The Green door

It’s the green door that Alejandro dreams about, the one with red streaks and rusted hinges. There’s an apprehension in his chest because he knows what happens next and as always he’s powerless to stop it.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

He tastes cordite on his tongue as the gunshots erupt in his ears, loud, ringing. He glances over his shoulder and Vega’s body turns towards him, only his head is missing and the blood, it’s splashed across Alejandro’s face.

Hot, wet and sticky.

It’s in his mouth, his nose, his eyes…

He wakes up breathless, his heart pounding in his chest as darkness twinges at the edges of his vision. For a moment he thinks he’s back there in Iraq, Vega’s life force staining him but then the scent of jasmine and nectarines flood his senses, and he realises he’s at home, in the bed. When he opens his eyes he sees your face, your hair falling across your features as your fingertips trace over his cheekbone lightly.

“Take a deep breath.” You say quietly. “In for five, hold for five, out for five.”

You do the count with him; he loses track of how many times because all he can focus on is the fresh influx of oxygen expanding into his lungs. The trembling begins to subside, his nerves stop jangling. His palm comes to rest on the nape of your neck, his thumb trailing over the line of your jaw as you chase away the salt from his cheeks with featherlight kisses.

“I’m home.” He reminds himself, repeating it like a mantra. “I’m home.”