I snuggle deeper under the covers, staring into the blue sheet above me – as if that would give me any answers. Why do I find Luke so infuriatingly attractive? Even more so now that I’ve seen his softer side. Why can’t I get it through my thick head that getting involved with him will only lead to heartache at best?
Finally, I throw the covers off my head, put my hair into a ponytail and return downstairs.
If binge-watching TV doesn’t make me feel better, then nothing will. However, when I stride into the living room, I find Luke already parked on the couch, watching a couple of rabbits hopping together.
“That’s not BBC Planet Earth, is it?” I ask as he flicks the channel.
“No, I―” He flicks back. “Maybe.”
Laughing, I flop on the opposite end of the couch.
“Parker’s in bed,” he says stiffly.
I rise.
“Oh, ok. Should I leave?”
When he glances at me, his tense face softens. “No, I . . . not unless you want to.”
“Ok,” I say, wavering.
Should I leave? On the TV screen are a pair of giraffes, their long gangly necks wobbling as they gallop across arid plains. My favorite animals. If that isn’t a sign, then I don’t know what is.
I sit down.
Chapter Six - Luke
As soon as she sits down, I can feel my pulse skyrocketing. But I keep my gaze on the screen where some goofy giraffes are running hilariously. As I laugh, I catch a sight of her delighted gaze.
“Isn’t it just the best show?”
I nod. “It’s my guilty pleasure.”
Now she’s nodding too. She looks so interested in what I have to say that I find more words spilling out. “Don’t tell anyone, but this show – this silly show – has brought me through my darkest days. The naive simplicity of animals – the innate, I don’t know, goodness of them, it gives me hope for people in general. And, after what I’ve seen out there in Afghanistan, that’s not always easy to have.”
Emma’s kind eyes are scanning my face. They’re so intent, so in tune with my sadness that I almost want to say more. Or at least have my body say it – give in to that kind, understanding look.
I stand up. “Want some more Caramilk?”
Emma giggles. “Only if it’s the washing machine variety.”
“That’s the only kind I have,” I say before heading for the laundry room. I grab three bars out of the washing machine then come back, flopping on the couch a bit closer to Emma. After all, it is a big couch and it felt weird to be crowded all the way over to the edge.
“So, Parker’s really something,” Emma’s saying as I hand her a chocolate bar.
I unwrap and bite into mine, hoping she’ll drop it. But even as I bite into the gooey Caramilk goodness, I can feel her eyes on me, expecting an answer.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s alright.”
Emma shoves me.
“Oh, please. I saw the way you hugged him. You adore the kid.”
I still don’t look at her, taking another bite of my chocolate. “He’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Silence. Then, “He’s lucky to have a dad like you who really cares about him.”
I take a huge bite, four squares at once, then cast her a derisive look. “Yeah. You’re probably surprised, right? That I’m not a complete tool in every area of my life?”
Emma laughs, then admits as much. “Well, yeah. We didn’t exactly get off to a good start.”
I nod, then shrug.
“I’m kind of a dick in general, but I think a lot of it has to do with the war. I think it’s made me . . . more callous somehow.”
Quietly, Emma says, “My dad mentioned that you served in Afghanistan last year.”
I nod. “And I never want to go back there. I . . . You see shit there. Dirty-faced civilians yelling for you and at you, dying men begging for mercy. Your own friends blown to pieces beside you. It changes you. I never want to go back there.”
Now, Emma’s closer to me on the couch. Maybe to hear what I’m saying since I’ve been talking in such a low voice. “But you won’t have to, right? They won’t send you back there?”
I rip another bite of chocolate and smile an ironic, sad half-smile. “Not unless I piss off one of the higher-ups.”
Emma nods, her own smile sad.
I look at her. “You know, I never forgot about what happened between us behind the school, even if it was a bunch of years ago.” I don’t know what makes me say it. I immediately regret it.
She stares at me with this strange look in her eyes. “I’m not sorry for stopping you, but I am sorry for how I acted afterwards. Ignoring you was juvenile and mean.”
I nod because she just told me what I knew already, basically. “I don’t know. I really liked you and then you just . . . went cold on me until the end of school for no reason. It broke me up inside.”
Now her eyes look sad too. “I really liked you, too. It was the hardest thing I ever did. It’s just . . . Luke, you scared me. I saw how you were with the other girls. And I know how I am. I’m sensitive. I couldn’t just do really intense things with you, have you go be with other girls, and be ok with it.”
I turn to face her.
“Yeah, I flirted with other girls, but that’s all it ever was – flirting. You were the girl I liked. You were the girl I wanted to be with. There’s a difference – or at least there was.”
Now her eyes look sadder than I can ever remember them being. She still hasn’t touched her chocolate. I lift it to her lips. “Here.”
She takes a tentative bite, her eyes not leaving mine.
“Anyway,” I say, “You’ve probably had a wild old time in the meantime. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
To her blank, uncomprehending look, I continue, “Your college adventures? How you slept with Donny to get back at me? The men you probably have on the go now? Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Frowning, Emma turns away. She’s wearing a gauzy teal top. I can see the black rhinestones on her bra through the fabric. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I slide so I’m right next to her, so I can say the words into her neck. “Oh yeah?”
Now she’s whirling around, her eyes fiery as she spits out her words. “I never slept with Donny. We went on a few dates and then I decided what I’ve decided for every other guy since – that he wasn’t right for me. Ok? So, don’t you sit there with your superior, probing smile and act like you know me. You don’t know a damn thing.”
As I gape at her, she turns away once more.
“Wait - what you just said didn’t mean what I think it meant,” I say in a low voice.
“What do you think it meant?” she says in a low voice of her own.
“You’re not a . . . virgin,” I say.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel ridiculous. But then she turns back to look at me, her face infuriated yet pink.
“That’s none of your business.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. She tenses up but doesn’t turn away.
“Jesus, you really are,” I say, and she doesn’t move.
“Just leave me alone, please.”
“Emma―”
“I mean it, Luke! I don’t want any more jokes at my expense, ok? I know I made a mistake back then and I know you’re as good-looking as ever now, but please, please don’t pretend that you actually care about me. Please, just spare me that.”
She’s inhaling and exhaling deeply, her huge breasts rising and falling with each heave. There’s the glisten of tears on her cheeks, her pink lower lip is drooped in a pout. She smells delicious, like apples and cinnamon. I could kiss her – right here, right now. She is so fucking beautiful. Except I can’t – it would ruin me and it would ruin her. It’s not right, really, no matter how much we want it.
So, I take her face and turn it toward my own to tell her that I want her but I won’t kiss her – I won’t even tease her an
ymore. But as soon as she’s face to face with me, her gaze flicking to my lips, all thoughts disappear and my body takes over. My lips advance on their own accord, pressing against hers. And it feels so good, so good – her lips cushy and soft, just like the rest of her. My hands are delighting in the soft folds of her flesh, the huge swell of her breasts. I have to stop, but can’t – won’t.
My phone rings, but I ignore it. My body’s locked in motion. Both of ours are. There’s no resisting this: my hands kneading her tits, her hands sweeping under my t-shirt and over my muscles, both our tongues dancing in time.
But the phone rings and rings and rings and suddenly, something snaps in me. It won’t stop ringing because it’s the commander. He knows and he’s going to kill me if I don’t stop.
I rip myself back, answer the phone. “Hello?”
“I can come over now, right?”
It’s Octavia. Shit. I should’ve expected this. She has an internal 2-week ‘get-fucked’ clock, for god’s sake. Anyway, why had I been kissing Emma when I was specifically ordered not to?
“Hey babe. I―” My gaze flicks to Emma, who’s looking at me like she knows. Our eyes meet and she jumps up.
“Don’t let me interfere with your plans,” she says sarcastically before storming off.
“Luke?” Octavia says.
The slam of the attic door upstairs confirms that Emma’s not going to be coming back down anytime soon. I sigh.
“Yeah, come on over.”
Chapter Seven - Emma
In my bed, rolled up in my sheets again, I cry some more. How could I have let things go so far with Luke down there? Wasn’t being teased by him and seeing how he was with those other girls enough? Did I really have to see him choose a fling on the phone over kissing me to get the picture that he’s a jerk?
And yet, hadn’t that look in his eyes – that pity and compassion and arousal in his eyes as we’d spoken – hadn’t that been real? Hadn’t his lips felt good, better than I can remember any man’s lips feeling in years?
On the attic ceiling, the wooden cracks seem to be growing, but I’m pretty tired. I close my eyes and roll on my side. In the morning, everything will be better.
***
As it turns out, in the morning everything is better. Luke and whoever probably came over are nowhere to be seen, nor is Parker. No, I have the whole place to myself to start getting some work done. I took yesterday off to get settled and make up my mind about whether I wanted to stay at all. If anything, I feel more uncertain than before. Besides, I have to make some money, so no more days off for me.
After I inhale a delicious raisin muffin for breakfast, the only thing to do is make my bed, get out my laptop, log on to my teaching application platform, and get to work. It takes less than an hour for me to get into the flow of things and forget my current house troubles.
I love teaching. Ever since I was a little girl showing clueless friends how to tie their shoes, passing on what I know and helping people has always been a passion of mine. And, more than that, I love the eureka moment where the students really truly get it themselves – when their own mind can make sense of whatever particular concept I’m teaching. Yes, people – including my father – always get the true value of teaching wrong. It’s not about shoving theories down students’ unwilling throats and having them regurgitate it word-for-word without any real understanding. No. It’s about revealing a deeper understanding of the world to them, challenging them and delighting them, showing them the hidden fabric that underlies everything. So far, I only tutor kids online in English and History. In time, I hope to expand my repertoire of subjects.
Even the “online” part of my job has always baffled my dad. He’s never understood my uncomfortableness around strangers, nor just how much I loved staying at home. So, this job combines the two things I love the most: teaching and staying at home. It’s a win-win. Plus, the application itself is fast and easy. The student and I communicate through an advanced messaging system where we can exchange and view documents and images easily.
Today, there’s a surge of students; it is exam time after all. And, while one or two are unwilling to learn, pestering me for answers and then logging off when they aren’t given them, most are rearing to get the lessons down. As we go through questions and answers, through concepts and ideas, they are as delighted with their blossoming understanding as I am. One girl, Tanika, even asks my schedule for the next week, determined to connect with me again.
By the time it’s late afternoon, I’ve tutored for five hours and am exhausted and pleased with myself. So, as I sink back into my pillow on my bed, I let my eyes flutter closed and enjoy the sleep I’ve more than earned. Even as I hear the far-off sound of a door closing, I don’t stir. I am too relaxed.
Chapter Eight - Luke
I wake up back in the car. Carl and Raoul are out there up ahead, checking to make sure the way is clear – that there are no landmines. There are far-off gunshots. Not at us. My friends are running, looking every which way, seeing nothing. Carl steps on it first. It’s quiet, the explosion. One minute he’s there, the next he’s bits and pieces. Raoul is next. His face is already twisted with the knowledge of what’s coming – the fear. Then he, too, is nothing but ash.
My foot is slamming on the brakes. My hand is twisting the wheel to the side. Even then, as my vision goes black, I know. Even if I survive this, it’s already too late.
I wake up back in my bed. My heart is pounding as big gobs of sweat roll down my face. I inhale slow, then exhale slower, just how Dr. Borys told me. And yet, I can’t help slamming my fist on the mattress in rage. The third nightmare this week? I thought they were getting less frequent. I thought I was curing myself, in my own twisted way.
***
Work is a bust too. My only buddy Jeremiah is off sick and the commander is being a huge dick. I’m supposed to be coming in for a half-day of easy paperwork, but it sure doesn’t turn out that way. As soon as I walked through the door, the commander is striding up to me, asking me how things are going with Emma.
“Good,” I say, trying to look innocent and normal. “She’s settled right in.”
Next thing I know, the commander’s barking at me through his bushy mustache. “Lavatory duty, colonel.”
I watch his burly form stride off with shock. “Sir, with all due respect, really?”
He freezes, but doesn’t turn. “With all due respect, colonel, you don’t want to be on lav duty for the whole week, do you?”
“On my way to the lavatory, Sir.”
I stop at its already filthy door, regarding the dismal room with a sigh. What have I done to deserve this? Could the commander know about Emma? Could she have told him about last night already? Remembering his face, I shake my head. The commander was irritated, not infuriated; he was just taking out some other stress (probably caused by his crazy-bitch new wife) on me, the dick. Just my luck.
I survey the wet floors and paper-strewn walls with another shake of my head. There’s no time to waste. I’d better get to work.
***
Everything takes longer and is harder than I expected. Usually, this type of work is reserved for the entry level grunts – a whole team of the little unprepared kids, not full-blown colonels. They’re probably enjoying a fucking picnic on the sunny front lawn while I’m in here doing the work of five men because this is half-a-weeks’ worth of filth, spread out over 20 different stalls and 10 urinals. By the time I’m done, staggering out, I can see that the sun’s started to set.
As I near the door to leave, however, I find myself face to face with the commander. He strides up to the lavatory door, glances in, then shakes his head.
“Colonel, when I give you a task, the expectation is that you do that task properly, understood? There is no task that is beneath you, understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well it’s not ‘yes, Sir’, clearly, because this lavatory still isn’t clean.”
“I apologize, sir.
But, with all due respect, you gave me half a day to complete what it takes a team of five men a full day to complete.”
The commander’s beady black eyes narrow. “Colonel, we’re in the SEALs. Not Chapters, not Target, and certainly not fucking McDonald’s. And you want to know what the main difference with us in the SEALs are?”
I shake my head, and he growls, “We don’t make fucking excuses. We’re given a job and we do it until it’s done to satisfaction. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel nods, his gaze still flicking over the lavatory over my shoulder.
“So, you’ll be on lavatory duty for the rest of the week and you’ll have to come in the weekend for it too, understood?” As I gape at him in shock, he barks again. “Understood, colonel?”
“Understood,” I say through gritted teeth, unable to even look at him. As I storm to my car, only one thought makes me feel the least bit better. That I’m going to make the colonel damn sorry he decided to pick on me. That I’m going to make the colonel the sorriest he’s ever been in his life.
***
Back at the house, Emma’s eating some soup. Seeing me come in with Parker, she asks, “Want some?”
As Parker bleats “Yes!” I tell her, “No thank you.” I stand there for a minute. “Did you mention anything about being here to your dad?”
Her face falling, Emma shakes her head. “No, why?”
“He just blew up at me today for no reason.”
Emma nods, but doesn’t look surprised. “Sorry to hear that, but I’m not really surprised. He’s always had a bad temper. It was what drove my parents apart. His cheating was only the final blow to the marriage.”
I nod myself, the angry coil around my throat loosening, though not entirely. I pat Parker’s head. “Ok, bud, you can have some soup if you want. I’ll just go get changed.”
In my room, as I pull off my shirt, I stare at my reflection in the tilted mirror. Yeah, maybe Emma didn’t directly cause the commander acting like a dick, but she was going to make me feel a whole lot better about it. I mean, I had wanted to fuck her already, but now I was determined to. Let the commander try to ship me off after. Let him just try. I can quit. I’ll talk to someone higher up. They were all impressed with how I performed in Afghanistan a year ago.
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