Traitor

by Alyson Santos

  “I told you we live in a complex world,” he responds finally. “You can’t understand it. You have to stop trying, Andie.”

  “But I want to. Just help me understand and maybe I can let it go.”

  He draws in a ragged breath and closes his eyes.

  “Please, Kaleb.”

  I rarely read anything he doesn’t want to give me, and this moment is no exception. I wait in agitation as his fortress stands against me and my threat. Something’s changing in the silence but I have no way of knowing if it’s an outcome I can accept.

  “Why do you think they want me in therapy so badly?” he asks after the long pause.

  I’m relieved the conversation continues, but I’m unprepared for it. “Um, what you went through had to be traumatic. You probably need a lot of help to recover and sort through the horror of what happened.”

  “It was. But that’s not why, and that’s the problem.”

  Fact: I’m lost.

  “Okay, then why?”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for them.”

  Bracing doesn’t work when it’s directed at the wrong truth. I lose him to some invisible object behind a withered poster on the far wall.

  “Kaleb?” He’s different when I draw him back, resolved in a way that’s even more disturbing.

  “It’s not my health they’re worried about. It’s details.”

  “Right, so you can relive it openly.”

  “No. They want information. They want to know if they should be concerned that I’m a threat.”

  No. This can’t be in the script.

  He leans forward, focused on a new scene beneath the floor. I find myself squinting too, desperate to see it, even though I’m not sure I’m strong enough to face it.

  “After my abduction, I spent three weeks in intensive care and another four in a regular hospital bed. They saw the physical evidence of what I went through. They have more photos and analytics of my body than I do. Once I could function again, they debriefed me for another month. Asked questions, wanted every detail. They had psychologists, military analysts, a whole team of experts documenting my every breath. Do you know what it’s like to see a log of your trips to the bathroom? I wasn’t a returned war hero, Andie, I was an artifact. A strategic golden goose to be picked apart and mined for military intelligence.” He winces and presses his palms against his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

  A hard look follows, complete with that darkness so at odds with his bursts of radiance. “Listen to me, Sorenson. I can’t stress this enough. You cannot, under any circumstances, repeat what I just said. Not for my safety, but for yours. You don’t know who I am, what I am to them, and the less you know the better. I shouldn’t have brought you into this, and for that I apologize. Now it’s on you to mitigate the damage.”

  “Brought me into what? What are you to them?”

  He clears his throat. “Nothing. I’m sorry, just go back to work and don’t bring this up again. One word and it’s off to laundry.”

  I stare at him as he buries any contradicting evidence in his screen. No, I don’t know what it’s like to see a log of my trips to the bathroom, but I do know what it’s like to witness an explosion of agony through a stronghold. It’s not the threat, but his expression that sends me back to uncomplicated piles to nurse my own wounds. He was right. Facts can hurt. They can gut you when they’re used to separate you from the one person you’re desperate to know.

  Two weeks later and my relationships haven’t improved. Vi is still upset that I refuse to hate Kaleb. Kaleb is distant and concealed behind a new wall. Steel, barricaded, and lined with automatic weapons on a hair trigger, this one is damn painful. Him with his polite smiles, me with my formal deference.

  I show up to work with forced greetings, and he returns calculated responses. The few conversations we manage feel more uncomfortable than when we revealed hints of our souls to each other. My tongue hurts from biting it. He stops mid-sentence so often I can’t understand him at times. Work was an oasis those first few days. I dread it now.

  I miss the Kaleb I want to know. The scripted version only outlines the hollows of what I’m being denied. There’s no replacement for a man who would give a stranger his ration and face a disciplinary hearing on behalf of a random subordinate. I’m gripped by a need to scour the depths of this person who could be selfless after surviving hell. A mint leaf pierces the coils of my mattress every night, yet I fear the new Kaleb would make me burn it.

  “I saw Tad Cullum bothering you at dinner last night. Did you report it?” Kaleb asks, drawing me from my filing cabinet. My voice falters at his rare interest.

  “No. He was just talking trash like usual. Something about telling my pig buddy to watch her back. He hates Vi because she’s from Zone 63.”

  Emotion passes across his face. Anger maybe. Concern? “Well, if he ever threatens either of you I want you to report it.”

  “We will.” I need more words. The distance is killing me. “Did you go to your therapy session last night?”

  Damn that smile after his startled look. “None of your business.”

  “I know. Nothing is my business. We’re just supposed to sit in silence for eight hours a day while I shuffle papers and you curse at your screen.”

  “We discussed this.”

  “Wait, that was a discussion? Because I just remember a rant where you determined everything had to be awkward and weird from now on.”

  Even Mr. Granite can’t hide his amusement this time. But it hurts more than I thought, that stab of what I’ve lost. “Oh yeah? I said it just like that?”

  “Well, there was a lot more brooding involved.”

  His eyes soften with his laugh, and I have to remind myself not to do something stupid. “Maybe it’s been a little uncomfortable lately.”

  “You are way overcompensating for telling me a few personal details about yourself.”

  “They were pretty big details.”

  I shut the file drawer and face him. “Okay, fine. Then let’s even the score. I had my first kiss when I was ten. Landis McCoy.”

  He nearly chokes on his coffee. “Ten? Wow, you beat me. I was twelve.”

  I release a fake gasp, fist to my chest. “No! How is that possible? A virile young war hero like yourself?”

  “Ha. I didn’t say there were no opportunities, only that I was older. I wanted to wait for the right woman.”

  “And you found her at the mature age of twelve?”

  “I thought so when I was twelve. Sabrina Peters.”

  “Sabrina, huh?”

  “Yep. We dated for the next five years.”

  “What? No way.”

  “Oh yeah. We were the envied power couple of my block. Everyone assumed we’d be married and have four kids by now.”

  I snicker. “So what happened to her?”

  “I got drafted.”

  My humor fades. Maybe it’s his tone, stating it like one of my facts. The End to his hope of happiness. The day he probably aged ten years.

  “How old are you anyway?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Oh. I’m twenty.”

  “I know. You’re in my system.”

  I smile, and he returns it. “What else is in your system about me?”

  “Nice try.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  He tosses something over in his head and fixes his gaze on me. “I’m terrified of spiders.”

  “Me too! That’s a great reason to be allies.”

  “Actually, that makes us a terrible team. What happens when a spider crawls out of one of those piles?”

  I shiver at the thought. “Good point. You’re a soldier though. Certainly you can handle a little spider.”

  “Depends how little.”

 
“I kind of like the weird meat patties they serve in the dining hall.”

  Kaleb cringes. “Shit, I do too. They’re strangely addicting. Like salty and sweet, a tad spicy. As long as you don’t overthink the texture. Have you ever tried them with the applesauce on top?”

  “Applesauce?”

  He holds up his hands. “I know. It sounds disgusting, but it’s delicious.”

  “You should talk to your superiors about a nice horseradish sauce.”

  “Yeah, right. I can’t even get an extra bed for the infirmary. God forbid we have more than two people who need medical assistance at any given time.”

  “How many residents are in this building again?”

  “Four hundred and twelve.”

  “Yeah, that’s a lot.”

  “Hence all the paperwork.”

  “And all the towels and toothbrushes to account for every week.”

  “Right.”

  We quiet again, but it’s a content silence, beautiful in its forgiveness. I have to finish this.

  “Kaleb?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can we please talk again? I promise to never consider you a friend.”

  His eyes ignite in humor, and maybe I melt a little. “If you promise, I suppose I’ll allow it.”

  “Okay, good. Because I don’t like not talking to you.” My teasing tone helps hide the relief, but his grin lodges it in my throat.

  “I don’t either.” Then adds, “I will say this: I got a lot more work done when we didn’t.”

  Tuesday morning. Ten o’clock. I guess that’s why I’m surprised by Kaleb’s sudden desire for a walk.

  “Right now?”

  “Or Thursday at 1400.”

  I roll my eyes and return his grin. “I meant, we can just leave the office? We won’t get in trouble?”

  “I thought I was your boss.”

  “Ugh. Of course you have to point that out every five minutes.”

  He turns off his screen. “Fine. Stay and file. I’m getting some air.”

  My grunt is for show because I already know I’d follow him anywhere. Heck, he probably does too at this point. It was considerate of him to pretend otherwise.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say after we’re on a path winding through the residential buildings. The air is warmer than it’s been. Fallen leaves crackle under our feet as we breathe in the musk of their death.

  “Oh, you’re requesting permission all of a sudden?”

  “Just trying to be respectful, Lance Corporal.”

  He chuckles. “If you’re going to call me that, you need a salute too. Um, other hand.”

  I shove him with my shoulder and let his smile press into my chest.

  “Why did you become a soldier?”

  “I told you. I got drafted.”

  “I know, but…”

  “I got drafted, Andie.”

  I bite my lip. The End.

  “Sorry.”

  His fists clench at his side, gate rigid, but it’s not anger. Even relaxed, he doesn’t let go. I watch his eyes scan the landscape like it’s important. Like he’s never seen it before. Like this is the last time.

  “What’s your story, Kaleb?”

  “My story?”

  “Yeah. We spend all day every day together and I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

  “You know a lot about me. I don’t like spiders. I had a girlfriend named Sabrina.”

  I give him a look. “Important things.”

  “Sabrina would be offended.”

  “Ugh, you know what I mean. I want to know you, Kaleb.”

  “Watch it, Sorenson. It sounds like you’re trying to be friends.”

  “Me? Never!”

  But my grin betrays me. His? Never says a word.

  “I don’t have a story,” he says, jaw clenching.

  “You don’t have one you’ll share with me.”

  “I know you like facts, but they don’t make a person,” he says.

  “They don’t define them, but they can shape them.”

  A crease forms in his brow and he concentrates on the scenery again. His head is a place I fear almost as much as I long to be. I’d follow him there too.

  “Not everything is black and white, Andie.”

  “My mom always said that too. Is anything black and white?”

  “For some people it is.”

  “I envy those people.”

  He nods, and I notice the pale scar along his cheek for the first time. I have to grip my hands to keep from touching it. A silver road sign toward that hidden horror keeping us apart.

  “Novelli!” A cluster of soldiers interrupts our journey, and the muscles tense in Kaleb’s jaw. Somehow his lips still manage to form a convincing smile at the unavoidable confrontation.

  “Sanders, Haverford, Rivera,” he replies.

  “Well, okay. And who is this?” one of them asks, eyes combing me with hard interest. I’m afraid I blush beneath the open appraisals and take a step back.

  “Wow. I’d give up a leg to get hot chick duty too, you bastard.”

  Kaleb instinctively blocks me from view. I feel the contraction of well-defined tendons as his arm extends across my chest. “My assistant. We’re just touring the grounds.”

  “Need any help? We’ll take over if you need a break.” This offer is met with laughter from his companions.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Ah, just a little share?”

  “Fuck off,” Kaleb tosses back, and they laugh again.

  “You’re lucky you outrank us now, Lance Corporal,” another teases, and Kaleb waves him away before we start moving again.

  “Let us know if you change your mind!” they shout after us.

  Kaleb doesn’t respond this time and shakes his head with a curse. “You okay?”

  “I’ve survived ten years of civil war. I think I can withstand some idiotic comments. What about you?”

  I don’t know why he’s surprised by my question. He shrugs and focuses on one of those objects I can’t see. “They’re harmless. Just assholes. I wouldn’t have let them touch you.”

  “I know.” I don’t even hesitate. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, but he still seems troubled by the encounter. I don’t want it to burden his conscience. I’m stronger than he knows. “Kaleb, if you could be a fruit what would you be?”

  “What?” he laughs.

  “You heard me.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “A tangerine, right?”

  “A tangerine? Seriously? I’m insulted.”

  I stop and study him with stern concentration. “Hard on the outside, but sweet underneath? Yeah, a watermelon maybe.”

  “Your brain scares the shit out of me, Sorenson.”

  “And yours needs to take a break and think about fruit more often, Novelli.”

  His grin spreads into his eyes, heating the blood throughout my body. It makes me want to do things like pretend to trip so I can grab that solid arm, be steadied by those warm hands. They would slip around my waist, maybe even a collision of a hip. I’m close enough for the smell of aftershave to pollute my brain with more forbidden thoughts. A steamy mirror, towels wrapped low beneath chiseled lines. Shit, what is happening to me?

  I take a deep breath.

  “You need a rest? You seem winded,” Kaleb interrupts, and I cringe.

  “The heat,” I explain before I measure it against reality.

  “Right.” I appreciate his mercy, because the temperature would definitely be comfortable for anyone else. “Well, we should get back. I just thought a little air would be nice. I didn’t realize you had such a sensitivity to… heat.”

  My lip tastes bitter between my teeth, and I pretend not
to notice his sexy smirk.

  Today feels brighter. Vi actually smiled when we collided at the entrance to our bathroom, and the breakfast gruel wasn’t as gross as usual. Even the stairwell smelled less weird. Two robins sang outside our window, dancing across the ledge like they knew I needed a show.

  Sure, my fairytale is just an exhausted brain overcompensating the second it glimpses a ray of light. But the problem with optimism is that it also sends your head toward the impossible. It makes fantasy attainable and reality downright gorgeous in its display of hope. Optimism combined with thoughts of Kaleb Novelli is pretty much the worst combination for a girl who… well, any girl. It makes her think things. Consider questions that would insult a rational brain. Questions like, would she get to choose him one day? Could he choose her? What would those lips feel like pressed in furious passion against her body? It makes her remove his clothing. Visualize hard lines and breathtaking angles. It makes her believe the important obstacles are concerns about rules on soldier-resident relationships. Timing and opportunity. It makes her ignore the fact that even after a month of constant contact, she’s still fighting for friendship.

  Okay, it’s me. I’m that girl, and that optimism is absurd. Dangerous for my heart, maybe even my body, since I’ve only scratched the surface of the secrets behind those eyes that make me forget things, imagine things, hope for things.

  Because fact: I don’t haunt his thoughts at night. He doesn’t fantasize about a world where our smiles belong to each other. Where our hands trace the path of our eyes.

  No, of course not.

  Double fact: I have an alarming crush.

  Kaleb’s door is closed when I arrive. Conditioning has trained me to fear that fact, and I suddenly miss my optimism.

  Door hinges can be temperamental beasts, so I try to peek through the window blinds. The only clue is the presence of light, and I take comfort in the reverse fortune that we don’t have to worry about exposure when we think we’re alone. Timing. Opportunity. Hard lines… yep, my brain sucks sometimes.