36

36
Issac and I hide behind a half demolished building, helmets on, as we scarf down rations. The gunfire in the distance tells us we don’t have long.

“I can’t wait to go back to base. This was supposed to recon,” Isaac points to the bullet holes in his shoulder and arm. “This is not recon.”

I sigh and put my head back against the wall. Rubble falls down on the helmet. “Yeah. 4 years of this…7 more to go.”

Issac glanced over at me with a sigh. “Kyro…”
I shake my head. “The old man won’t let me quit. I’m in.”

Issac elbows me with a wince, his brown, dirty hair in his eyes. “You’re the toughest guy I know. You’re like a cockroach. I really believe even if we got nuked you’d somehow manage to survive.”

I scoff at that, and the empty tin of rations down. “Yeah. It’s a curse.”

Issac looks over at me. He’s my best friend—my only friend. We’ve served together since our first tour, joined special ops together. 
He’s everything to me. 
After this mission, he’s leaving. Going home. 
I can’t bring myself to ask him to stay. I…I can’t. I love him too much.

“I’ll stay in the area. You’ll see. We'll keep writing letters. I’ll save you a room at my house. We’ll be roommates again.”
I scoff and stand, looking around. “You’ve got your head in the clouds, Issac. But I like that about you.” I look up at the blue sky.
Yeah. I like that about him. I never look up. The clouds roll by, beautifully oblivious to the suffering below. 

I narrow my eyes. “What’s—Issac get out of the way! Issac—!”

I’m thrown back. My ears ring. I blink, hard, trying to see something other than white. I run my hand across the ground, try to get my bearings.
A grenade. Fuck. 

“I-Issac. Say something. I’m coming,” 

I look down at my leg and wince. Shrapnel. Just great. I crawl towards him, looking around. Where the fuck did that even come from?!
I see his helmet, see him looking at me, his eyes wide with terror.

I crawl faster , my blood dipping into my eyes, I wipe it away, slowly, painstakingly, dragging my knees across the rocky ground. 
The ringing hasn’t stopped. But I reach him—finally. 

“Issac! I’m right—I’m right h—” 

The world goes silent. Even the ringing goes away. There’s nothing but me and him.

I lift him to my chest. “Why would they do this to you? You were almost home. Why did it hit you? Why would it hit you?”

I cradle him in my arms. The rest of him is burned and scattered. His eyes are wide with terror.
He was just joking around. He had hope. There was light in his eyes. And now they’re permanently fixed in terror.
Permanently. 

I don’t close them. I let him feel his terror. He never did before. He acted so sure nothing would go wrong. That we’d all make it.
But he was terrified. 

I let him be terrified. And then I close his eyes. And I sit there. I just sit there.
I wait for someone to kill me. I cradle him to my chest, my cheek against his, his blood on my hands.
I wait for a bullet, or a grenade—something. Anything. But I survive.
Somehow I survive.

I wait and I wait, and I keep living. Why do I keep living. Why him and not me? He deserved to live, he deserved more time—he wanted more time.

“Captain Kyro we have to go,” my squad hauls me off the dusty ground.
I keep him in my hands. His mother. 

His mother. 

“You have to let him go, Captain.”

I put him down. I wish I could take him. I know I can’t. The ringing has stopped and my best friend is dead. He’ll always be dead from now on.
I don’t think we’ll go the same place if it exists.
I don’t even think it does.
So this is it. 

I set my lighter down in front of him. “It should’ve been me. I’m sorry it wasn’t me.”
I stand and turn my back to him. There’s no point to look back. I don’t think I could take it. Something in me won’t let me.
He slipped right through my fingers. One moment here and the next gone—without a trace—blown to bits.
Nothing to put in a casket. Nothing to mourn. Just a flag. 

He slipped through my fingers. And I decide will never let something I love slip through my fingers ever again.
The next time I love something, I’m going to hold on tight and I won’t let go. No matter what


Red taps her fingers against the nightstand. I sit up and kiss her back. 

“Worried?”

She scoffs, and looks back at me, her brow furrowed. “Like hell. You were talking in your sleep.”

I look at the back of her head for a moment before laying back down on the bed, putting my hands behind my head. It’s nice to be like this. Domestic. 

She’s dropped the soft demeanor for now. I haven’t touched her. It isn’t helping her mood, I know. 

“We’ll handle it. We don’t have a choice. Smoke another blunt. Go stare at the moon. It’ll calm you.”

“No windows.”

“Oh yeah.” 

Red shuffles on her knees toward me, settling them on either side of me. She puts her hands on either side of my face. 

“Well then…I need something to do. Hello, something.”

I chuckle. “Every time you get high you end up right here,” I put my hands on her hips. I squeeze them, pull her closer to me.

I shiver, brushing my fingertips down her skin. So soft. I need to touch every part of her. 

She’s so close to me. Her skin is radiating heat—hers mixing with mine. Her life force is mixing with mine. 

“Hand it to me,” she whispers, tucking her face into my neck, brushing her lips against my neck. 

I reach over and grab her joint.

“Light,” I feel her order against my skin. My brain is hazy, with vanilla and sativa a familiar but intoxicating mix.

I light for her. She puts her fingers up. I took it between them. Red sinks her teeth into my neck. My hands grab her ass, pull her closer, a groan leaving throat.

She knows just how to reward me, it’s why I can’t help but obey her.

“Red…”

She pulls back, scraping her teeth down the side of my neck. 

Fuck. 

I know my handprints will be on her ass tomorrow. I squeeze harder. 

Scarlett bends her back and I catch her, one of my hands holding my back, her head between my knees. She takes a hit, exhaling the smoke, watching it writhe in the air.

I feel her throb against me. I pull her hips closer. 

“Are you relaxed now?” I ask softly.

I ask but I know the answer. Her muscles are a bit looser. She’s got that tightness—that awareness. But she’s melting in my hands.

A few more hits, and she may be able to sleep.

“Something close,” she murmurs. She passes.

“2 years,” she whispers. “I threw away everything for two years. Two years of you.”

I smirk. That’s right. 

She scoffs. “What the fuck am I? The lead of a romantic comedy?”

I lift her to my lips, kiss her heart. It pounds under my lips. It sounds like it’s murmuring, yours. Yours. 

Yours. Yours. Yours.

“I’ll call my guy in a minute. Get us set up somewhere.”

“Both of us?” 

I nod. “He’s a friend, my handler. He’ll let me fly under the radar.”

At least I hope he will. 

We’re running away together. To peace. Mrs and Mr Barnhum. I pull her closer, hold her to me, my lips against her chest.

My arms close around her. The smoke from her joint is burning my eyes but for some reason it kinda makes me wanna laugh. It feels like her.

She’ll be mine. All mine. Always. 

“You’re having dirty thoughts again.”

“How do you know,” I ask from over her shoulder.

“I can barely breathe, you're holding me so tight.”

I smirk. “Maybe it’s all the smoke in your lungs, hm?”

We’re quiet again. 

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” She whispers.

I blink. A lie forms on my tongue, sweet and soothing.

“Yes.”

Her nails sink into my shoulders. “You hate me for it don’t you?”

I nod softly, and close my eyes. “Lemme go make that call.”