For years I have hidden in the dark shadows of life. Not truly living…just existing. Not allowing many in, once they take a look at me, all I would see was their backs as they ran from the horror that is me. There is nothing I can do to change my appearance at this point. The damage has been done, and by those who should have protected me.
Thinking back to when my nightmare started, I can almost feel the terror overtaking me. While I relax in my recliner, I gaze out the back wall of windows to see the beautiful scene in my remote backyard. Years ago, I finally took the plunge to actually purchase my first and only home; a solitary cabin deep in the woods, by myself. Maintaining my solitude helps to keep the voices in my head quiet, so after many years of avoidance, my mind is finally able to accept that my life works this way. Well, that doesn’t include my brothers from the firehouse and the club.
I am a man with two very different personas in one body. A body that lives two lives so far apart from one another, it’s kind of funny. First, my valiant side: I am a firefighter in town, going on almost fifteen years. Because of the way my existence started and the special abilities I was gifted at birth, I’ve always had the need and want to help people. Saving others has fulfilled me in ways I could never explain. My second side, the darker side: I’m a nomad in a motorcycle club. I have been a part of the MC since I turned eighteen. Those same abilities have assisted the club, in many different ways, through some of their darker days during my time with them. While my prez is the only one who knows the full extent of my unique skills, the brothers in the club have figured out I’m not like them and explains why being a nomad is the only way for me. They have been my saving grace, which has allowed me the ability to heal, something I have needed for a long time. Both groups of my brothers accept me for who I have fought to be. That includes scars, nightmares, abilities that would freak the fuck out of most people, and all the bullshit left from my childhood. A childhood horror stories are made of.