Ravel

by Ryan, Shari J.

  Trent plops down onto the couch and crosses one leg over the other in a casual manner. “What do you want to talk about? Maybe how you’re a fat ass? Or maybe how I’m now a fat ass?” Is that what pushed him over the edge? “Do you know how many hours a day I work out, Daphne?” I want to laugh at this statement. I want to tell him it doesn’t matter how many hours a day he works out if goes home to drink a twelve-pack every night. Muscles and a beer gut…totally hot, I think to myself, sarcastically. I relax a bit as he places his pistol down on his lap.

  “We both know neither of us are fat asses, Trent.”

  “Well, no. You are,” he says, tilting his head around as if he were trying to check out my ass. He can’t see it from there, which is a good thing since the side of a pistol is pressed up against it.

  “Are you aware of how much you abused me? This right here is considered abuse. You put me in the hospital.”

  “You just can’t handle shit, Daphne. You never could. You’re such a fucking goody-two-shoes, prissy figure skater. What southern girl figure skates anyway? Is it even a thing here?” I know he’s trying to get me riled up, but I can’t let it show. I have to keep this conversation flowing until Rick gets here, which seriously better be any second now.

  I swallow hard, staring him down, trying to figure out what in his life made him this fucked up. “Why do you act like this? Did someone do this to you?”

  Oh shit. He’s back on his feet, pistol pointed at my head. “Who the fuck told you that? He did, didn’t he? Kemper told you everything you ever wanted to know. Of course that asshole would do something like that.”

  I take a few shuddering breaths. “No one told me anything. I’m trying to figure out why someone would treat another person like this, especially one they claimed to love.”

  “Love doesn’t mean shit, Daphne. You should know that. Look at your screwed up parents. They wish you were never born. And you know what? Sloan can join them in that sad pity party.”

  “Your dad?” I never met either of his parents, but I’ve heard his name a few times. Trent told me they took off to live in Florida, but Kemper’s mom lives in Alabama. I’m so confused.

  “My dad is in prison, Daphne, for sexually abusing his last girlfriend…and me. Every night from age four to fifteen, my father came into my fucking bedroom and made me—“ he grunts and breathes in and out heavily, wiping the back of his fist against his sweat-covered forehead. “He made me suck his dick.” His lip curls up into a snarl and he looks like he might get sick. “Before he started all that, he killed my mother and made it look like a suicide. I only know because she left me a ‘last note’ with the truth of who my father was. With the truth of who I was going to be forced to grow up with.”

  “Trent, that’s horrible. I can’t imagine—“

  “Shut it. I don’t want to hear your fucking sympathy. You reminded me so much of my ex-step-mother, Kemper’s mother. She lives down in Alabama in a trailer because she’s a coward and hiding from him. Just like you. You ran away to hide. Right?” I take a minute to swallow all of this information. His dad abused him. I wonder if he did that to Kemper, too.

  “So you want to make others feel the way he made you feel. You sexually abused me, beat the shit out of me, and did your best to make me feel like a worthless piece of shit.” I’m not asking, I’m stating. I’m clarifying who he is. “You are your dad.”

  He’s across the room faster than I can blink. If I have to go out like this at least I made him see who he really is.

  The door chimes and Trent’s hand cups around my mouth. “Daphne?” Rick calls out. I can’t speak through the muzzle Trent’s hand has created. I try to bite him. I try to move away from the desk. He’s pressing his body up against mine, and my hand is pinned between my backside and the desk, which means the pistol is, too.

  I can hear Rick walking in this direction and I know Trent’s going to shoot him the second he walks in. I try to yell again, but it’s useless. “What in the hell are you doing?” Trent shifts the pistol and points it at Rick.

  I take the opportunity to cock and fire a pistol for the first time in my life. It wasn’t hard to aim, since I was only inches away from my target. His balls.

  Trent falls to the ground, his eyes are wide and there’s no sound coming out of his open mouth. I don’t know what kind of damage I just caused, but I think I should feel a little worse about it than I do right now. My hand is shaking and my eyes are glued on the blood dripping down the front of his pants. I feel nothing, though. No, I take that back. I feel amazing.

  I just shot his balls off for every woman who has ever been abused the way I have, but mostly it was for me.

  After only a few short minutes, the MP’s make their way into the commissary, examining the scene. One by one they all cock their heads back and twist their mouths to the side.

  “Self-defense,” I tell them.

  “He had a pistol up to her head when I walked in. Not to mention he’s abused this poor girl for years,” Rick says, backing me up.

  The MP’s surround him, question him, and write their notes up, all while taking their sweet time before dragging him off the ground.

  As they’re cuffing him, I catch Trent’s eye and notice an odd look—like a light bulb just went on in his head and he’s realizing how fucked up he is. It’s almost a child-like look. He knows he screwed up for the last time.

  “Such is life, huh, Trent? Consequences have been dealt, I guess.” I get it now. This is how life is, always has been, and always will be…for him.

  “Daphne!” I hear Kemper’s voice—I’m sure this hostage situation was blasted all over base. I can’t peel my eyes away from Trent, though. I feel sorry for him. What his dad did to him was horrific, but it didn’t give him the right to do those things to me. I still hold him responsible.

  “Trent,” Kemper says, “following in your dad’s footsteps, huh?” He looks down toward the blood and presses his lips together, trying to hide a smile—he’s not doing a good job, though. “Except now you’re literally ball-less.”

  “Yeah, you win, asshole,” Trent spews out as he’s being dragged outside.

  ***

  Kemper walks me out of the commissary and into the parking lot where my Jeep is. He pulls me against him and locks his arm around me. In this moment I feel safe, and I’m finally clear-headed enough to see just how close I was to being shot in the head. “The last thing you said to him, ‘Such is life,’ why did you say that?” Kemper asks.

  “He said it to me every time he hurt me, or when I tried to break things off, or push him away. This time it was final, so it was like bad poetry, I guess,” I explain, not understanding what relevance it has to Kemper.

  “It’s what my mom always said to him and Sloan. It was her way of coping with their behavior. I didn’t realize he ever picked up on it, but I don’t know what right he had to it since he was the one causing the pain.” I know it’s wrong to feel sorry for Trent, but anyone who can’t face reality without cruelty has a sad soul.

  “I guess it means something different to everyone,” I say, not defending him, just providing an explanation neither of us will likely understand.

  “Daphne—“

  “I’m mad at you,” I tell him. “I’m really, really mad that you kept this from me. How could you? This isn’t some little secret, Kemper. This is a big deal and trust me, I’m so thankful to be alive right now, but I’m incredibly hurt.”

  “Daphne, I—“ He grips at his forehead, looking away from me. “I don’t have an excuse. I only figured it out after I saw him take off from the bar the day he attacked you. God, I had already fallen for you and I thought if I told you I was kind of, sort of related to him, you’d categorize me…”

  “I’m not that shallow,” I scold him. “You should have told me.” This sucks.

  “I should have,” he says. “You’re right. We don’t keep stuff from each other, and I kept this from you. I don’t know what to say to make this righ
t. It was wrong but my reason was to protect you. It was my only reason.” He looks embarrassed and ashamed.

  “You wanted to protect me from the truth?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, darlin’.” This is hard to swallow, but knowing how much pain I was in days ago, wondering if Kemper was going to come home alive, I can’t hold a grudge right now either.

  “It’s going to take me a bit to get over this, but I’ll handle it. Just, let’s not talk about it right now. I need some time. We’ll be okay.” I reach up on my toes and kiss him gently, reassuring him that everything will be okay.

  He holds me tightly; his hand is shaking over my back. “However long it takes, I understand. I just thought I was going to lose you after everything we had been through. That’s not something I could have handled, but you can be angry with me right now if you need to be—I can handle that. I’ll never keep anything from you again, Daphne. I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CURRENT DAY

  KEMPER

  IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS of hellish rehab and as of yesterday, I officially cannot deploy again since the mobility in my arm will never be a hundred percent. I’m angry and I feel broken, but it is what it is.

  For my actions and achievements overseas, I was awarded the Silver Star. The medals would have been buried with me if I hadn’t gotten that fourth combatant, though. It just doesn’t feel right. All I can think about is the stack of medals on my recruiter’s uniform almost seven years ago. I remember thinking I wanted to achieve what he achieved. Now I have, and it’s resulted in a completely different view of awards than what I had thought at that time.

  Today, we woke up early to drive down to Mobile. Mom’s been worried about me since I’ve been home, and she’s been begging to finally see me after so long, but there’s one place I need to stop before I see her.

  Walking into the recruiters’ office down in the center of Mobile, I find the recruiter I enlisted with, glad to see he’s still here after all this time. Maybe it’s unusual for a Marine to go back and visit with his recruiter, but there’s something I need to say to him.

  He sees me walk in and I think he recognizes me, but maybe not. I can’t imagine how many people walk in and out of these doors on a daily basis, so I suppose he couldn’t possibly remember me. Whether he does or not, he stands up and takes a step towards me. “You look familiar, Marine.”

  “Sir,” I say, reaching my hand out to him. “I came into this office seven years ago and you signed me up.”

  His focus skates across my medals, as I’m in full uniform. “Impressive,” he says.

  “Sir, I’ve come here to tell you that I don’t want these medals. You were right.”

  A tight-lipped smile stretches across his lips and he places his hand on my shoulder. “Son, you’ve made your country proud.” His smile grows a little more. “You’ve made me proud.”

  With so few words spoken, I feel like I just had the most fulfilling conversation. I salute the recruiter, turn on my heels and walk out the door, finding Daphne sitting on a bench outside.

  “You are a true hero, Kemp,” she says, slipping her fingers between mine.

  She tells me this all the time, like she thinks I need to hear it. I usually follow her statement up with a kiss or a squeeze because I don’t want to respond to it, but I think she needs to know. “I’m not a hero. I was just doing my job,” I tell her. I’ve told so many people this. I can’t claim the title of hero. I couldn’t. Men have died in my presence—that doesn’t make me a hero.

  “Well, you’re my hero and you can’t argue that,” she says, pointing her finger at me with a pinched look. Still with nothing to say in return, I kiss her head. A hero. You hear that Rex, this girl thinks I’m a goddamn hero.

  “I can’t believe it’s been seven years since I’ve seen her. You sure you’re ready to meet her?” I ask. I think I might be trying to convince myself to walk through that door more than I’m trying to convince Daphne to, but she doesn’t flinch or lose her smile as we pull into the trailer park.

  We park the Jeep in front of Mom’s trailer and I take my time getting out and walking up to the door. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

  “The other day when I told her I was coming back here.”

  I knock on the door before opening it and walking in. I find mom sitting on a chair at the kitchenette, knitting something. When she looks up, she startles, clutches her chest and stands up quickly, nearly throwing the chair she was sitting in down to the ground. “Kemper,” she cries, running up to me. She throws her arms around my neck and I’m not sure I ever realized how much smaller Mom is than me, but it seems more apparent now. She also looks so much older than last time I saw her. She has bags under her eyes and a lot more wrinkles. She’s wearing far less make-up than she used to and she isn’t dressed as neatly as she was years ago. She lost herself and it pains me.

  Her arms are still locked around my neck and she’s crying into my shoulder. Guilt continues to fire through me for waiting so long to see her, but I felt she needed the money more than she needed to see me. “Mom,” I say, in a choke, “this is Daphne.”

  She finally releases me and looks over at her. “Oh my goodness, is this your girlfriend?” I look over at her and try not to laugh, knowing we have to explain our situation.

  “She’s—ah—sort of my wife/girlfriend.” That sounds horrible. And I think I just saw how it makes Daphne feel too. She looks embarrassed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh my,” she says, moving past me and taking Daphne’s hands with hers. “You’re lovely.” Mom is short on words, and I’m guessing it’s due to the little she knows about my life, never mind Daphne’s.

  “Mom, we came here to visit, but we also came here to see if you would move up to North Carolina to be closer to me…us.”

  Mom looks embarrassed as she takes her seat, lifting her knitting needles. “You know I can’t afford that, Kemper.”

  “I can,” I tell her. “Let me take care of you.”

  She looks up at me, her lips quivering. “You want to take care of your old lady?”

  “I do.” Since the moment I was seventeen and I realized I didn’t have options, I knew I wanted to make a life for myself and then I’d come back for her. Now that I’m not deploying anymore, there’s good reason for her to be close by. “So what do you say?”

  “I’ll grab my things,” she says, a pursed smile pinching at her lips. As she walks by, she grabs Daphne’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “Thank you both.”

  She’s gathering her things and I see Daphne looking around, probably noticing how much Mom tried to make this trailer look like a home from a magazine. She never lost her taste, that’s for sure.

  Mom’s ready within minutes and it’s euphoric driving her out of this place and this town. Now I can give her a better life, like she tried to do for me. “Have you heard about Sloan?”

  “You know, don’t you?” she asks.

  “That he’s in jail? Yeah. I know. But why didn’t you tell me?” Daphne told me what Trent had said, but I didn’t want to talk to Mom about any of it over the phone.

  “I didn’t want to upset you, honey.” While I’m angry that she didn’t tell me, I know the woman she is. She’s always been one to take care of herself, and I can’t blame her for that; although, I wish she knew I would have helped her. “How did you find out?”

  “Trent,” the name feels sour on my tongue. “He’s in prison now, too.”

  “Oh my. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Hopefully, that boy didn’t go hurting people like Sloan did.” I try to avoid looking at whatever expression is likely on Daphne’s face right now. She stuck true to her word and hasn’t mentioned a word about Trent or the fact that he’s my stepbrother since the day she shot him. She moved on from it, just like she said she would, and I’m thankful for that. I messed up on that one. “It’s a shame he followed in his father’s footsteps, but when it’s all you know in
life, I guess it’s hard to avoid. I tried to show Trent better ways to handle problems, but he was far too brainwashed to hear anything I said. It was too late for him, but you—you made me proud, Kemper.”

  Life works in little fucked up ways sometimes. What are the odds I’d walk into the bar that night, finding the diamond in the rough that Trent would eventually be forced to leave behind? Daphne’s always preaching all this crap about fairy tales being real, and while I’d never admit it to her, I can’t help but think that she might be onto something. Saying we live in a small world is just a placeholder for the mysteries of what really brings two people together. I know things haven’t come easy for Daphne, nor myself, and I’ve put her through more than I’d ever want to, but even after all that, she still tells me I’m her hero and I saved her. Maybe if she didn’t need to be saved, she wouldn’t have found me the way she did and she wouldn’t love me the way she does. No one should have to go through war to find peace, but it worked for the two of us.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Dear Journal,

  Sorry it’s been a few weeks since I’ve written, but I still can’t believe I shot a man in the balls.

  I think that can suffice for my missed journal entries.

  - Daphne

  DAPHNE

  “READY?” I ASK.

  Kemper carefully places his cover over his head and we head out.

  We pick Jennifer up on the way and arrive at the airfield just as the plane is landing. Jennifer hasn’t said a word since we picked her up. I know she’s nervous, not knowing what to expect, but he’s alive. Travis made it.

  Kemper told me Travis was being held underground in a condemned building in a small, unpopulated area of Afghanistan. It’s where he and the rest of his convoy were heading when the IED hit them. I guess the enemies holding Travis were interrogating him. He didn’t break, but they did a number on him. Kemper heard he has several broken bones, among other injuries, but he’s alive and that’s what I keep telling Jennifer.