Routine

Duncan and Cera's grocery trip turns into a terrifying fight for survival during a shooting. They find temporary safety, but the violence leaves them traumatized. Duncan's protective instincts clash w

Please be aware that this story contains depictions of violence that some readers may find disturbing.

On their usual grocery shopping day, they head out together, each focused on their own tasks. Owen goes to another aisle to find bread, while Hazel quietly looks for things to surprise him with for his upcoming 50th birthday . Even though Owen had long since reached an age where surprises held little novelty, two decades of marriage having gently smoothed out any sharp edges of the unexpected. Birthdays, anniversaries �" they had settled into comfortable routines, the thrill of the unknown replaced by the quiet con tentment of shared history. Surprises, at this stage of their life, felt more like a pleasant disruption than a genuine thrill for him. But the day, it seemed, had other plans in store.

The piercing crack of gunfire tore through the mundane tranquility of the store, shattering glass into a shower of lethal fragments. In that horrifying instant, a cacophony of screams erupted, a wave of pure terror washing over the aisles. For Owen, it was an instinctive surge of protectiveness. Without a flicker of hesitation, his gaze locked onto Hazel, and he was instantly by her side, his hands sure and strong as he rushed her to safety. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, Hazel's fingers clutched at his arm with desperate strength, her knuckles white. Her eyes, wide pools of raw fear, darted around the chaos. "Stay..." she choked out, each word a painful plea, "...st.. stay...." The sheer terror in her voice, the desperate grip of her hand, fueled the fierce protectiveness blazing in Owen's eyes as he shielded her, poised to defend her against whatever threat loomed.

Owen's hand tightened reassuringly around Hazel's, his grip so fierce his knuckles strained against the pale skin of her arm. He pulled her close, his broad back now a shield against the pandemonium erupting around them. His gaze, narrowed and intense, swept the chaotic scene. His eyes, usually crinkled at the corners with warmth, were now sharp and assessing, darting from overturned displays spilling their contents onto the linoleum floor to the panicked figures scrambling for cover. He searched for any flicker of movement, any glint of steel, any hint of the source of the terror that had shattered their ordinary afternoon.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear, a solid anchor in the storm of screams and shattering glass. "Don't worry, love. I'll keep you safe."

He gently pressed her head against his chest, the familiar scent of his work shirt and the steady, strong beat of his heart a small, vital comfort against the overwhelming fear that made her tremble. Every fiber of his being was focused on her safety. The muscles in his jaw were clenched, his shoulders were set like stone, and his entire posture radiated a fierce protectiveness. He was coiled and ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of renewed danger, a silent promise etched in the rigid line of his body.

"Please..." Hazel's voice cracked, a fragile whisper lost amidst the surrounding chaos. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the already terrifying scene. "...we...we will..." she tried again, her breath hitching in her throat, "...be okay..." She tightened her grip on Owen's shirt, her knuckles white. "...us..." A small, desperate nod. "...yeah...?" Her gaze, filled with raw vulnerability, pleaded for reassurance, for a confirmation of safety in a world that had suddenly turned violent.

Owen's grip on Hazel tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent reassurance as he pressed her even closer, his body a solid shield against the unfolding horror. He lowered his voice, the tone deliberately calm and soothing, a stark contrast to the shrieking around them.

 

"Yes, we'll be okay," he assured her, his gaze still sweeping the aisles, vigilant and unwavering. "I won't let anything happen to you, Hazel. You hear me? I promise."

Despite the shattering sounds and the panicked movements blurring his peripheral vision, Owen's focus remained absolutely fixed on her. He could feel the tremor that ran through her slender frame, the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, the palpable fear that radiated from her. It was a visHazell connection, a shared vulnerability in the face of danger. He wanted, no, needed, to anchor her in this moment, to instill a sense of unwavering comfort and rock-solid reassurance that would cut through the terror.

A suffocating wave of dizziness crashed over Hazel, the vibrant chaos of the grocery store dissolving into a swirling vortex of grey. The screams around her warped and faded, replaced by a high-pitched whine that threatened to consume her. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, a leaden weight dragging them down. Her body betrayed her, growing limp and unresponsive, the urge to succumb overwhelming. But deep within, a fierce, primal refusal ignited. She thrashed her head back and forth with violent, desperate energy, her neck straining against the force. "No! No!" she choked out, the sound barely audible above the din. "Can't... can't pass out here... no!" Each word was a ragged, defiant cry against the encroaching oblivion, a desperate clawing back to consciousness in the face of mortal danger.

A jolt of pure alarm shot through Owen as he felt Hazel's body slacken, her eyelids fluttering like trapped butterflies. He recognized the telltale signs of her fading consciousness, and a cold dread gripped him. He knew, with stark certainty, that succumbing to unconsciousness in this volatile situation could have devastating consequences.

"Hazel, focus on me," he urged, his voice cutting through the surrounding terror, firm yet laced with a desperate tenderness. "You need to stay awake, sweetheart. I need you to be strong for me, for us. Keep your eyes open. Look at me, Hazel."

His hands, usually calloused and strong from years of work, now moved with surprising gentleness as he cupped her face. He tilted her head, forcing her unfocused gaze to meet his own. He needed her to see him, to find a lifeline in his eyes. His thumb brushed softly against her pale cheek, a small, rhythmic motion, a silent plea for her to hold on.

A flicker of recognition, a faint spark in the depths of her widening eyes, pierced through Owen's fear. "That's it," he murmured, his voice softening with a surge of relief. "Stay with me, Hazel. Just keep looking at me. You're doing great, love. Just breathe with me, okay? In... and out..." He demonstrated with a slow, deliberate breath, his gaze locked on hers, willing her to follow.

A sharp crack echoed from the far end of the store, followed almost immediately by the heart-wrenching sound of a child's terrified cry. The sound pierced through the immediate chaos surrounding them, a stark reminder of the widespread danger and the innocent lives caught in the crossfire. Owen's jaw tightened, his protective instincts surging even further. He glanced briefly in the direction of the sound, a flicker of anguish in his eyes before his gaze returned, unwavering, to Hazel Then, a sickening thud resonated from the same direction, abruptly silencing the child's cry. A heavy stillness descended in its wake, more terrifying in its finality than the wails had been. Owen's breath hitched, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his hold on Hazel, his eyes now filled with a grim determination. The brief sound painted a stark and brutal picture of the danger they were in, solidifying the urgency of their situation.

A cold fury settled in Owen's chest. The silence where the child's cries had been felt heavy, suffocating. He knew they couldn't stay here, exposed and vulnerable. His gaze darted around, assessing their surroundings with a newfound urgency. He spotted a partially overturned display of canned goods nearby, offering a sliver of potential cover.

"We need to move," he said, his voice low and urgent, the earlier tenderness replaced by a steely resolve. "Can you manage, Hazel? Just a little bit." He didn't wait for a verbal response, he carefully adjusted his grip, preparing to lift her. The image of that sudden silence, the implication of its finality, spurred him into action. He had to get Hazel out of this, now.

A faint but distinct wail, growing steadily louder, reached Owen's ears �" the unmistakable sound of approaching sirens. A sliver of relief pierced through the fear that had been constricting his chest. Help was coming. But the chilling silence that had followed the child's cry was a stark reminder that "almost here" wasn't "here yet." He couldn't afford to relax, not even for a second. Owen carefully carried Hazel behind the partially overturned display of canned goods. It wasn't much, but it offered a low barrier against the open aisle. The metal shelves lay on their side, a jumbled mess of dented cans �" peaches, beans, and soup labels now askew and dusty from the fall. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light that pierced through the gaps between the fallen shelves and the floor. From their vantage point, they had a limited view of the next aisle, the colorful rows of cereals and snacks now a backdrop to the unfolding terror. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of spilled food and the lingering scent of shattered glass. The linoleum floor, usually gleaming, was now littered with debris �" sharp shards glinting ominously and scattered groceries abandoned in the panicked flight. It wasn't a secure haven, but it was a temporary shield, a small pocket of relative concealment in the vast, exposed space of the supermarket.

Peeking cautiously from behind the fallen shelves, Owen's breath hitched in his throat. His eyes landed on a horrifying tableau in the adjacent aisle: the small, still form of the child sprawled amidst scattered toys, a crimson stain blooming on their bright clothing. The sight was brutal, sickening, a stark and irreversible image of the violence that had erupted. Without a second thought, a fierce protectiveness surged through him. He immediately shifted his body, gently but firmly turning Hazel's head away, shielding her eyes from the gruesome reality. "Don't look," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't see that, love."

His mind reeled, the horrific image of the child seared into his memory. A fresh wave of dread washed over him. Where was the mother? Had she been caught in the crossfire too? Was she lying injured somewhere, frantic with worry? The silence that followed the child's cry now felt even heavier, laden with unanswered and terrifying questions. He tightened his grip on Hazel, a silent vow forming in his heart to protect her from the same unimaginable fate.

A raw, primal fear clawed at Owen's insides, a cold serpent coiling in his stomach. His palms were slick with a frigid sweat that had nothing to do with the store's temperature. He cradled Hazel's head, his touch a desperate caress against her trembling form. Her terror was a palpable thing, a suffocating cloud that mirrored the dread now threatening to overwhelm him. The image of the lifeless child, the chilling silence that followed, had shattered the illusion of any possible safety. A horrifying certainty began to bloom in his mind: this could be it. Their end.

A fierce, almost frantic urgency seized him. He had to speak, to pour out the years of unspoken love, the unwavering devotion that had defined their shared life. He had to offer a lifeline of hope, even as the darkness pressed in from all sides. He leaned close, his breath catching in his throat. "Hazel," he rasped, his voice thick with a raw emotion that bordered on despair. "I love you... God, I love you so much. You know that, don't you?" He hesitated, the unspoken fear hanging heavy between them. "We... we'll try. We have to try. Just... hold on." His words felt hollow, a fragile shield against the brutal reality. He held her tighter, a silent plea, a desperate hope clinging to the edges of his terror. What would happen next? He didn't know. All he knew was the fragile weight of the woman he loved in his arms and the terrifying uncertainty of the silence that stretched beyond their meager hiding place.

Hazel's gaze, wide and brimming with tears, snagged on Owen's face, a fresh wave of terror rippling through her at the unfamiliar tremor in his tone, the stark emotion laid bare in his features. "What...?" she breathed, her voice a fragile thread against the backdrop of distant mayhem. "What's with that tone, Owen?" Her fingers clenched his shirt, a desperate hold. His uncharacteristic words, the sheer vulnerability in his eyes, amplified her own spiraling fear, painting a stark and horrifying picture of their predicament. Was he saying farewell? The unspoken question hung between them, a chilling premonition more terrifying than the sounds of violence. Hazel's voice trembled, each word a fragile breath against the oppressive silence that followed the distant sounds of violence. Her eyes, locked on Owen's, held a raw, naked fear. "Are we... is this all? Is this how it ends... for us?"

Owen's voice, a low tremor against the backdrop of distant sirens, filled their cramped hiding spot. "Hazel," he breathed, his eyes locked on hers, "you are my life. My only life." He swallowed hard. "Remember that time... that silly argument about the map on our first road trip? I knew you were right. I was just being stubborn." A weak smile flickered across his lips. "And that old locket you lost? I found it. Years ago. In my toolbox. I was going to surprise you..." His voice trailed off, thick with emotion. "Just know... know that I love you. More than words can say. Always have."

The heavy thud of boots against the linoleum floor echoed with increasing urgency, each step a hammer blow against their fragile sanctuary. The sound was no longer distant; it was right there, just beyond the precarious barrier of overturned shelves, close enough for them to feel the vibrations through the cold floor. A palpable sense of immediate danger hung in the air, suffocating and absolute. Their breath hitched in unison, every muscle in their bodies tensing, hearts pounding a frantic tattoo against their ribs. The footsteps stopped abruptly, right on the other side of their makeshift wall.

The footsteps halted just inches away, the silence that followed thick with menace. Owen's breath hitched, his eyes wide. Without a word, his hand shot out, gently but firmly covering Hazel's mouth, his fingers pressing lightly against her lips. His eyes darted frantically towards the gaps in the fallen shelves, searching for any sign of who �" or what �" was on the other side. Every instinct screamed at them to remain silent, to become invisible against the backdrop of spilled groceries and shattered glass. A long, agonizing moment stretched into an eternity, the silence punctuated only by the frantic thumping of their own hearts. Then, a faint shift in the air, a barely perceptible change in the sound, signaled the impossible: the heavy footsteps were receding. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the sound diminished, fading into the background noise of the ravaged store. Owen kept his hand gently over Hazel's mouth until the last echo had disappeared, his eyes still wide and alert, unwilling to believe their reprieve.

A faint but distinct wail, growing steadily louder, reached Owen's ears �" the unmistakable sound of approaching sirens. A sliver of hope pierced through the suffocating fear. Help was coming. But the recent presence of danger was a stark reminder of their vulnerability. He couldn't relax, not yet.

"The police..." Owen breathed, his voice a low murmur against her ear. "They're close. They'll stop this." His grip on her tightened reassuringly.

A looming shadow sent a jolt of pure, unreasoning terror through Hazel. Her fingers clawed into Owen's arm, her nails digging into his skin, her grip a desperate, animalistic vise. Air hitched in her throat in ragged, sobbing gasps, her chest heaving violently as if her lungs were collapsing. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, darted wildly, fixated on the dark, menacing object in the figure's hand �" the weapon. Recognition of the uniform, the badge, was lost in the blinding fog of panic. This was the enemy, the bringer of pain and death. "NO! GET AWAY!" she shrieked, her voice a raw, strangled scream torn from the depths of her terror. "DON'T TOUCH US! DON'T YOU COME NEAR! JUST... JUST LEAVE US HERE! GO! GO!"

Hazel, listen to me," he murmured, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of her panic, yet firm enough to try and break through. "It's alright. He's one of the good guys. He's here to help us."

The officer, his eyes reflecting understanding, slowly raised both hands, palms open in a clear gesture of peace. He took a deliberate step back, creating more space. "Ma'am," he said gently, his voice calm and reassuring, "I understand you're scared. I won't come any closer than you're comfortable with. We just want to make sure you're safe." But Hazel remained trapped in her terror, her ragged breaths and wide, unseeing eyes showing she wasn't processing his words.

Owen's gaze remained fixed on the officer, a silent plea for understanding passing between them. He could feel Hazel trembling against him, her grip tight and desperate, her fear a palpable force. He knew she was beyond reason, trapped in a state of sheer panic.

He began to explain, his voice low and steady, trying to convey the urgency without further alarming Hazel. "She's... she's been through a lot. We were caught in the shooting... she saw..." He trailed off, the words inadequate to describe the horror they'd witnessed. He gently ran his fingers through Hazel's hair, a familiar gesture of comfort, hoping to ground her, to remind her of his presence. His concern for her wellbeing eclipsed everything else; his only focus was getting her through this. ,

He carefully shrugged off his jacket, the movement slow and deliberate so as not to startle Hazel further. Gently, with a tenderness that belied the chaos around them, he draped it over her trembling form, a small shield against the harsh reality. Then, with a low groan of effort, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her close against his chest. Her grip on him remained tight, her breathing shallow and rapid. He held her securely, her weight a heavy burden, but one he bore without hesitation. He carefully shrugged off his jacket, the movement slow and deliberate so as not to startle Hazel further. Gently, with a tenderness that belied the chaos around them, he draped it over her trembling form, a small shield against the harsh reality. Then, with a low groan of effort, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her close against his chest. Her grip on him remained tight, her breathing shallow and rapid. He held her securely, her weight a heavy burden, but one he bore without hesitation.

 

As he turned to face the officer, his eyes narrowed with a fierce protectiveness. The officer's expression was a mixture of concern and a strange, unreadable intensity. Owen's gaze flickered to something just beyond the officer's shoulder - a shadow, a movement? - and a fresh wave of unease washed over him.

A deafening crack split the air, and the officer in front of them convulsed, his eyes widening in shock. A dark stain bloomed on his chest, and a spray of blood arced outwards, spattering across Owen and Hazel. Before Owen could even process what had happened, another shot rang out. The assailant, a figure half-concealed in the chaos, crumpled to the ground, struck down by a second officer who appeared from the side. The world seemed to freeze for a split second, the echoes of gunfire mingling with the horrified gasps of other survivors.

A ringing silence descended, as if the world had suddenly muted itself. The shouts and screams faded into a distant hum. Owen, his face and Hazel's splattered with the officer's blood, moved with a strange, detached purpose. He walked out of the store, the chaos behind him blurring into a surreal backdrop. Gently, carefully, he settled Hazel into the passenger seat of their car, her eyes wide and unfocused. Then, he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The car moved forward, pulling away from the scene of carnage, leaving the horror behind, but carrying its weight into the uncertain quiet of the journey home.

The drive home was a descent into a chilling, suffocating silence. The officer's blood, dried and dark on their skin and clothes, felt like a constant, sickening reminder. The sounds of the store �" the screams, the gunshots, the sickening thud �" replayed in their minds with horrifying clarity, drowning out the hum of the engine. Neither of them spoke, the words lost in a vortex of shock and grief, replaced by a shared, unspoken terror.

THazel's eyelids fluttered like exhausted moths, threatening to drift shut with every gentle sway of the car. Her head lolled against the headrest, her breathing shallow and uneven, each exhale a faint sigh against the oppressive silence. Owen watched her from the corner of his eye, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel, a silent vigil. The familiar streets blurred past, the afternoon sun casting long shadows that danced across her pale face. Even in her semi-conscious state, a tremor ran through her slender frame, a physical manifestation of the terror that clung to her like a shroud. He longed to reach out, to offer comfort, but feared even the slightest touch might shatter the fragile hold she had on consciousness, plunging her further into the silent abyss of shock. The weight of her vulnerability in that moment was a heavy burden, amplifying his own fear and the gnawing uncertainty of what awaited them.

Hazel's fingers had instinctively closed around something small and smooth. Now, as she drifted in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat, her grip remained tight, her knuckles pale against its surface. Owen glanced down, a knot forming in his stomach. It was a single, dark truffle, its earthy aroma faintly discernible even through the lingering metallic scent of blood. Its surface was smooth, almost velvety, a small, luxurious indulgence she had carefully chosen from the grocery store's refrigerated case, a tiny treasure meant to surprise him on his 50th birthday. The sight of it, this small orb of culinary delight clutched amidst the horror, was a poignant reminder of the ordinary joy she had intended to bring him, a stark contrast to the brutal reality they had just endured. It was a tangible symbol of their life, of the small, thoughtful gestures of love that now felt so fragile and precious. 

The gold lettering on the dark wrapper glinted faintly in the dim light of the car. As the exhaustion finally overwhelmed her, her grip on the chocolate loosened almost imperceptibly. A faint whisper escaped her lips, a fragile offering amidst the silence. "...happy...birth..day..." she murmured weakly, the words barely audible before her eyes fluttered shut, and she finally succumbed to the overwhelming darkness.

His heart skipped a painful beat. As her weak whisper reached his ears, a wave of grief and profound tenderness washed over him. The realization that even amidst the terror, her last conscious thought was of his happiness, of celebrating his milestone, was almost unbearable. "Hazel..." he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears, wavering with the raw ache in his chest. He gently pried the chocolate from her now-limp fingers, placing it carefully on the bedside table as if it were the most precious artifact. Then, his gaze, filled with a fierce protectiveness and a desperate love, returned to her still form. Seeing her finally succumb to the exhaustion that had been evident in her trembling body, he carefully scooped her up into his arms. Her slight weight felt both fragile and infinitely precious as he carried her through their silent home to their bedroom, laying her down with infinite gentleness.

Even as she lay still on the bed, her breathing shallow and uneven, a faint murmur escaped Hazel's lips. Owen, who had been silently watching over her, his heart a knot of worry, leaned closer. He could just make out the fragmented words, the familiar melody of "Happy Birthday" weaving through her unconsciousness. It was a broken, whispered rendition, the tune halting and interspersed with soft sighs, but undeniably the song she had intended to sing to him with joy and surprise. The sound, so fragile and filled with the innocent intention of celebration, twisted the knife in Owen's heart. He sat beside her, his hand hovering just above hers, a silent vigil, listening to the remnants of her loving plan echoing in the quiet room.

He leaned closer, his gaze filled with a fierce protectiveness. "Shh..." he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion, gently placing a calloused finger against her lips. "Don't strain yourself, my love. Just rest. You've been through so much." His touch was feather-light.

After what felt like an eternity of hushed breaths and Owen's watchful presence, Hazel's eyelids fluttered open. For a long moment, her eyes were unfocused, lost in the lingering shadows of the trauma. Then, recognition flickered within their depths, and with it, the full weight of the day crashed down upon her. It wasn't a gradual return to awareness, but a sudden, devastating flood of terror and vulnerability. A choked sob escaped her lips, followed by another, and then another, escalating into heart-wrenching cries that tore through the quiet of the room. They were the raw, unrestrained tears of a child, stripped bare of any adult composure, a primal outpouring of fear, exhaustion, and the sheer horror of what they had endured. Each sob wracked her small frame, her body trembling uncontrollably as she finally gave voice to the terror that had been trapped within her.

"But... but the child, Owen..." Hazel choked out, fresh tears welling in her eyes, the memory a raw wound. "And the officer... just like that..." Her voice broke, a sob escaping her lips. "It was so... so awful. I keep seeing it."

Owen pulled her close, holding her tightly against his chest, letting her tears soak his shirt. He ran his hand gently through her hair, a soothing rhythm against her trembling. "I know, sweetheart. I know. It was terrible. Unimaginably terrible." His own voice was thick with emotion, the horror of the day still vivid in his mind. "But you're here now. We're here. And we'll hold onto each other. We'll get through this, Hazel. Together."

She clung to him, her small hands gripping his shirt with desperate strength. "I was so scared, Owen. I thought... I thought we wouldn't..." Her voice trailed off, unable to voice the full extent of her fear.

He held her tighter. "I know, love. I was terrified too. But I wasn't going to let anything happen to you. Never. You're my whole world, Hazel. You have to know that." His voice cracked on the last words, the depth of his love and the nearness of their loss overwhelming him.

"Oh, Owen..." she whispered, her voice thick with tears, reaching up to cup his face. Her touch was gentle, yet filled with a desperate need for reassurance. "I was so worried about you too. When I couldn't see you... when the shooting started..." A shudder ran through her. "I just kept thinking, 'Owen... Owen...'"

He closed his eyes, pressing his lips to her forehead, his own tears finally threatening to spill over. "We're here," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "We're both here. That's all that matters right now. Just breathe with me, Hazel. In... and out..." He demonstrated, his own breath shaky, willing her to find some semblance of peace in his presence.

Owen held her close, offering the only comfort he could in the face of such senseless violence. "I don't know, my love. I don't understand either. But we're safe now. And we'll face whatever comes next, hand in hand. I promise." His words were a quiet vow, a desperate attempt to anchor them both in the storm of their emotions.

Hazel, her own body still trembling with the aftermath of terror, noticed the subtle tremor in Owen's hands, the raw emotion that flickered in his eyes despite his attempts to be strong for her. Her own tears subsided slightly, replaced by a wave of empathy. Reaching out, she gently cupped his cheek, her touch surprisingly steady. "Owen," she murmured softly, her voice still thick with emotion but laced with concern. She patted the space beside her on the bed. "Come here. Lie down for a bit. Just... just for a little while."

Without a word, she shifted slightly, making room for him. As he lay down beside her, she instinctively drew him close, cradling his head against her chest. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her ear, mirroring the frantic rhythm that had pounded in her own chest just moments before. Her arms wrapped around him, a protective embrace, offering the same solace she had sought from him. In that moment, the roles seemed to shift, their shared vulnerability creating a deeper intimacy. She held him tightly, stroking his hair gently, offering a silent reassurance, a comforting presence in the quiet aftermath of the storm. The familiar scent of his work shirt, usually a comfort, now carried a faint, unsettling trace of the day's horror, yet it was still him, solid and real against her. In the shared embrace, they found a fragile sanctuary, two souls clinging to each other in the uncertain quiet of their bedroom.

The days bled into one another, each marked by Hazel's unwavering fear. The vibrant colours of their home seemed muted, the familiar sounds now carrying an undercurrent of unease. Every unexpected noise �" a car backfiring outside, the distant wail of a siren �" would send a jolt of panic through her, her eyes darting around as if expecting the horror to tái hiện itself within their safe walls. Sleep offered little respite, her nights often punctuated by soft whimpers and sudden awakenings, her body trembling even in Owen's comforting embrace.

The simple act of Owen reaching for his keys would trigger a visHazell reaction. Her breath would hitch, her fingers digging into his arm with desperate strength, her eyes wide with a silent plea. "Don't go," she would whisper, her voice fragile, the unspoken fear of being alone, of something happening to him while they were apart, hanging heavy in the air. Her world had shrunk to the confines of their home, and Owen was her only anchor in this terrifying new reality. His presence was a tangible reassurance, a silent promise that she wasn't alone in the echoing silence of their shared trauma. He understood her unspoken fears, the way her gaze would drift towards the windows, the way she would flinch at sudden sounds. And so, he stayed, his own anxieties taking a backseat to her overwhelming need for his presence, their shared fear binding them together in a fragile embrace.

The days crawled by, each one a stifling repetition of the last. Owen found himself staring out the window, his gaze lingering on the vibrant life outside their self-imposed prison, a life he felt increasingly detached from. The initial surge of protectiveness had begun to curdle into a gnawing frustration. He loved Hazel, his heart ached for the terror that still clung to her, but the constant vigilance, the absolute refusal to let him out of her sight, was starting to feel like a lead weight dragging him down.

He would try to suggest a short walk in their garden, a brief foray into the familiar surroundings, but her reaction was always the same: a choked sob, a desperate clutching of his hand, her eyes wide with a fear that felt both suffocating and, increasingly, irrational. He would swallow his own rising impatience, reminding himself of the horrors they had both witnessed, but the constant confinement was starting to breed a resentment he fought to suppress. He felt trapped, not just by the four walls of their home, but by the invisible chains of her fear.

Small, everyday tasks became monumental efforts. A simple trip to the pharmacy for a necessity would be met with Hazel's tearful pleas, her voice laced with a panic that made his own anxiety spike. He found himself snapping at her more easily, the edges of his patience fraying. Later, guilt would gnaw at him, but the underlying frustration remained, a bitter taste in his mouth. He longed to feel useful, to take some kind of action beyond simply being present, but Hazel's fear had rendered him a prisoner in his own home, a silent witness to her ongoing trauma, while his own unspoken needs remained unmet. The weight of their shared experience was compounded by the growing chasm of their individual responses, leaving Owen feeling increasingly isolated and resentful of the invisible walls that Hazel's fear had erected around them both.

The silence of the house had always been a comfort, but lately, it felt heavy, suffocating. Owen lay beside Hazel, her breathing shallow and uneven in her sleep, her hand still clutching his shirt as if he might vanish into the darkness. For weeks, this had been their reality, a shared confinement born of terror. But tonight, a different kind of desperation gnawed at him, a desperate need for air that felt as vital as breath itself.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he peeled her fingers from his shirt, each movement a small act of rebellion against the invisible chains of her fear. He slipped out of bed, his movements hushed, acutely aware of the slightest sound that might rouse her. The floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet as he moved through the darkened house, each step amplifying his guilt and his need. He reached the front door, his hand hovering over the cool metal of the knob. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over him �" the familiar pang of guilt at leaving Hazel alone, even in her sleep, warring with the desperate yearning for a moment of solitude, a brief escape from the suffocating weight of their shared trauma. With a final, hesitant glance back at their bedroom door, he quietly turned the knob and slipped out into the cool night air of Bhubaneswar. The humid air, usually so familiar, felt strangely liberating as it filled his lungs. The sounds of the night �" the distant hum of traffic, the chirping of crickets �" were a stark contrast to the heavy silence of their home. He didn't know where he was going, only that he needed to move, to breathe, to feel something other than the constant pressure of Hazel's fear. The quiet streets of their neighborhood offered a temporary reprieve, a silent witness to his desperate flight from their shared confinement.

The click of the front door latch echoed through the silent house, sharp and sudden, tearing Hazel from the fragile edges of sleep. Her heart lurched with a primal fear, a cold dread gripping her chest. Owen? Gone? Panic seized her. With a surge of adrenaline, she fought against the lingering weakness in her limbs, her mind screaming for him. Her fingers fumbled for the wheels of her wheelchair, a familiar aid that now felt like a cruel barrier. With a grunt of effort, she propelled herself forward, her eyes frantically scanning the empty rooms. "Owen! Where are you?" Her voice was a choked whisper, laced with terror.

Driven by a desperate need to find him, to stop him from leaving her alone in this terrifying world, she wheeled herself towards the front door. But the porch... the stairs loomed before her. Her gaze fell on the unforgiving drop. Yet, the fear of being alone, the raw panic of his absence, overrode all reason. With a trembling resolve, she propelled the wheelchair forward. The front wheels hit the edge of the first step, the chair tipping violently. A gasp escaped her lips as she was thrown forward, her body hitting the hard wood of the porch with a thud. Pain shot through her, but it was secondary to the overwhelming terror of being alone, of him being gone. "Please... come back!" she cried out, her voice ragged with pain and despair. Ignoring the throbbing in her limbs, she began to drag herself forward, her fingers scrabbling against the rough surface of the porch, a broken, desperate plea echoing into the silent night.

The rough texture of the porch scraped against Hazel's skin as she dragged herself forward, each inch a testament to her desperate need. Then, a cool breeze brushed against her face, a sensation separate from the clammy sweat of her fear. Her gaze, blurred by tears and panic, drifted upwards. The night sky stretched above her, a vast expanse dotted with a million distant stars, their light surprisingly bright against the darkness. The branches of the old banyan tree in their front yard swayed gently in the breeze, their familiar silhouette a comforting presence against the starlit canvas. It wasn't the impenetrable blackness her fear had conjured. There was light, there was the familiar shape of their tree, there was the cool touch of the night air. A flicker of something other than pure terror sparked within her, a tiny ember of awareness that the darkness wasn't absolute, that even in her fear, the world outside still existed, bathed in the soft glow of night.

He arrived back at the house, his heart racing with worry. His worst fears were confirmed when he saw her, sprawled out on the porch. The sight that greeted him on the porch sent a jolt of pure horror through his veins. Hazel, her wheelchair overturned beside her, lay sprawled on the hard wood, her body twisted at an unnatural angle. Her soft cries, laced with pain and terror, pierced the quiet night. "Hazel!" he gasped, his own fleeting frustration dissolving instantly into a wave of overwhelming fear and remorse. He rushed to her side, his heart pounding in his chest, the image of her vulnerable form etched against the starlit porch a searing indictment of his impulsive act. "Oh, God, Hazel! What happened?" His voice was thick with panic as he knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her injured form, desperate to help but terrified of causing more pain.

“Yeah... the stairs," Hazel said, her voice still shaky, the forced lightness fading. She winced slightly as she tried to shift. "Guess I was in a bit of a hurry." Her gaze flickered towards the overturned wheelchair, then back to Owen, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. "I just... I heard the door. And you weren't there." A small, shuddering breath escaped her lips. "It was silly, I know. But... but I needed to find you." The forced chuckle returned, this time laced with a tremor. "Guess my grand escape plan didn't quite work out." She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. 

Tears welled in Hazel's eyes, reflecting the starlight in shimmering pools. Her voice, thick with emotion, trembled as she spoke. "Owen... oh, Owen, I'm so sorry." She reached out a hand, her fingers finding his arm, her grip surprisingly firm despite her earlier weakness. "I... I know I've been... a lot. Keeping you cooped up like this. It's not fair to you." Her gaze dropped to the rough porch beneath her. "It's just... the fear, it just... it swallows me whole sometimes. I can't help it." She looked up at him again, her expression filled with remorse. "I shouldn't have tried to follow you. I shouldn't have let my fear... make me do something so stupid." A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry for being like this. 

Hazel's gaze drifted upwards, her tear-filled eyes focusing on the vast expanse of the night sky. A soft gasp escaped her lips, a sound that held no trace of fear or pain. Owen watched her, a knot of worry in his chest slowly loosening as he sensed a subtle shift in her demeanor. The rigid tension that had held her body captive seemed to ease, her shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly. The frantic energy of her panic had been replaced by a quiet stillness. Her eyes, moments ago clouded with terror, now widened with a soft, childlike wonder as a streak of light flashed across the inky blackness. Another followed, then another, a silent, celestial ballet unfolding above them. A small, genuine smile touched her lips, the first Owen had seen in days, completely unburdened by forced lightness. The meteor shower, a breathtaking display of cosmic beauty, had momentarily pierced through the darkness of her fear, replacing it with a sense of awe and innocent fascination.

He gently gathered her into his arms, careful of any potential injuries from her fall, and pulled her close against his chest. Looking down at her face, now illuminated by the soft glow of the starlight and the occasional streak of a meteor, he leaned down and kissed her tenderly. It was a kiss that spoke of shared trauma, of relief, and of the enduring strength of their bond. As their lips parted, a soft chuckle bubbled up from Hazel's chest, a sound so pure and unexpected that it startled them both into laughter. It wasn't the forced, brittle laughter of moments before, but a genuine, lighthearted sound, filled with a sense of release and the shared absurdity of their situation �" the terror of the shooting juxtaposed with the breathtaking beauty of the cosmos, her desperate flight ending in a clumsy tumble, his guilt-ridden return. The laughter mingled with the quiet sounds of the night.

The laughter subsided into soft smiles, their foreheads still touching under the starlit sky. Owen's arms tightened around Hazel, holding her close. A gentle warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity. He looked down at her, her eyes still sparkling with the reflected light of the meteor shower. A soft chuckle rumbled in his own chest. "You silly thing," he murmured, his voice filled with affection and a lingering tenderness.

Thank you for taking the time to read "Routine." This story, I hope, offers a glimpse into the raw and often unspoken consequences of sudden violence and the enduring strength �" and fragility �" of human connection in its wake.

I'd be interested to hear your reactions. What emotions did this story evoke? What resonated with you most? Your thoughts and interpretations are always welcome in the comments below.

Stay tuned for more stories and poems as I continue to share the worlds that live within me. 

Author's Note

Completed

Reviews

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

thanks great novel material here, i did re read, thanks for your entry

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Fantastic write thanks so much for entering the competition

[Madlyn]

Thanks a lot!... Btw I'm making changes to the ending today. Hope you'll come back to this piece sometime.☺️

[Julie McCarthy (juliespenhere)]

Ok I will later