Page 5 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Two

Mud clings to my limbs as I drag my body through grime and blood. The gnarled wreckage of a helicopter smokes in the distance. I need to reach my friends, and then I see her lying in the muck. Struggling towards her, there’s a blinding flash of light.

Headlights.

I’m on a street in London. Pain sears through my side and I look down to discover half of me is missing; a rib is visible. I choke against bile as my eyes spot her again, her body twisted on the concrete. I don’t feel anything as I crawl toward her and gather her body in my arms, trying to find a pulse. Someone yells, but I can only stare at her. It’s not my sister. It’s someone else.

It’s her.

A hand grabs my shoulder, and I jolt up, swinging defensively. My fist whizzes past a worried face, clipping his glasses.

“Alex, calm down.” Edward jumps back before I can take another shot at him.

I blink, damask wall coverings swim into view, erasing battlefields and bloody pavement, and I relax into the chair. Shoving a hand through my hair, I check my watch. Six in the morning. Brilliant.

“You okay?” Edward asks carefully. He’s been walking on eggshells since I arrived in London. I can’t blame him. We’re practically strangers. When I left, he was a kid. Now he’s an adult with problems of his own.

“Fine,” I bark, my throat dry.

“You were…” he hesitates as if weighing what to say.

“Screaming,” I finish for him. In my first few months in Afghanistan, I’d gotten shit for my nightmares from those bunked around me. After that, they’d seen enough horrors that I wasn’t the only one calling out in the night. No one talked shit anymore. Then again, no one talked about it at all. “It’s nothing. Bad dream.”

“You’re still sleeping out here?” My brother takes a seat across from mine. He’s still in silk, striped pajamas, and his hair is tangled from sleep, but he doesn’t act tired.

“Bed’s too comfortable.” A bed is for someone soft and welcoming. Someone like her: the girl I kissed. Clara. I think of her lips and almost need to adjust myself. Then, the dream returns to me, and I remember that it was her in the street.

But why?

“Too comfortable?” Edward asks, taking me from my thoughts of Clara. He raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press me to talk about it. He can connect the dots—draw a line from where I’ve been and what I’m telling him now. It’s a Royal family tradition to not pry. If something can be left unsaid—if a door can be closed to an unsavory truth—it’s best not to speak or question or reopen that door. There’s a lot that goes unsaid behind these walls, and I’m not the only one not talking.

“Why are you here anyway?” I ask him.

“You were screaming,” he reminds me, his mouth quirking up like this is obvious. His bedroom is down the corridor.

“Not here.” I gesture to the parlor that’s become my unofficial bedroom. “Buckingham.”

“Dear old dad wanted me here before I took up residence elsewhere.” His words carry the load of a heavier burden. “When I finished at St. Andrews, he insisted I come straight home and learn my bit.”

“Which is?” I ask. Currently, my father is avoiding me with such devotion, I assume he honed the ability purposefully during my time at the front. We’ve barely spoken more than five times in the few months I’ve been home. There has been no mention of my duties other than a revolving schedule of sodding appearances I am expected to make. He doesn’t ask me about the dreams or why I sleep in a chair at night or anything. It suits me fine given that I hate the man and I hate being his heir.

“Behave. Smile” Edward forces one like he’s offering me a sample.

“Pretend,” I add for him.

“Pretend?” he repeats with practiced confusion.

I’ve been waiting for him to tell me, but it seems obvious he won’t. He’s spent a few weekends at home while he was finishing his final term. There’d been a trip to the country with friends. I’ve spent enough time with my little brother to know that he’s keeping a secret.

“I know,” I say with meaning.

“I’m not sure—” he starts.

“Look, I get it. If you don’t want to tell me, I understand. You…you barely know me, but I see you with him.” I don’t want Edward to think he has to hide who he is from me like he does our father.

“Him?” He’s still playing dumb, clinging to the lie as my mind clings to the dream.

“David.” I decide that he can avoid uncomfortable topics as is the family way, but I can’t. Secrets will bury us all alive if we let them.