Discharge. The word hit me like a slap to my face. It was stupid because I’d known this was coming ever since waking up in that Army hospital and realizing my leg was gone. But until now, I’d been able to pretend, to give myself the luxury of clinging to the fact that I was technically still in the Army. I was still Sergeant First Class Middleton.
But in a few weeks, I wouldn’t be. I would be Creek Middleton again. Civilian.
I cleared my throat. “That’s also when the disability payments kick in, correct?”
“Correct. So far, you’ve qualified for PAC, the Payments and Allowance Continuation, but your discharge will end that automatically. Based on the severity of your disability, you’ll be awarded disability payments. The VA will continue to pay for your treatment and any costs associated with the loss of your limb. But, Sergeant Middleton…” She leaned forward. “Your disability payments will be significantly lower than what you receive now. You need to start preparing for that and make plans.”
Prepare. Make plans. Those were all nice euphemisms for me needing to get a job. I cleared my throat. “What are my options?”
“That’s our next step. I’m going to refer you to a job counselor. He’s a civilian, but Morris excels at this, and he’s worked with a lot of veterans.”
I could hardly speak past the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
“And, Creek…”
She so rarely used my first name that I blinked in surprise. “Yeah?”
“I strongly, strongly suggest you also speak to a psychologist.”
I held up my hands. “We’ve been here before. I’m not interested.”
“Why?”
I frowned. “What do you mean why? Isn’t ‘I’m not interested’ a full sentence?”
She crossed her arms. “Explain it to me anyway.”
“I don’t need one. I’m fine.”
“Right.”
“You don’t think I’m fine?”
She sighed, then grabbed a file that was on her desk. “Sergeant First Class Middleton displays suppressed anger over the accident that caused his injury,” she read aloud.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I said almost automatically. Glenda looked up, and I sighed. “Look, an accident is what happens when it’s nobody’s fault, when it’s bad luck or an act of god or something. This wasn’t any of that. This asshole ignored instructions and damn near got me killed and got my brothers injured. Ain’t nothing accidental about that. He should be court-martialed for that.”
Glenda merely lifted an eyebrow. “He was. He was dishonorably discharged, remember? But that proves my point exactly.”
“Huh?”
“That anger, Creek. That bitterness. That’s why you need to talk to someone. You’re not okay.”
“What, ’cause I don’t immediately forgive the bastard and invite him to come sing kumbaya in my backyard?”
“No one expects that. No one. You’re allowed to be angry. You and your friends paid a high price for the mistakes of one man, and of course, you’re furious about that.”
I threw up my hands. “Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that it’s been six months, and you’re still this angry. You’re supposed to process, accept, and move on, but you seem stuck in this state of fury and bitterness.”
“Well, excuse me for not gettin’ the memo that there was a time limitation on how long I’m allowed to be angry.”
“Cute, but not the point. I’m worried about you, Creek. Genuinely worried.”
Shit, I hated when people said that. How the fuck was I supposed to respond? Saying I didn’t ask for their concern was rude, apparently, even if it was the truth. Wasn’t it their problem if they couldn’t let go and let me live my own life? “I appreciatethat you care about me enough to be concerned, but I swear I’m fine. This anger will pass.”
She leaned back with a sigh. “Whatever you say, Sergeant. But let’s move on and talk about your financial situation and what benefits you may qualify for down the line.”
