Page 28 of The Burning
She was the kind of woman who needed full, undying attention, even though she didn’t see herself that way. The version of Karina Fischer I had come to know needed more than some stupid soldier who huffed cans of whipped cream in the backseat of a Humvee, returning from a mission that had nearly killed all of us. What she needed was someone who would fall harder for her the more she exposed her inner self, not an immature fucking moron like Lawson who wanted to use her body. She needed to be heard and understood without words being spoken.
The man she would end up with was going to have to have the patience of a saint and the ingenuity to figure out how she worked and what made her tick. If I, who somehow spoke her language no matter how different the two of us were, couldn’t give her that, there was no chance Lawson or any dude I had ever met could. I didn’t want to think about her, about other men and the way they wanted her body, and that one day, another man would come along who would be able to tap into her endless mind. That felt worse to me, someone hearing her talk about her feet aching at the end of the day or going on about how corrupt our government was. It created a hollow feeling in my chest in a way that was even more painful than a man putting his hands on her beautiful body.
While Fischer stayed quiet, staring down at his phone, typing away, I struggled to get his sister out of my head. God that woman drove me insane. Sharp, bright flashes of her eyes and laughter fought and defeated the part of my brain that was starting to hate her. It would be so much easier to hate her than to continue to ache for her and fantasize about her. The way drops of water stuck on her long eyelashes when she was first out of the shower. The way sweat dripped down her bare spine after I went down on her from behind, where I had a perfect view of her soft body. It wasn’t only the physicality of her that I craved—it was hearing the way she could craft words like they were just for me. During my stroll down useless-memory lane, I felt my body grow restless and needed a reason to get out of the room.
I went into the kitchen to busy myself. I could eat. It had been a while since I’d eaten, so I threw something into the microwave. My stomach had been growling ever since I had to leave my fresh, hot, handmade enchiladas on the table at Mendoza’s. Right as I had cut my fork into the food, Mendoza punched his hand through the glass on his back door. Gloria had spent hours cooking dinner for us, and everything was fine until it just wasn’t. That’s how he was. A ticking bomb in the most literal sense of the phrase. The smallest thing, a pop of oil on the stove, threw Mendoza into panic. And then things blew up.
I couldn’t get his oldest son’s face out of my head, the way it twisted as he grabbed his little sister and ran upstairs at the sight of blood spray. I looked at the frozen pizza whirling in the microwave and wished it was those enchiladas Gloria spent hours on. Her food was always so good. Mendoza was a lucky motherfucker; not only did he have a wife who loved him just the way he was—darkness, light, and all the shit in between—but she also took care of their entire family while he was gone and had never even looked at a man who wasn’t him since they were sixteen. Made me gag sometimes, but I absolutely envied what he had. I’d take half of that, or even just the food. Hell’s sake, I’d even take my ma’s meatloaf over the shit pizza in my microwave. I knew I could use my mess hall card and still eat on post, but I couldn’t be bothered, preferring to to stay inside my place as much as possible. I knew my whole life would change when my discharge went through, even if right now it seemed like it was never going to happen. I was slowly prepping myself for the new world, one with freedom. With freedom would come change, and I was sure as fuck ready for a change. Once I learned to cook for myself.
I really did need to start cooking for myself and maybe even eat actual food, but I had no damn time lately. Mentally or physically. Buying groceries, chopping and stirring and brining and shit—things peopledo—it wasn’t happening. I had more time now than I had the last couple weeks, but I swapped the time I used to spend with Karina for going to my Army Transition Assistance program, where they attempted to teach me and a group of soldiers how to do basic things like fill out job applications, write a résumé, and use the VA healthcare system. They weren’t going to let me run as far as I wanted away from the Army. In a lot of ways, I’d be a soldier forever. That’s how they wanted it.
It all depended on what the hell was going to go down with my discharge. They weren’t gonna keep me in, not with my fucked-up leg. It was so fucked up that they couldn’t use my body anymore, but they would forever have my mind. I always came back to this. This wasn’t the first time that I’d found myself standing in my drywall-dusted kitchen, using the noise from my microwave as white noise to drown myself in the past. Change couldn’t touch some things in life. The fucking outrageous number of times I dug my boots into the sand of my past was enough torment to make up for my sins while there. I would never be able to forget how much blood had stained my hands.
I was always going to be that guy who had hemorrhaged the trust she’d had in me. Karina was the only person I’d ever met who made me feel like my life sentence was over and I was finally done being punished. She was the only one who knew some of what I had done or seen, and she never,everlooked at me like I was the monster I had come to terms with being. She filled my ears and soaked my mind with bits of herself in a way that healed me. Listening to her talk was more valuable than any therapist I’d ever sat across from. Karina and work were the only things that took my mind off all the other shit. And since I’d lost her, I only had one thing left to lean on: turning this dump into a not only livable, but decent place. I had a shitload of work ahead of me if I wanted to try to make something of my life.
Chapter Fourteen
I needed to get my renovations done so I could start bringing in money instead of living in an expensive place that would burn through all of my basic housing allowance from being a seargent; I’d used my VA loan to get a run-down duplex and spent the rest of what was left after fixing it up to help pay my sister’s tuition. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t waste money like most of my boys did. I put all of my extra pay during deployments into savings and bonds and lived off the bare minimum so I could stay afloat after I left the Army. I’d never admit it to any of my boys, but somewhere in the back of my head I knew I wouldn’t be in forever. I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I started moving the pieces a while ago.
Both sides of the duplex needed to be fully finished for me to get on my feet after my discharge. Phillips was going to be home soon and he wanted to surprise Elodie by moving into one side of the duplex. Things would be so fucking different if he were there. He would probably be hanging out with a case of beer, talking about how fucking terrified he was to become a dad soon. I sure as hell couldn’t picture it, not with his temper. But babies changed people, at least that’s what every couple told themselves. Not that I was stoked to have a screaming baby for a neighbor, but I had his back, and Elodie’s. Not to mention the waiting list for post housing could take up to a year, sometimes longer, and I couldn’t expect them all to live in Karina’s box of a house. Karina’s and Phillips’s personalities weren’t going to mix at all, so living together even temporarily wasn’t an option.
The money he would save renting out my place would also help with the new expenses coming their way. Not to mention, the more I could keep my eyes on Phillips, the better. I trusted him. But I also knew what all our minds were like these days—his must be even more fucked since he’s still there and is missing out on his wife’s entire pregnancy.
Whenever I thought about him there, of any of us there, my leg hurt even more. It was fucking killing me . . . It had been all day, all week, all the time. The ache was tolerable enough to drive Mendoza to the hospital and get myself back home, but it was fucking throbbing now. I leaned against the counter and took all my weight off it. There was no chance I was going back to the doctor; that would only slow down the process of me getting discharged. He would prescribe another surgery, pump me full of pills that would not only fuck up my plan, but leave me ending up staring at the wall for hours: numb limbs, numb mind, exactly what they wanted. I’d done that before.
But on nights like this, the pain seemed extra-persistent. A constant reminder of my hurting inside and out.
I watched the microwave spin the pizza around and around. The cheese, crusted and burning at the edges of the folded box it sat on, melted all over the cardboard. I was so hungry that at this point, I’d eat the cardboard if I had to. I’d had worse. This microwave pizza was nicer than most of the food I grew up eating.
The pizza still had a minute and twelve seconds left. As a soldier, I could do a lot in seventy-two seconds. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I heard the phantom sound of rockets blasting in the distance the moment my eyes closed. Sometimes the blasts comforted me. This was one of those times. There were things about being a soldier that I knew I’d miss, like the routine and the adrenaline. I wasn’t a BMX-riding, mountain-climbing kind of man, but every once in a while I had a nostalgic feeling when remembering the immense and exciting pounding in my chest as I ran for my life from the pop of gunshots. The first few months it was terrifying: the thought of never seeing my ma’s or sister’s faces again, but after a while, I became addicted to the thought of the fragility of life and how quickly mine could end.
The microwave beeped, making me jump back to the mundane.Fuck, I thought to myself. When would my brain function normally? Would it ever? Did I even care or could I coast through life barely thinking, barely living until it was over like most humans do? I leaned over to see if Fischer was still on the couch, still texting whoever he was talking to. I hoped she wasn’t married or messy this time around. Fischer really needed something to get his priorities straight, or at least listed, and that was one of the endless reasons I had for doing what I did. I found control in the lack of freedom of the Army and that was good for me and for more people than they would care to admit. I knew what I was supposed to do every day, exactly when I was supposed to do it. There was order; there was a task to complete. In a way, things were just easier. I’d never had to choose between feeding my family or getting a tire for my truck. If I had a cold or needed a cavity filled, it wouldn’t drain my bank account. Something that should have been free for every citizen but wasn’t. Simple pleasures and necessities come at a cost for most people in the world. What a privilege it was not to have to worry about those kinds of things.
Fischer was going to be able to have a car, in his own name, a warm bed to sleep in at night, and three hot meals a day. His enlisting was going to hurt Karina, but at least I wouldn’t be around to remind her of the person who had ruined her life and lied to her. I’d somehow become the villain of this story. To her, I’d be Rowan Pope fromScandal—the show that was on Karina’s television every single time I went there. Remembering her living room was a reminder that I needed to get away from this town the very fucking second that I could jump in my Bronco and drive my ass to Atlanta. I couldn’t risk finding a reason to stay, though at one point, I foolishly hoped she would give me one. That hope was gone now.
I had given myself and the paperwork a timeline of a few months. I still had some shit to do here, not only fixing up this duplex, but meetings and support groups so the Army could check off their list of mental and physical health surveys before they sent me out into the world. I needed to work faster on the repairs if I wanted to be able to sell or rent out my half of the place. The splintered wood on the counter edge was digging into my elbow, but since it distracted from my pain, I didn’t mind. Plus, my guy at the flea market said he was getting a shipment of at least ten more slabs of marble for me, and I would cover the old wood on my counters with it. Since manual labor was getting harder and harder to do myself lately, with my leg acting up the way it was, having Fischer there as extra help was doubling my productivity. My own body was so damn worn out, but I had to keep going . . . I didn’t have much of a choice. When did I?
There was less time to rest my mind or body than ever before, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was running from or racing toward something. What was it? The Army? My future?
The ghosts of dead soldiers from both sides, friends and enemies alike with guns strapped to their chests shouting in languages I had only begun to understand. Maybe it was the fact that I was in love with someone whose father I despised for single-handedly destroying my battle buddy’s lives. Or maybe it was pure narcissism and my own mistakes haunting me and making me want to blame someone so I didn’t have to face reality. All of this would be easier if I could blame Karina for forgiving everyone’s mistakes except mine.
She had secrets of her own and I didn’t push her to reveal them. Her own brother warned me that sooner or later, she would run. She didn’t believe in love, or lasting devotion. I wasn’t sure that I did, either, but she made me come as close to the idea of it as I had ever come. Even if I hadn’t done what I thought was best for Fischer, she would have found some other reason to push or throw me away. Just like my father and most other people in my life had, except my ma and sister and to some extent my battle buddies. Well, some of them. Despite all of that, something about knowing Karina made me want to get past all of this and live in real time, breathe live air, speak honest words.
The microwave beeped and the smell of burnt synthetic cheese filled my kitchen. A small cloud of smoke surrounded the metal-looking tray. I was so hungry; the day was nearly over and I hadn’t eaten a single bite of food. Being alone with my thoughts was never a good thing for me, but it certainly was easier when those thoughts weren’t about Karina, the brief time I had spent with her, and the taste of knowing how it felt to be alive.
I had assumed it would be a while, if ever, before we ran into one another. The post was huge and I knew she usually avoided it at all costs. I didn’t even want to fucking see her again before I left—and at the hospital of all places. But life had taught me that shit never went the way I wanted it to.
I panicked at first when I saw her there, worrying something was wrong or that she was hurt. I assessed her quickly and when I realized that she was okay, I had to shut down. I didn’t want her to see the concern in my eyes or hear the fear in my voice. I turned off my emotions, just like she had done. Fortunately, Elodie was okay, too, and Fischer’s ass was lucky he wasn’t the one fucking up again. Karina really didn’t need to be worrying about her brother’s mistakes or life choices when she could barely handle her own and there was enough tension between the two of them right now.
As she stood there, inside the entrance of the hospital, I could feel her green eyes burning into me. She’d wanted me to look at her so badly, but I couldn’t do it. Only when she looked away. I knew I would see the challenge in her stare, waiting for me to say the first words, to apologize or try to explain myself. It wasn’t going to happen, but she’d been testing me. That’s what she’d wanted. I could feel it. There wasn’t anything left for either of us to say. I was the dickhead soldier, and she was the victim. Arguing in front of a room full of people wasn’t going to change that.
Still, being there face-to-face hadn’t been an easy feat—seeing her brows drawn in worry and her pouty lips, hands on hips, ready to attempt to take me on. I couldn’t shake the physical and mental reaction I was having to her; I couldn’t get a grip. It sure as hell wasn’t healthy, and no doubt one of my psychologists would analyze it all and agree. But the high I felt with her was addictive. It was something that only Karina, and being afraid for my life, could make me feel. As opposite as the circumstances were—being with Karina and being in combat—they were the only things that made me feel alive; I felt nearly numb to everything else lately.
How did I end up in this situation in the first place? I had no business getting into a relationship or promising anything to anyone. A woman should be the last thing on my mind. The only thing I needed to be worried about was getting out of this hellhole. And fast. No attachments. Maybe if I told myself that enough times, it would come true. I never wanted to be married or have kids or anything close to it.
My mind and body were worn down from the day, but I had to stay up for at least another hour. I felt like I could handle it; it was a soldier thing, to be so in tune with my body and to know when it could be tested, and when it couldn’t. From the throbbing pressure on my kneecap to the pulse pumping at my temples, I clocked it all. I thought about the pain on a scale of one to ten, the way that doctors and specialists were always doing. Right now, I was at a heavy six, with ten being blown-the-fuck-up.
I was in constant pain tonight, but some knee pain and one of Mendoza’s episodes were nothing compared to the shit I’d seen during my deployments. The sound of rockets slicing through the air and detonating in our camp was just as vivid to me now as when it had happened. The image of metal beams falling down like lightning bolts, and the ungodly pain that came with the metal striking my leg and crushing my bones was still there—and yet it was nothing compared to the fire that licked and ate my flesh while I waited for someone to pull me out of our burning camp. And the fire in the Humvee—
