by J. J. Sorel
“Give it time, Aidan. Remember, you rushed into it. Maybe start again. You know, ask her out on an official date. Take it slowly. Get to know each other the old-fashioned way. During which, tell her about your addiction, tell her about your tour of duty and what happened. That’s a big story, Aidan. Few would survive, let alone become successful and benevolent contributors to society like you have. Clarissa is sweet-natured. She’ll understand. Chemistry doesn’t just disappear like that. If anything, it makes two people’s love stronger.”
“John Howard’s been released. Word has it he wants my scalp. It will be a feeding frenzy for the media. Oh, fuck…” I exhaled. “There’s no way Clarissa will want me after that.”
“You were a seventeen-year-old boy, a man almost. Your teacher had a notorious predilection for younger male students. There’d been others. It came out in the hearing. I followed it. You did what any red-blooded, hormonally charged young man would do. She was an alluring woman. Aidan, you have nothing to feel bad about.”
“But she’d still be alive if I hadn’t gone there, Kieren. That’s the part that tears me apart.”
“Aidan, her husband was a murderous alcoholic. He was beating her up all along. Police had reports of previous dealings with that household. I imagine it was probably a time bomb waiting to go off. You can’t take responsibility for a seriously dysfunctional marriage.”
“Aren’t we all responsible for our actions?”
“Yes, but by learning and understanding why we acted in such a manner, we grow. That’s what you’ve been doing, Aidan. At the time, your sex drive was high, and all your partners were consenting. I can’t see anything warranting censure. In any case, you’ve stopped this behavior. I believe you’re now cured of your sex addiction.”
“Yes, six months without. And it’s the last thing I want. Except for Clarissa, of course. I’m on fire when I think of her. Since being with her, attractive women don’t even register. And that’s how I know...”
“How you know what?”
“That what I have with Clarissa is unique and special.” My voice carried a note of heavy frustration.
“I’m convinced you’ll be able to repair this, Aidan. Tell me, how have you been sleeping?”
“The best sleep I’ve had in years was in Clarissa’s arms. I could have slept all day. I’ve never slept as well. After Afghanistan, that is. Normally, my nightmares are a menace. That’s one of many reasons why I broke off with Jessica.”
“From what you said, Jessica wanted you to seek help.”
“Which is exactly what I’m doing, wouldn’t you say?” I sniffed sarcastically. “She wanted me to visit one of her own doctors. It always had to be her way. Jessica was a very stubborn woman. It was never love. I know that now, especially after Clarissa. No woman compares to Clarissa.”
“Do you think that’s because you were her first?” Kieren asked.
“There’s no doubt that’s special, very much so. With all the others, it was just sex. I’ve scaled unimaginable heights with Clarissa. This is what making love should feel like, I imagine. It’s almost spiritual.”
“In Eastern mysticism, making love is a way of communing with the higher forces. The out-of-body experience from the orgasm facilitates this.”
“That sums up exactly how I feel with Clarissa.” I sighed, pausing for a moment. “I had a terrible nightmare last night.”
“The same theme? Afghanistan?”
“Yep, extremely intense. My cries woke me.”
“Tell me about it.”
I poured myself a two-finger shot of bourbon and gulped it down. “This time there was more detail.” I cleared my throat. My palms gripped the glass.
“Are you up for sharing it with me? Or would you prefer to wait until you visit the clinic?”
“No. I need to talk.” I squared my shoulders, and my bones cracked. “Ben— my buddy, a brother in many ways—took a bullet meant for me. He pushed me out of the way. I should have died. I just can’t stop wondering why he did it.”
“Yes, we’ve spoken about that. It’s the ultimate sacrifice, one that justifies the hours of reflection. However, you don’t have to weigh yourself down with a lifetime of guilt. You’re a generous person, Aidan, and as with most givers, you’re not good at receiving. And life is the ultimate gift.”
“I know all this, Kieren. It just doesn’t fucking make sense. Our instinct is to survive, surely.”
“I agree. But war changes things. That’s why the survivors of war often spend the rest of their lives trying to make sense of it. Aidan, soldiers often protect their own men, even at their own expense. Both World War 1 and World War 11 records show heroic acts, where men took the blast in order to protect their mates.”
“I’ve read lots about it too. I’ve had to. I needed to understand.” I pushed my hair back. “I needed to know I was not alone.” My mind went dark, desolate. I wanted to cry but didn’t know how to. The closest was when Clarissa closed the door on me. A tear fell down my cheek. Trained in stoicism, I wiped it away quickly. On a deeper level, I suspected that by indulging in the profound grief I carried, tears would drown me. And a strong, tough man was meant to withstand pain. The Special Forces had drummed that into me.
But in the dark of night, all that tough-guy shit evaporated, and I became a fucking mess.
“You mentioned your nightmare was more detailed. Can you tell me about that?”
I swallowed deeply. “I relived it. Ben’s eyes”—my voice cracked— “pleading for someone to put him out of his misery. I begged him to let me carry him to safety. But as he struggled, he argued that it was better to have one man alive than two dead. He begged me to shoot him. At first, my finger shook so hard I couldn’t fire. But his face, those haunted eyes—he was so crippled with pain. Fuck.” I took a deep breath.
“This may seem strange to you, but you made a brave choice. The pain would’ve been unbearable for Ben. What was your option? To wait there while he bled to death, waiting for the evacuation unit, and risk being shot as well? It was an open field, I believe.”
As always, Kieren spoke sense. “Last night he came to me, Kieren. It was so fucking lucid.” I shook my head in disbelief. “It was like there was a ghost in front of me.” My hands trembled.
“Do you believe that he was truly there?” he asked.
“I don’t know. How can I? I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said almost to myself. “He said something I can’t forget.”
“And what was that?”
“He told me he hated his life and that he joined the Special Forces because he wanted to die doing something for his country.”
Kieren took notes. “Did he ever mention his desire for suicide before?”
“Never,” I replied.
“So why tell you now?”
I took a deep breath before answering. “No idea. He always kept things to himself, although we were close—especially in times of combat.”
“Tell me about that.”
“He’d often ask me what was the cause? What were we fighting for? It wasn’t something I could answer. In truth, the situation was confusing. Even those in charge were vague.”
“To take out the Taliban, I believe.”
“Yes. But then we were also doing deals with the Taliban. Considerable wads of cash were being handed over.” I stopped. This was classified information.
“I’ve heard about these transactions. Same thing happened in Iraq. They pay for a peaceful passage for their men. Not an unusual practice, just not spoken about.”
I exhaled. My head was heavy. “Sorry, Kieren. I’m wiped out. Can we do this later? In your office when I get back?”
“Aidan, try to rest. Remove these events from your thoughts until we speak again. Take care.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CLARISSA
The rest of the week went by quickly. I made sure the days were filled so there was no room for contemplation. Bemused by my incessant industry, Greta said, “At this ra
te, you can have the whole of next week off.”
Despite being perplexed about my nervous energy, Greta wore a permanent smile. Her freshly tinted hair was down, and she was looking younger than ever. I suspected it was for my father’s benefit. They got on so well. It was heartening. My solitary dad deserved a woman like Greta. And I noticed, much to my joy, that he liked the attention, not to mention the excellent meals.
When I could lure him away from the library, we’d take pleasant, long walks around the grounds—that was, when he wasn’t going for beach walks with Greta. I’d never seen Greta in leisure mode. I was happy for both of them. I wasn’t sure if it had turned romantic. I was happier not knowing. I couldn’t get my head around my dad being that way inclined. Not that I was prudish anymore. How could I be after what I’d recently been up to?
Greta was such a good woman. Her initial officious bearing had gone. She was so generous and caring. I recalled Aidan describing her more as a mother than an aunt, and any mention of his actual mother sent him into a dark mood.
There was so much I didn’t know about Aidan. Still, I couldn’t erase from my mind the expression on his face when I kicked him out. His magnetic blue eyes had been filled with sadness, despair, and frustration. It was a new man standing in front of me. He was broken. The image haunted me. Each time I thought of it fresh tears erupted. My eyes were puffy. Although it had only been a few nights since I’d seen Aidan, it seemed more like a month. I missed him profoundly. He’d taken a part of me away. I drifted about like a shadow.
As it was Friday, I decided to head for our apartment. I needed to see Tabitha. We hadn’t spoken since the weekend. Therefore, she wasn’t aware of my break with Aidan.
It was bumper-to-bumper traffic, so I switched on the radio to pass the time. And just to further rip at my cold spirit, “Moon Dance” came on. That was one of Aidan’s favorite songs, one he’d played on the yacht. Memories flooded in. My throat thickened with emotion. I recalled Aidan singing along with it. He sang in tune, really well in fact, and even swayed a little. I recalled my amusement and arousal as I watched him.
Tears poured out. I hoped the other drivers couldn’t see me. I was sure that my face was contorted with grief, something sunglasses couldn’t hide.
Aidan hadn’t even tried to contact me. That hurt. Why wasn’t he fighting to win me back? Maybe he’d moved on after fooling me with his purported passion for me. But the memory of the despair in his eyes contradicted that line of thinking.
The tears just fell and fell, I should have cried myself dry by that point. My pillow at the cottage was drenched. How gray life was without Aidan. I wanted rain, not sunshine. Even the weather annoyed me. It should have been sympathetic to my grief. That was how deranged I’d become. I’d lost my mind to love.
When I walked through the door of our apartment, I found Tabitha painting her nails and the TV blaring.
“Hey, Clary,” she said, smiling brightly.
“Hey there. What’s happening? Is Josh here?” I looked about the place. It was unexpectedly clean. I assumed that was Josh’s doing. He was not only an amiable guy, but a clean freak as well. That was a godsend, considering Tabitha’s untidiness.
“No, he’s gone for a weekend with the boys. Fishing.” Tabitha tapped the sofa. “Sit down. I’ll get us a wine.” She jumped up.
I turned down the TV.
“I’m pissed with you,” Tabitha said, handing me a glass of chilled wine. “No calls. You can’t be that busy.”
“Sorry, Tabs, it’s been a hard week.” My voice was shaky. I was fighting back tears.
A look of concern pushed away her frown. “Why, what’s happened?” Tabitha sat close and faced me.
“I broke it off with Aidan.” I took a large gulp of wine.
“Huh? Why?” She had that expression of disbelief she got whenever I did or said something radical.
“I found out he had a fiancée.”
“Holy shit.” Tabitha’s mouth dropped open. “How did you find out? I mean, there’s nothing in the media about it. We looked, remember?”
“We didn’t look closely enough, it seems. Anyway…” I sighed. “I confronted Aidan about it. He said he’d broken off with her but didn’t make it known officially because he didn’t want to upset her.”
She shook her head and opened out her hands. “What’s your problem? That sounds reasonable enough.”
“It was the bit about him being a ladies’ man. That’s what upset me.” I held my head in my hands.
“Well, I’m not surprised. He’s a hottie. Girls throw themselves at him all the time. You dropped him because of that? Seriously?” Her brows were knitted.
“I’m frightened of being hurt. I’m just too sensitive for this kind of thing. And I’ve really fallen for him, Tabs. It all happened so quickly. The calls, the flowers, his inability to stop touching me…” My voice thickened with sobs.
Tabitha grabbed a handful of tissues and passed them to me. “Shit, Clary, you’re still young. We’re both still young. I mean, even if it doesn’t last, the experience would still be amazing—multiple orgasms, non-stop cunnilingus…”
She was trying to make me laugh. Instead, I winced. “It wasn’t just the sex. Even though, yeah”—I sighed ruefully— “it was amazing. Not that I can compare it to anything.”
“Well, let’s just say that a yummy, fat nine-inch penis and someone who gets off on having his tongue inside of you, in my estimation, is ten out of ten even if it is short-lived.”
“Tabitha Hendry, you’re a sex maniac.” A smile chased away my tears. Through talking, even if it was crude, my pain had eased a little. As usual, Tabitha had made me blush. I had forgotten how much detail I’d divulged. It would have been impossible to keep anything from Tabitha.
“I never measured it, you know,” I said.
We looked at each other and giggled. The wine had kicked in. The tightness in my chest dissipated. And for the first time all week, I felt almost sane.
“You will just have to win him back.” Tabitha went to get us a refill.
“How? And do I want to, Tabs? I’m not like you. I’m too sensitive for this game of casual sex.”
“Are you implying that I’m not? Holy shit, you’ve seen how inconsolable I get over every fucked-up relationship,” said Tabitha, pulling a long face.
“Sorry, Tabs. You’re right. We’re both fragile. But you’re more of a risk- taker than me, I suppose.”
My phone beeped, making me jump.
Tabitha’s face lit up with excitement. “It’s probably him. Quick, check it out.”
I burrowed into my busy handbag and grabbed my phone. When the screen lit up, Aidan’s name flashed in front of me, and my heart did a somersault.
“Is it him?” Tabitha asked.
Unable to hide my delight and fear, I nodded, peering down at his message: I’m heading back tonight. Will you be there this weekend?
“Well, what’s it say?” Tabitha asked, standing over me, hands on hips. I showed her. “Call him. Don’t text. Tell him you’ll be there tomorrow. That you’re going out with your friends tonight. That will make him wonder a little.”
My mind went into a spin. How could I call him when I could barely speak? “I don’t know, Tabs. I can’t just be friends with him. Not after what we’ve experienced. Just being around him makes me go all gooey,” I said, rolling my eyes at such a stupid expression. I joined Tabitha in a laugh, which helped ease the tightness in my belly.
“Don’t be friends.” Tabitha gesticulated. “Like, as if you’re going to talk about Monet. For God’s sake, Clary, this guy is nuts about you.”
“He loves art,” I protested. “Do you really think I should call him?”
Wide-eyed, Tabitha nodded emphatically. “Hell, yeah.”
I kept gazing down at his message, trying to glean some hidden meaning. It was really my way of stalling for time while I built up the courage to make the call.
“Just do it, Clarissa. Tell him
you’ll see him tomorrow. Go to the beach. Wear a skimpy bikini. We’ll go shopping for one now. Then we’ll drop in at Sammy’s for dinner. Come on—it’ll be fun.”
“All right, but I need to do it alone, away from you. You’ll make me laugh.” Anxiety tended to make me giggle at all the wrong moments. And wide-eyed Tabitha, with those ridiculous expressions she pulled, would be dangerous.
I sat on my bed. My hands trembled while dialing his number. He picked up straight away.
“Clarissa,” he husked. That voice sent a million shivers through me.
“Hello.” My mind had gone blank.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at my apartment.”
“Oh, not at Malibu?” He sounded disappointed.
“No. I’m just doing a little shopping and then going for a meal with Tabitha, the girl who you met the other night.”
“Oh, right? Just the two of you?” he asked.
“I suppose so.”
“You suppose so?”
“We might catch up with her brother, Johnny. He’s an old friend,” I said, recrossing my legs for the umpteenth time.
“Are you staying downtown all weekend? Can I meet you there somewhere?”
“If you like… I mean, I thought of returning to the cottage tomorrow.”
“How about if I catch up with you later on tonight then? There’s a venue I’d love to take you to. It has live R&B music. What do you think?”
His voice had my lower regions gushing. I would’ve agreed to a gig where they performed scratching on a blackboard just to see him. How could one resist a man who sounded like that? “Okay, that sounds really cool. Where shall we meet?”
“Send me a text when you’ve finished your meal. I can swing by and pick you up. Is that good?”
