Love Me More

by R. S. Medina

  "Right?! That's what I'm saying. I'm such a bitch when I haven't had sex in a while," I agree.

  "I know," she says rolling her eyes. I throw a crumpled up plastic bag at her, and she laughs. I finish cleaning up the bags from the grocery and close all the cabinet doors.

  "Seriously, though, don't say anything to Finn. He would seriously be pissed if he knew I was talking to anyone about our problems. He's very private and says our problems should stay between us, but you don't count," I say laughing. "You're his sister."

  "I know. I won't say anything," Chazz promises. She passes Olivia off to me now that the groceries are off the floors and countertops, and we walk out the door to the backyard.

  I sit Olivia down in the grass and sit down next to her. Chazz plops down next to me, and we watch Olivia crawl around and explore. She's not a fan of grass yet. She keeps pulling her hands up as quickly as she can so she doesn't have to touch it.

  "What are you doing next weekend?" I ask her, looking up at the clouds. They're moving across the sky lazily, and I wish it would rain. I hate this summer heat.

  "I don't know. Why?" she asks, leaning back in the grass on her elbow. She's playing with her hair with the other hand, looking for split ends.

  "I was wondering if you would babysit. I have a business dinner for work, and Finn is supposed to come. I RSVP'd months ago, so I need to find Olivia a babysitter for the night," I tell her, picking blades of grass out of the ground.

  "Yeah, I'll watch her. Not a problem," Chastity responds.

  "I'm not looking forward to going out with all my coworkers and pretending everything is great and peachy," I admit. "It's exhausting. I'm exhausted. Being married is exhausting," I complain. "Don't ever get married. It's a fucking trap," I rant, watching the leaves of the tree in our backyard sway in the light breeze.

  Chazz doesn't say anything. I'm kind of sad I feel that way now. And I know I shouldn't try to scare her off marriage. Marriage is supposed to be a beautiful and wonderful thing. For all I know, one day she will meet a man who will love her and treat her the way she deserves to be treated. Maybe marriage isn't dead. I don't know. I don't have a lot of hope for this generation, though.

  In fact, I'm kind of disappointed in myself. I didn't even want to get married. I didn't think it was important to me. And then I met Finn. And he swept me off my feet in the most cliché bullshit way possible. I lost myself in him. And I think he knew it. And when he proposed there was no way I was going to say no. I was his. There was never any other option.

  I think, sadly, that in this day in age where everything is online, social media is everything, and divorce is a dime a dozen, that marriage is an outdated concept. Love isn't real. And my marriage is proof of that. And I love the idea of love and romance and happy endings, but that's just not realistic anymore. Shit, even both sets of my grandparents divorced and remarried at some point. In fact, my parents are the only couple I know who are still married.

  If I get a divorce, I don't think I'll ever get married again. What would be the point? I want my first marriage to be my only marriage, and if we can't make it work, that's it for me. I'll take Olivia and have a bunch of cats and be happy by myself.

  "Hey," Chazz says, reaching out to touch my arm. "It will be ok. You guys will get past this," she assures me. "And I'm always here for you," she reminds me. "This is just a rough patch."

  "You're right," I say, even though I'm not entirely sure.

  Present

  My lungs are burning, and I feel my muscles straining. I keep pushing through, my feet pounding the pavement. Sweat is pouring down my face, and even though I hurt, I like punishing my body. I run until I can't anymore, and then I stop, stretch, and turn around to run back home.

  My muscles are screaming at me to quit, but I won't. Running is one of the only times I feel at peace anymore. The one time where I can forget everything, shut down my thoughts, and focus on the repetitive footfalls, the breathing and the strain it puts on every part of my body.

  I see the front yard coming into view, and I push myself to finish the last leg of my route. Almost there. Almost there. When I reach the yard, I yank my earbuds out of my ears, and I can still hear the music blasting from the buds dangling around my neck. I wipe sweat from my eyes with the back of my hand. I'm breathing hard, but it feels good. I start my stretching routine and feel the summer heat beating down on my back. I can feel it through my workout shirt, and while everyone complains about the Texas heat, I still maintain it's nothing like the heat in the Middle East. The sun reflects off the sand, and the heat it gives off makes you feel like you're baking alive in a giant oven, and you're stuck in those thick camo's that don't breathe at all. No, Texas heat is so much better. People take it for granted. Fucking entitled, spoiled, ungrateful pricks. I get so tired of hearing the bitching and moaning when my brothers over there never once complained about the heat. No, they nutted up and did their fucking jobs. And as much as I hated it while I was over there, I'd give up just about anything to be back over there with them. I don't feel like I belong here anymore. I don't feel like I belong anywhere.

  But there's no going back for me. The military made sure of that. After three tours over there, I was diagnosed with PTSD and medically discharged from the Marines. I had no choice. Serving my country was taken from me after everything I had sacrificed to make the Marines my career. Just like that, I was disposable.

  And then we found out Blair was pregnant. After two fucking brutal miscarriages, and this one stuck. And Blair was on the pill, or so she says. She must have fucked that up somehow.

  I'm pretty sure my life is some fucking cosmic joke to God. I'm sure if there is a God, he's up there laughing. I can't even take care or provide for my wife, and you give us a baby after taking away the first two? Fuck you. There is no God. There is only war and anger and fucked up people in this life.

  I walk inside, and Olivia crawls to greet me, but I don't pick her up because I'm drenched in sweat. I step over her and walk to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I'm still trying to catch my breath. Olivia starts crying when I ignore her. Blair comes out of the bedroom, hearing Olivia cry, and she picks her up. Blair doesn't even acknowledge me, which is fine. She brushes past me, coolly, but I know she's unhappy. Olivia instantly stops crying when her mom holds her, and Blair takes her back to the bedroom to finish whatever it is she's working on.

  I head to the bathroom and start the shower. I peel off my sweaty clothes and drop them on the floor. The shower stream relaxes my muscles a little, and I drop my chin to my chest and let the water stream down my head, neck, and back.

  Blair used to love taking showers with me. We used to shower together all the time. She'd hop in with me after my workout sessions, and it was the best thing ever. She would lather up her loofa and scrub me down. When she'd wash her hair, I loved helping her rinse her conditioner out. It always made her hair so silky and soft. And her conditioner was her favorite scent—lavender.

  Those days are long gone, though.

  Past

  I'm rubbing my flat belly, excited to see what I will look like with a baby bump in a few months, watching Finn pack his deployment bag. The television is muted so we can talk, and I'm helping him gather everything he's going to need for deployment.

  Yeah, it's not great timing, but women give birth to babies with their husbands deployed all the time. It's not ideal, but we will make it work. And I'll send Finn all kinds of pictures. And there is always Skype. I will look on the bright side.

  This pregnancy is already so different from the first. I'm cramping more, but I'm assuming it is a sign that things are going well.

  I wince with a particularly bad cramp, and Finn notices.

  "Are you okay, baby girl?" he asks, concern crossing his face. I nod, but the crease between his eyebrows is still there. I laugh.

  "It's just a cramp," I say, rubbing my belly. "I'm taking it as a good sign because I didn't have cramps like this last time."
>
  Finn stops packing his bag and comes over to place his hand on my flat belly. I know it's killing him that he's going to miss out on my belly getting big and feeling baby kicks. But the Marines is his mistress, that bitch, and when she calls, he goes. He doesn't have a choice. I know he would be home with me if he could.

  "I can't wait to meet him," Finn says, grinning. He always wanted a little boy. I smile. It's adorable.

  "How do you know it's going to be a boy?" I ask, putting my hand over his on my stomach.

  Finn shrugs. "I just know. I feel it," he says, going back to the bed and folding his clothes like they taught him in boot camp. It saves a lot of space, but I never could comprehend how he has the patience to do it. His clothes are always folded so nice and neat, and if you look at my clothes whenever I pack, it's like a bomb exploded, and clothes went everywhere. It works, though.

  "I hate to agree with you," I say, smiling, "but I think you're right. I bet it will be a boy, too."

  I see a huge grin cross his face. He really wants a boy. And I hope I'm right because I don't want him to be disappointed if the baby is a girl. I will be happy no matter what, as long as the baby is healthy.

  "Why do you say that?" he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. He glances at me from the corner of his eye.

  "I just feel it," I say, shrugging, imitating his response. I can't help but smile. I've been so happy since I found out about the pregnancy. It's the single most terrifying and thrilling experience ever, especially since we lost the first one. I have guilt about being happy about this one, like I could forget about the first one, but I know everything happens for a reason. I just hate that Finn won't be a part of this experience.

  I sit on the edge of the bed, watching Finn fold, and the anxiety I've been pushing out of my mind is slowly creeping back in.

  I'm going to miss him. I hate deployments. I hate missing him. When he's gone, I'm so homesick. He's my home. Wherever he is, is where I belong. But this is his life, his career, his passion, and I respect that, as much as I hate this part of it. I've been fighting this dread since he told me he got the call, knowing that dwelling on it only makes it worse and ruins what little time we do have left together before he has to leave. No amount of begging or crying will make him stay. He can't.

  While he's gone, I'm going to miss his short military regulation length hair cut, and his clean shaved face. I'm going to miss his playful smiles, and the way his eyes light up when he's playing pranks on me. I'm going to miss snuggling up with him at night and putting my cold feet on him even though he hates it.

  But I know the homecoming is always worth it. Always. And this time, we will have a baby when he comes home. We will be a real family. The realization of what is to come gives me butterflies.

  Another cramp hits me, and I start to feel like something is off. I have to pee, and I feel a little wet down there. I stand up, and Finn looks at me curiously.

  "Where you going?" he asks, starting to place his items just so in his bag.

  "I have to pee," I say, walking to the bathroom, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

  I lock the bathroom door behind me and take a deep breath to try and calm myself.

  There's blood – bright red blood.

  Past

  I have never been so pissed off in my life. Waiting in this cold, bland ER waiting room, waiting to see if my wife and child are okay is infuriating. Everyone seems calm, walking around in their fucking scrubs when inside I feel helpless watching my wife worry, and there is nothing that I can do.

  I hate the smell of hospitals. They smell like antiseptic and plastic to me.

  This is her worst nightmare. Again.

  I lean over the arm rest of the horribly uncomfortable waiting room chair and grab her hand. She's picking her cuticles and chewing the inside of her cheek nervously, and she knows that I hate when she does that. She does it until her fingers are raw and bleeding when she gets anxious. I try to rub soothing circles on her hand as I hold it, but I can still see the panic hidden away behind her eyes. She's trying to remain calm, but she's barely holding it together.

  When we finally see the doctor, and they do the ultrasound, they don't have to tell us. We can see the pity on their faces. We know. We've seen that look before.

  The doctor is quoting statistics on how common miscarriages are, like that's going to comfort my grieving wife, like it lessens the emotional blow. This time Blair's not even crying. She's staring blankly at the doctor, her face pale, nodding like she's listening. He just won't shut up. I want to punch him in his arrogant fucking face. We know the statistics. When she lost the first baby, she researched and read every article about miscarriages and why they happen.

  While Blair is waiting to be discharged, I make two phone calls. One to my command, telling them where I am and asking if there is any way I can delay deployment, but there isn't. My second call is to my older sister. Chazz is Blair's best friend, and Blair needs her right now, especially since I won't be here to help her through this time.

  "I'll come as soon as I can," Chazz says. Chazz lives a few states away now that I've been stationed at a military command away from home. "I'm so sorry. I love you."

  "I love you, too," I say, before hanging up the phone.

  Blair walks out of the room with her discharge papers in her hand. She's changed out of the awful hospital gown and is wearing her normal clothes, her gaze clouded. She looks like her thoughts are far away. I try to take her hand to help her out into the waiting room, but she jerks away and keeps shuffling to the exit like a zombie, not focusing on anything. I just follow behind her, hurt that she's pulling away from me. I try not to let it get to me too much, though. I know she's heartbroken.

  When we get outside into the cool night air, Blair takes a deep breath, and the dam breaks. Tears start silently pouring from her eyes, and she's shaking so hard from silently sobbing that her body is jerking violently. I wrap my arms around her, and this time she doesn't pull away. She lets me hold her. She falls into me, and I support all her weight. I just let her cry until she's cried out. And then I take her to the car and buckle her in.

  Present

  I stare at the internet page open on my laptop. I know that I should be working on my resume, applying to jobs, but none of these jobs hold any value to me. I know I should be providing for my family, but I'm so tired of the endless stream of rejections, lack of call backs, and endless hours of resumes.

  I feel lost, empty.

  I want to be a good husband, a good father, a provider.

  But I'm not any of those things. I don't know how to be anymore.

  I don't know what to do with my life anymore. When the Marines discharged me for my PTSD, I lost myself. I lost everything. I lost my career, my way to provide for my family, and myself. And I don't know how to get any of that back. And now I'm left trying to pick up the pieces and apply to jobs that I don't care about and that don't want me.

  Blair has been so supportive, working her ass off to support us while I get back on my feet, and putting Olivia in daycare while I work on finding a job, but the longer I go without, the harder it is to find the will, the momentum to keep going.

  I'm stagnant. And I can't figure out how to fix it. And I fucking hate it.

  Present

  Olivia is sleeping in her bedroom, and Finn is in the kitchen cleaning up tonight's dinner. I cooked, so he's in charge of cleaning, one of the few aspects of our relationship that we can agree on.

  It's quiet, and as much as I love being a mommy, I cherish the quiet at the end of the day. But tonight, there's too much tension between us to enjoy it, which frustrates me. Night time is supposed to be my time, and Finn is ruining it with his attitude.

  I walk into the kitchen and watch him load the dishwasher. I try to see the man I fell in love with. Looking at him used to give me butterflies when we first got married. I used to be excited when he would come home from work, watching the clock and counting down the hours or
minutes until he was home. And when he would get home, I would stand on his steel toed work boots on my tiptoes to kiss him hello. He'd laugh at how silly I was because I would always have to stand on his boots. He would kiss my forehead appreciatively, and give me a big hug, and I would ask about his day. I always wanted to rip that uniform right off him, but the boots were a bitch to take off, and there is nothing as unsexy as having to stop abruptly to unlace those boots.

  Now, when Finn comes home, I don't feel anything. And that makes me sad. Is this it? Is this marriage? Just being roommates? And being in a sexless and romance-less arrangement?

  He notices me staring at him.

  "What?" he sounds annoyed.

  "Are you still in love with me?" I ask.

  He thinks for a second. I can almost see the wheels turning. I wonder if I can even trust him, to be honest. He hates these kinds of questions. He would rather just not talk about it. In fact, I think he would rather slit his wrists than deal with confrontation.

  "I love you. And I'm in love with you. But less than I used to be, if that makes sense?" he finally answers.

  I don't know if I believe it. Hearing that he's not as in love with me hurts. I don't understand. I mean, yeah, I don't get butterflies when I see him anymore, but I still love him. That's marriage. We don't get the same excitement. But being married is dealing with the day to day and the boring and having a partner to go through life with – the boring, the mundane, and the exciting.

  I walk over to the sink and Finn steps aside. I wordlessly begin rinsing dishes to hand to him to be placed in the dishwasher. For once in a long time, we are a team. And it feels kind of nice. I think for a minute while I let the warm water run over my hand and onto one of the plates and down into the drain.

  "Do you want to be with me?" I ask, not looking up.

  "Sometimes I do... sometimes I don't," he admits, placing silverware into the silverware rack. My heart clenches and my stomach drops. I guess I still do care, right? I mean, I must if I feel this way. My heart hurts, and I'm exhausted from the constant strain of our failing relationship. I want to curl into a ball and go to sleep. I'm suddenly super tired.