build inside him. He had seen those buildings as a child; a school trip he couldn’t quite remember. He remembered being in the back of the family car when they had driven past them in his youth… he remembered seeing them on the skyline.
And now, as he watched with tears in his eyes, he saw them falling; fire, and terror, and hatred. He swallowed a foul taste in the back of his throat, shaking his head, and he felt her squeeze his hand again, pulling him back from the edge as part of the city they loved so deeply came down; destroyed by things that, in his confusion, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend… and didn’t want to. When he’d been growing up in New York City, he’d felt safe and untouchable… now, he realised, he had been wrong. Seeing it all come apart in front of him, he couldn’t believe it possible… but knew, on some level, there was no going back from this place.
He didn’t want to look at it anymore, but each time he tried to pull his eyes away, they were inexplicably drawn back to the screen. He couldn’t look away… he knew that. It was literally painful to watch, and listen to, but if he turned his head from it…
It would never stop being real, and on some level, he felt as though he didn’t have the right to feel the way he did, before he reminded himself that that city had been such a big part of his life; if it hadn’t been for their father’s failing health in his teenage years, he imagined they would still be there right now… hearing the sounds and seeing it all come apart at the seams.
In his line of work, he had seen some horrible things before; truly disgusting acts that had made him wonder how some people lived with themselves… how they slept at night, knowing what they had done.
But never in his life… never… had he seen something so repulsive and hateful; something so callous and destructive and unjust…
As he sat there, his hand in his sister’s, holding on as if afraid to let go, he knew he could never erase this from his mind. He could never wipe it away… and to some degree, he didn’t want to. Somehow he had to use this… but as he sat there, he didn’t know how. He didn’t know if he could.
His head felt heavy as they replayed the videos of the impact, and he closed his eyes against it, his free hand coming up to brace his suddenly-heavy head as it dropped slowly, and his chest heaved with another deep sigh. He felt her free hand land against his back, supporting and quiet, and on some level, seeking comfort as well. He pulled his head up, and looked to her again. She met his gaze.
He tightened his hand around hers again, and summoned the courage to look back to the screen. This wasn’t going away. Closing his eyes wouldn’t make it go away. He couldn’t shut it out. Like countless others, he knew he had to take it in, because really… what else could he do?
There was nothing they could do… and maybe that was what hurt them most.
They sat there, watching it unravel, and were powerless to help…
For the first time in his life, Marcus Rivera felt true weakness.
And he hated it.