Fractured Lines

by Jen McLaughlin

  Not him. Not me.

  Shakily, I sat down next to the couch and waited. After what seemed like years later, he finally woke up. He rolled over and saw me sitting there, and for a second, I saw the worry cross his face. For a second, I saw the panic.

  But then he smiled that seductive smile of his. “Hey, Ginger. You’re home.”

  “Yeah.” I forced a small smile. “Tired?”

  “I guess so. The pain got to be a bit much, so I needed a refresher.” He sat up and scrubbed his hand down his face, and craned his neck toward the empty playpen. “Susan was napping in her playpen, so I laid down, too. Is she still asleep? You must be home early.”

  “It’s eight thirty at night,” I said slowly. “I’ve been home for more than an hour.”

  “Oh, shit.” He stood up, his face blanching. “I’m so sorry. I must’ve been more tired than I thought. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

  “Sh.” I reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “It’s okay.”

  Even though it wasn’t.

  “It’s not.” He paced back and forth, his limp more pronounced. As he tugged on his hair, his steps growing more and more agitated with each movement, I stayed quiet, willing him to come forward with the truth. Silently begging him to tell me the truth. “I didn’t sleep well last night, and it caught up with me.”

  “Are you in too much pain?” I laced my fingers together. “Do you need to call the doctor for some pills? I could help you with it. Keep track of times, or whatever.”

  I held my breath and angled my body toward his. This was his last chance to be honest. His last opportunity to show me he’d changed. That he wouldn’t keep lying to me, right to my face. If he did that, I could forgive. If he did that, I could help him get better again. If he was honest, I could do anything.

  He turned to me slowly, his eyes narrow and his mouth pinched tight. When he opened his mouth, I was sure he was going to admit it. I was sure he was going to come clean. Instead, he said, “No. I’m fine. I’m better. I don’t need that shit.”

  My heart broke into a million pieces. I stood up shakily, my heavy heart thudding against my ribs and echoing in my head. Slowly, I lifted my chin and met his eyes, everything inside of me fracturing into pieces because of what I had to do next. I didn’t dare look away from those blue eyes of his I loved so much. “The pharmacy called me. They wanted you to know your prescription was ready.”

  He froze mid-step. “It’s a mistake. I didn’t call them in. I swear it. You have to believe me.”

  Again with the lies. When would it stop? “Finn.”

  “I swear on my life they’re not mine.” He came forward and grabbed my hands, squeezing tight. “I’m fine. I’m not in that place again.”

  Oh, but he was. I might not be his therapist, but I was his wife. And now that my eyes were open, I was seeing so much more. I was seeing it all. The bags under his eyes. The haunted light that never went away. The distraction and the hair pulling.

  It was all there.

  Nodding, I pulled free and picked up my purse. I took out one, then two, and then three bottles of pills. Two of which were empty. He watched me the whole time, his face growing paler by the second. By the time I plopped down the third, his fists were tight at his sides.

  “You lied to me,” I said, my voice finally cracking. “Over and over again. Why?”

  He covered his face and let out a broken sound. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  I reached out to hug him, but forced myself to stop. Yes, I loved him. Yes, I wanted to tell him it was okay and kiss him until he felt better. But it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

  So I said nothing.

  Finn

  I stared at the pill bottles she’d lined up. My own personal museum of shame, all lined up for the two of us to see. My chest went tight and my breathing got harder with each painful breath. The world was closing in on me, and I was helpless to stop it. Just like before. The voices screaming in my head only got louder, exacerbated by my own internal screaming. They screamed out for help, and so did I.

  When I’d gotten injured, the last thing on my mind had been the worry of what might happen. I’d been thinking of bills, and how long I’d have to be off work, and how this would affect my ability to hold Susan for long periods of time. I usually walked her around the house when she was crying, and I’d been worried I wouldn’t be able to.

  Those had been the thoughts in my head. Not the one I should have been concerned about—whether or not this would be a trigger. I’d thought I was better.

  I’d thought I was fixed.

  Turns out, all it took was one little fender bender to throw me back into the hell I’d escaped all those years ago, where I’d watched my platoon die all around me. It had been years. Years of nothing except for the occasional nightmare. How was I supposed to know that I should be worried about breaking all over again?

  It made me wonder if Carrie had been worried about it. She’d asked me if I’d wanted pills, and I’d said no. She gave me an assessing look and then let it go. I’d been grateful she didn’t push it. But then the nightmares had started, and the small spark of fear that I could never shake exploded into an inferno. And the only escape route I found was the same one I’d used all those years ago: the sweet oblivion of the pills.

  So I got the prescription filled, hid it from Carrie shamefully, knowing that it could cost me everything I loved. I hadn’t cared.

  I’d just wanted some peace and quiet so I could live.

  What would that life be now?

  “Why?” Carrie asked, her voice soft and wrecked. It had been years since I’d heard her this way. So sad. So broken. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

  “I don’t know.” I sat down on the couch, my eyes locked on the fireplace. “I thought I’d be okay, I guess.”

  “Why the pills?”

  Anger choked me, and I lashed out at her. I knew I wasn’t really angry with her, but I did it anyway. Ugly truth. “Because I thought it would be fun to get high. Why the fuck do you think I took them?”

  She flinched. I hated myself right now. “Is your PTSD flaring up?”

  She wasn’t even acting angry. Why wasn’t she yelling at me? Screaming? Hitting me? I deserved it. I deserved it all, and more. I’d let her down again. Let Susan down, too. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Since the accident?”

  I covered my face. “Yes.”

  “You could have told me.”

  I lowered my hands and glowered at her. “Yes, because I’m so good at communicating my feelings when it comes to this shit. I’m so open with my failures.”

  “Having PTSD isn’t a failure.” Finally, she lost that careful, calm expression. She pinched her lips together and stood, hands fisted at her sides. “And don’t you dare take that tone with me.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I drawled. “I didn’t realize I had to watch my tone around you, doc. I mean, if we’re going to have a session, I should call you that, right?”

  She flushed. “This isn’t a session. I’m your wife, not your doctor.”

  “Funny, it’s not feeling that way right now.”

  A low blow. She’d never once treated me like a patient, not even when we were arguing. Not even when I was being an illogical prick—like right fucking now.

  She shook her head. “Don’t try to turn the tables on me. That’s not fair. I didn’t even know you were taking the pills until a few hours ago, and I came home to find you passed out with our daughter awake in her playpen. Alone.”

  I closed my eyes. Never would I have believed I would fall so far. I’d fallen asleep on the job, and there were no excuses for it. I knew it. “I’m sorry.”

  “What if there had been a fire? Or an earthquake? Or anything?” She was turning red, which meant I’d finally gotten her angry. Or maybe she’d been angry all along. “How could you have gotten high when you were in charge of her?”

  “I don’t know!” I shouted.

  She jump
ed. “Please don’t yell at me.”

  I locked gazes with her, dropping the anger I’d been holding on to for dear life. “That’s all I hear when I close my eyes. Yelling. Groaning. Sobbing.” I tugged on my hair. “Even now, when you’re here talking to me? All I hear is them dying, in the back of my mind. They’re dying, Carrie, right outside our door, and I can’t help them. I can’t help anyone.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”

  “I just wanted the voices to stop.” I closed my eyes. I could see them, as if I was on that field right now, instead of my living room. “There’s so much blood. So much death.”

  She bit down on her lower lip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want to.” I swallowed past my aching throat, opening my eyes. I was safe in my living room, but I didn’t feel safe. Not at all. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Part of me wanted her to say yes. She’d be better off without me. The other more selfish part refused to walk away. This was my family. My wife. My entire life.

  I couldn’t lose them because of a stupid fucking accident.

  She crossed her arms, giving me her back. “No. Go back to sleep. You obviously need it. We’ll talk more tomorrow when you’re sober.”

  My gut twisted. “Carrie…”

  “No.” She whirled on me, her face wet with tears. “Don’t ‘Carrie’ me in that voice that makes me want to cry and hug you and forgive you. Just don’t.”

  I held my hands up, a knife twisting in my gut. “Why not?”

  “When I came home, I had the horrible fear that you were dead. Dead, Finn. Do you have any idea how that feels?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “How much it hurts me that you felt the need to do this, and didn’t come to me, your damn wife, for help? I could have helped you!”

  “I didn’t want you to have to!” I shouted, the ever-present rage turning my vision red. So much rage. “I didn’t want to be that pitiful guy who you had to nurse back to fucking health again. I didn’t want to be a fucking assignment to you. Someone who needed to talk out his fucking pain so he didn’t do something irrational and dangerous. So he can maybe actually get some sleep at night, instead of lying there awake, reliving that night over and over again until he starts to doubt his sanity.”

  “So you’d rather pop pills than admit you need help?” She threw her hands out. “That’s the better option than coming to me to talk it out? That’s the guy you want to be?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes. It was.”

  “I could have sat up with you all night, every night, if you needed to talk to someone. If you needed support. I would have skipped meals. Sleep. Anything. I could have held you. Loved you. Helped you.” She shook her head slowly, tears rolling down her cheeks. “And instead you gave us this. More lies and betrayal.”

  “That’s what I am.” I clenched my jaw. “A fucking liar. You knew that already, though. You always had a thing for liars like me. You get off on it.”

  She backed up, looking as if I’d struck her. I felt as if I had, but the chaos inside me drowned any remorse. “You need help, Finn. You need to talk to someone. And if you won’t, in the morning, when you sober up, you need to leave until you figure out if you want to be a part of this family anymore.”

  No. No. This was my home; this was my family.

  Carrie and Susan were the only things still keeping me sane. I took a step toward her, my heart beating way too fast. Why wouldn’t she just listen to me? I didn’t need help—I just needed her. She was my help. She was my life. “Carrie—”

  “No.”

  She ran toward the stairs, not saying another word. I let her go, knowing if I followed her, it would only get worse. I’d betrayed her, and she didn’t want to be around me. I limped toward the couch, my heart throbbing as badly as my leg. When I sat down, I saw them. She’d left the pills on the table.

  Was it a test to see if I could resist temptation?

  Or did she just not give a damn anymore?

  Two horrible mornings later, I leaned forward on my desk and rubbed my temples, cursing the headache that gathered behind my skull with alarming strength. The codes on my computer screen blurred into an unintelligible blob. I’d gone back to work three days early, against the doctor’s advice, because it was better than sitting at the hotel, alone in silence, remembering everything I’d done wrong.

  Better than remembering anything at all.

  And now I was getting a migraine for my troubles. I didn’t get headaches as much as I used to, but they still came. And when they came? They hurt like a fucking bitch.

  Guess that’s what happens when an IED almost kills you. Everyone else died in the ambush, but this was my booby prize for making it out—skull-crushing headaches.

  Even after I’d lived through the blast, I’d wanted to die.

  I’d returned home only to lose even more. First my father died, and then I drove Carrie away, unable to manage my demons. It had taken a miracle to get her back, and now I was losing her again, for the same reason. This wasn’t supposed to happen again. I was fixed. I was fine. But I guess I’d only spackled over the cracks, because here I was again, struggling with an addiction to oblivion.

  Losing everything.

  Sighing, I looked at the photo on the edge of my desk. Carrie beamed up at me through the glass. She held Susan in her arms. For the last eight years, Carrie had been the shining beacon in my life. I’d been the luckiest man in the world, and I knew it. Thanked my lucky stars about it every day and night.

  For eight years, we’d been happy. For eight years, we’d had peace. I guess it was only a matter of time until it all fell apart…and, man, it had.

  Because of me. Because I was weak.

  I wouldn’t be weak anymore.

  My phone rang, and I jumped. I’d been expecting it after the text message I’d received earlier, but my PTSD was more than just a collection of waking nightmares. I became battle-ready at every loud noise, and the line between reality and memories was becoming more blurred by the second.

  I was drowning all over again, with no one to help me this time, because I’d betrayed the only person who could help me.

  The phone rang again, and I stared at it for a second, letting it ring one more time before I moved. Lifting it to my ear, I took a steadying breath like I’d been taught, and said, “Talk to me.”

  “Finn,” said my father-in-law, Senator Wallington.

  His voice was even grimmer than it had been when he’d found out I had fallen in love with his baby girl all those years ago. I’d been assigned to protect her, and keep my hands to myself. Instead, I’d fallen in love with her. I’d been out of line, but I hadn’t given a damn. I’d loved her too much. But that fear and warning in his voice filled me with dread. I’d been all filled up on bad news lately.

  “What’s up, Hugh?”

  The senator cleared his throat. “We have trouble.”

  “I gathered as much by your cryptic text earlier,” I said drily, closing my eyes. “Explain, please, so I can actually understand what you’re trying to say.”

  “As you know, the bill that would ban guns from all buildings in the state of—”

  I stood, impatient to get to the heart of this call as quickly as possible. “Yes. I know. It fell through, because of your vote. We talked about this last month.” Before all hell had broken loose. “Some people weren’t happy with you.”

  “Right.” A pause, and then, “Well, there’s been a threat from an activist. A man named Kyle Farmer.”

  Well, shit. That wasn’t good.

  “Do you need me to help you out? Is that why you’re calling, sir?” I rubbed my forehead. “I mean, I’d think you’d rather have someone who is still in the business than an almost thirty-two-year-old who doesn’t guard anyone anymore and has a limp, but I’m yours if you need me.”

  Once upon a time, I’d been a Marine and a private security guard for Senator Wallington—now my father-i
n-law. I wasn’t really in the mood to go back into security detail, all things considered, but despite everything, he was family.

  I didn’t really have a choice.

  “No, it’s worse. Much worse,” the senator said.

  “How could it be worse than—?” My gut clenched tight. It couldn’t be… “No. Don’t say it. Carrie? Susan?”

  “Apparently this man, this Kyle Farmer guy, he lost his daughter to violence. Gun violence.” Hugh paused. “I received photos in the mail. Photos of Carrie going to work. Carrying Susan into daycare. Out on a date with you.”

  I closed my eyes, the voices getting louder. Drowning him out. “Son of a bitch.”

  “It says he’s going to take what I took from him—my daughter’s life.” Senator Wallington took a deep breath. “An eye for an eye, he says.”

  My fingers tightened over the phone. It had been years since we had to worry about Carrie’s safety. Years. Now this? Fucking shit.

  It couldn’t have come at a worst time.

  The senator continued without a reply from me, which was good, because I didn’t think I could talk right now. “I know you’re not her guard anymore, and haven’t been for years. I know she doesn’t need one, or didn’t, but we need to—”

  “He won’t get near her.” I sank into my chair. “I won’t let him anywhere near her, I swear it. I’ll be at her side twenty-four seven.” Whether or not she likes it, I added silently. I glanced over my shoulder at the clock. Almost five. She’d be heading home soon, so I’d have to hurry if I wanted to beat her there. “Who else will you be sending out?”

  “No one. Just you.”

  I stopped mid-reach for my keys. I narrowed my eyes. I smelled bullshit, right up in my face. “What?”

  “You’re all she needs.” He cleared his throat. “And I want you to send Susan here to me.”

  Okay, that made absolutely no fucking sense. “My daughter?” I blinked. “Hell no. She’s safer with me.”

  “Not if you’re with Carrie. Carrie is the target, so we need to split them up.”

  “Bullshit, Hugh.” I sank back against the chair. “Tell me the real reason you want Susan for the weekend. What’s up?”