The bourbon safely down on the coffee table in front of the leather sofa, I lurch to my feet. After crossing the open plan apartment in ground-devouring strides, I wrench the door open hard enough that it smashes into the wall.
It’s just as well I own the blasted place.
Rather than be faced with a collection bucket, or some creep selling cable, Skye stands there, her hand raised as if ready to knock again. I’m lost for words. Of all the people I’ve been expecting, she’s not on the list.
“Ah jeez, just what I need, sympathy.” I open my mouth to yell at her as she’d yelled at me earlier, but I can’t. There’s a fragility I’ve not noticed before. If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say she’s close to tears.
Much as I want to be alone to lick my wounds, I don’t have it in me to slam the door in her face. Instead, I move to the side and gesture for her to enter. “You’d better come in.” The sooner she does, the sooner I can get rid of her.
She walks in, although her steps are as tentative as her knock had been earlier.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I’ve asked out of politeness, because in reality I don’t want her here any longer than is necessary. She’s already seen me at my lowest. The last thing I need is hand-wringing from her. I get enough of that from my brother.
“I’m good, thanks.” Skye doesn’t say anything else until we’re both seated at either end of the large sofa. And when she does speak, there’s not an ounce of sympathy in the mix, rather she wants to understand my triggers so she can avoid them in the future.
“The future?”
She shrugs. “Hey even if we’re only friends, I’d still rather know what’s what.”
I stare at her until she’s out of focus. She’s seen how damaged I am and she still wants to… Actually, I’m not sure what’s she’s after. She’d mentioned friendship, but could there be more?
There’s only one way to be sure. Fine, if she wants to knowwhat’s what, then I’ll tell her. Let’s see how keen she is to stick around after that.
So impersonal is my description of what happened in Afghanistan that it’s as if I’m recounting the event to the Base Commander. At the time, that had been the only way I could get through it without breaking down.
Worried the scene will overwhelm me again, I dry wash my face and am horrified to find my hands wet when I take them away. I’ve never cried about that day; ever.
Before I’ve had time to hyperventilate, Skye is down my end of the sofa dragging me into a tight hug. After a moment’s hesitation, I hug her back, before explaining why I’d had to leave the night before.
“I didn’t want you to see the damage three tours and that deadly ambush have done to me.”
She pulls away enough that she can look me in the eye. “Are you serious? Of course that sort of action will have an impact on you. Why should you have to be stronger than anyone else?”
No-one’s ever asked before, and I don’t have an answer, but I suspect Skye will help me find it.
