Wounded

by Jasinda Wilder

One of them tightens his fingers in the fabric of his pants by his knees. They are all watching me. Fear pounds in my heart, but I cannot turn away. The foil with the roasted meat is within my grasp. I need it. I have not eaten in days. My stomach growls again, loudly enough for them all to hear, and the one holding the food smiles. It is not a humorous smile, a laughing smile, but a triumphant one.

  I reach for the packet, and he lets me take it. I want to gobble all the succulent, juicy meat down as fast as I can, like an animal, but I force myself to go slowly, nibble, watching the men. I take a bite, chew carefully, nearly moaning in relief. Another, and I almost forget about the men.

  Almost.

  A hard, big hand latches around my wrist. "Nothing is free, girl. " The voice is low and rough and hard.

  I look up to see beady brown eyes leering down at me.

  "I have no. . . no money. " I hand back the packet, although it takes a huge effort to do so. "Take it back—I cannot pay. I am sorry. "

  "I said nothing about money. " He chuckles like something is funny, but I do not know what.

  One of the others speaks up. "She is too young, Malik. No. "

  The one with the packet of meat—whose name seems to be Malik—glances back at the other one in disgust. "She is plenty old enough. You do not have to join in. " He looks at me. "Have you bled?"

  I am confused. "What? Bled?" I try to pull away.

  His grip on my arms tightens. "Yes, girl. Bled. Your monthly blood. Womans blood. "

  I feel horror and embarrassment pulse through me. "Y-yes. More than a year now. "

  He turns to the other men, grinning. "See? She is a woman. "

  I am beginning to understand what is about to occur. I shake my head and try to pull free. "Please, no. No. "

  Malik does not let go. His grin widens. "Yes, girl. Yes. You ate my food. Now you pay me. It will not hurt too much. I am not a monster. I will not share you. "

  "Yes, you will," someone says, threat in his voice.

  Malik growls, lifts his rifle from the ground without letting go of my arm. "No, I will not. She ate my food. "

  "You do not need to be this way," the one who first protested says. "She is just a girl. I will buy you more food. Let her go. "

  Malik spits on the ground, swaying a little. "You are weak, Mohammed. "

  He tugs me away from the fire, towards a black patch of shadows hiding the stairs. I stumble after him, fear pounding through me wildly now. The stairs creak under his weight, and in my fear-blindness I miss a stair, stumbling. Malik catches me, holds me up by the wrist and tugs me to my feet. There is a pallet of blankets on the floor in a corner, an empty bottle of booze, a box of shells, a cardboard box with cans and other food items in it, and next to the bed are some magazines with a picture of naked American women on the front.

  Page 7

 

  I struggle, pull away, and try to kick him. He darts out of reach and then slaps me across the face, hard enough that stars burst across my eyes and my ears ring.

  I smell his breath as he thrusts his face close to mine. "Listen, girl. It is a fair trade. You need to eat, and nothing is free. "

  "I had one bite," I whisper. "Please, let me go. "

  Malik tugs my ripped hijab from my head and tosses it to the ground, pulling hair loose in the process, but I barely feel it. "I will make you a deal. If you cooperate quietly, I will give you more food, and some money. It has been weeks since I have had a woman, and you are very pretty. I am feeling generous. If you keep struggling, I might be forced to hurt you, and I do not want to do that. Not to such a pretty little face like yours. "

  Everything in me shrinks away from him, but my need for food, my need to survive moves my mouth. "Food? And money?"

  He laughs. "That got your attention. "

  He does not let go of me, but pushes me to the blankets. I stumble and fall to my back, scramble away from him, but he kneels near the foot end of the blankets to rummage in the box. He pulls out several cans of food, a packet of jerked meat, and a bottle of liquor. He sets these things on the floor, and then reaches in his pocket and pulls out a wad of money, peels off a few bills, and adds it to the pile.

  "There. I think that is more than generous. " Malik grins at me, and I realize he is drunk.

  I cower against the wall, staring at the food and the money, well aware that what he is offering will keep me alive for at least a month, if Im careful. But what he is suggesting I do to get it. . . I cannot. I just cannot. My knees tighten, and my arms cross over my chest.

  "I. . . I do not—" my voice cracks.

  I need the food, but I do not know how to agree. Fear boils through me, disgust at the sweat-stained armpits of his shirt, the scraggly beard on his chin, the hard brown eyes, the acne scars on his forehead.

  "It will be over quick, girl. "

  He moves to kneel over me, pushes my dress up over my hips with rough hands. He unbuttons the front, and my heart hammers as he bares my br**sts, my privates. My eyes are closed, my body trembling. My stomach growls, gnaws, fueling my desperation. Hard fingers claw at my br**sts, and I whimper. Hard fingers rip away my thin cotton panties, and dig into my soft privates. I cry out loud, but he ignores me.

  I try to pull away, but he holds me in place with a hand on my shoulder. A belt jingles, and that sound becomes seared into my soul. A zipper goes zzzhrip, and then his weight is above me. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter, try to close my knees, but he is already between my legs and something hard is pressing against my privates. I whimper again, and then something pinches, sharp and painful, and then pops.

  I weep quietly for my virginity.

  It is over quickly, and his weight is gone. Something hot and wet is on my leg. A piece of cloth is dropped onto my chest, and then I cannot feel his presence or smell him. I open my eyes, and see that I am alone.

  Allah, what have I done?

  I have not prayed to Allah in a very long time, and I do not know why I do so now.

  I take the rag and wipe myself. There is thick, sticky white fluid dripping down my thighs, mixed with blood. I nearly vomit but have nothing in my stomach to bring up, so I only dry-heave and taste acid. I take the cans and wrap them in my hijab. The money I clutch in my damp palm.

  I run home. I do not cry until I am in my bed. I bathe in the morning, but do not feel clean, even after scrubbing until my skin is raw. I look at the wealth of food, the money that can feed me, and I feel a bit better. It was awful, but it kept me alive.

  I eat, and push away my self-loathing, my disgust, my worry for what I will do when this is gone.

  TWO

  HUNTER

  Operation Iraqi Freedom; Des Moines, Iowa, 2003

  The bar is dim and blurry and spinning as I finish my beer. Ive lost count by now. Ten? Twelve? There might have been a few shots in there, too. It doesnt matter. Derek is next to me, perched on the stool with one foot on the scratched wood floor, flirting with a tall brown-haired girl with huge round br**sts. Hes close to scoring, Im pretty sure. Hes been working this girl for over an hour, playing up his best war stories from the last tour. Weve been back for a month, and were not due to ship back to Iraq for another month, but Derek has gotten plenty of mileage out of his experiences. And by mileage, I mean ass.

  This girl, for instance, is hanging off his every word, leaning closer and closer to him, arching her back to make her already-impressive rack even bigger. Shes stroking his knee absently, and hes pretending not to notice, all the while inching his own hand up her knee toward her thigh, which is bare almost to her hip bones in the little khaki shorts shes wearing.

  I wish him well. Ive got my own piece of heaven waiting at home. . . well, her home. Its where Ive been staying since I got back Stateside. Lani Cutler has been my girlfriend since my sophomore year of high school, and she waited for me through Basic, gave me somewhere to stay until I shipped out, and then gave me one hell of a warriors
send-off. . . for three days straight. And now Im back and shes here still, giving me a warriors welcome and a warm bed. I dont know what else it is between us, exactly, which is part of the reason Ive tied one on tonight. Things are different, difficult, and confused.

  I keep trying to start the conversation with her, but she always avoids it.

  I was gone for over a year, and I know better than to ask what—or who—she did while I was gone, since I never demanded she wait for me. Shes a good girl, sweet, beautiful, smart, from a good family. Too good for the likes of me, but she doesnt seem to know that. She claims to love me, and I believe her. Ive been thinking of asking her to marry me, to make sure Ive always got someone to come home to, permanently. I love her, I think. I think about her when Im gone, miss her. I can see us together.

  Ive even bought the ring. Little thing, not real expensive, but its something.

  But I have doubts.

  At some point, my beer disappears and is replaced by a glass of water with four wedges of lemon. A rocks glass full of pretzel nuggets is in front of me, and suddenly, nothing has ever tasted so good as those yeasty little balls of crunchy goodness.

  Derek laughs at something the girl—whom I’ve named The Rack—says and stands up. "Were gonna get out of here, Hunt. You good?"

  I nod. "Yep. ’M good. Not a far walk from here. "

  Derek frowns. "Sure youre in any kind of condition to walk, bro? You look three sheets to the wind. "

  I shrug. "Maybe two sheets. But Im good. ”

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  “Dude, don’t be a dickhead. You’re hammered. Get in the cab with us. ”

  “Fuck you,” I mumble.

  “You first, asshat. ” Derek is laughing at me, but I’m too dizzy to care.

  "Oh, be nice to your friend," The Rack says. "Cant you see hes pining over a girl?"

  Derek laughs. "Sweetheart, thats not pining. Hes gonna stumble home and f**k her sideways. "

  I blear at the girl, wondering if Im that obvious. "Shuddup, Derek," I slur. "Sides. Im pretty sure thats all it is. Fuckin. Just f**kin. No love. Just sex. "

  "See?" The girl slaps Dereks shoulder. "Hes pining. He loves her, but she doesnt love him. Im a bartender. I know that look. Now, get your friend home, and then take me to your place. "

  Then Im stumbling outside into the bitter Iowa winter, hunching against the driving wind. Id forgotten it was winter, for a minute. Ive been in the desert so long I find the chill unbearable now. Before I shipped out, Id have been out in this in a T-shirt, playing tackle football with Derek and the guys. This little flurry storm wouldnt have stopped us from playing ball. We never even bothered with coats until it was single digits.

  Im sliding into the cab, The Rack next to me, her slim, soft arm pressing against mine. I mean, I know shes going home with Derek, and Ive got Lani waiting for me, but Im drunk and I dont mind her proximity.

  "You smell nice, like vanilla," I say.

  Oops. I hadnt meant to say that. Kind of a creeper thing to say. Fortunately, the Rack is amiable enough and experienced enough with drunk people to not take me seriously.

  "Thanks," she giggles, and her boobs bounce pleasantly. I try not to stare.

  I focus out the window on the shards of snow whipping past, the trees and the buildings of suburban Des Moines. She giggles again at something Derek says, and now that I dont have her bouncing tits to distract me, the sound of her giggle is actually fairly obnoxious, but I cant place why. Something about it irritates me, rubs me the wrong way.

  Oh, god, Im entering the dickhead phase of my drunk. I sigh at myself and concentrate on trying to see single objects rather than double.

  We pull into Lanis apartment complex, and I hand Derek a couple of random bills from my pocket to cover the bar tab and the cab fare.

  "Thanks for the ride," I say. I wink at them, or try to. I think I actually just closed both eyes.

  Derek laughs. "Yeah, dude, no problem. Get some sleep. Well hit the gym tomorrow. "

  I nod and extend my hand. Derek slaps my palm and grabs my hand as if were about to arm wrestle, and then lets go. I get out and stumble to the door, peering unsteadily at the number to make sure its the right one. It is, and I go inside, finding the apartment dark and silent. Theres a single candle burning on the kitchen counter, one of the crazy scented ones Lani likes so much. Cherry butterscotch buttered coconut rum, or some stupid shit like that. I blow it out, because Lani tends to leave them lit all night, which is a fire hazard, even though she acts like its not.

  I lean against the counter, breathing in the scent of extinguished candle. Ive always wished theyd make a candle that smells like a blown-out candle. The clock on the microwave says one-fifty-five, and I know its probably unlikely that Ill see any action with Lani tonight. Shes a receptionist at a doctors office and has to get up pretty early to be at work, so she goes to bed early. It doesnt bother me, usually, since Im an early riser myself, having been in the Marine Corps for such a long time. But tonight, Im horny. Im worked up.

  Now that Im home and away from the familiar comfort of the bar, being drunk is a little unpleasant, dizzy and disorienting. I want to sleep, but I know I wont be able to. I want to make love to Lani, but thats not going to happen, either. She might wake up, she might even respond enough to let me do what I want, but she wont really wake up, shell just move a little, make some partially fake moaning sounds, and then go back to sleep.

  I crack open a Dr. Pepper from the fridge, grab a box of Cheez-Its, and plop in front of the TV, grabbing the remote and flicking it on. I click through channels aimlessly, munching and sipping, stopping on a few minutes of Purdue-Clemson game, but it doesnt hold my interest. A few more channels, and then I land on CNN, coverage from the war. I try to change the channel, but it doesnt happen. My finger wont press the button.

  I see the flashes, the tracers, hear clip footage of the hack-hack. . . hackhackhack of AK fire, and suddenly Im transported, kneeling beside an open door, M16 tucked into my shoulder, kicking as I blast triple bursts at a red-and-white-checked keffiyeh visible on a rooftop.

  My head aches, my chest clenches, and my fists tighten until I hear the plastic remote cracking in my hand, and then the segment ends and a commercial for Tide detergent shakes me out of it. I flick on the TV and scan the DVDs on the shelf, but nothing seems interesting.

  Theres an Xbox, here for when Lanis younger brother comes over after school on Thursday afternoons. Some games, mostly sports, a role-playing game, and then the latest Call of Duty. I havent played that one yet. We dont get the new games over there very often. I pop it in and change the channel to the correct TV input. The opening screens cycle, and then Im in, quick play option. Its scarily realistic. The sounds are dead on, filtered through speakers, but enough to crash into my head and call up the real thing.

  Im racking up kills like crazy, biting it and respawning, and the controller is slippery with sweat and Im leaning forward, teeth grinding. Certain parts are realistic, others arent. The sounds are the most realistic.

  I feel small soft hands on my shoulders, sliding down my arms to take the controller from me. I let her take it.

  "Hunter? What are you doing, baby?" Lanis voice is muzzy with sleep.

  I turn away from the TV and look at her. Shes so beautiful, wavy blonde hair sleep-mussed, blue eyes squinting at the light. Shes wearing one of my T-shirts, a Slipknot concert shirt, and it comes to mid-thigh, her small, perky br**sts poking the cotton.

  "Got back from the bar with Derek and couldnt sleep," I say.

  "I never felt you come back to bed. "

  I shrug. "I didnt. I knew I wouldnt be able to sleep. "

  She circles the couch and sits next to me. "Isnt that game a little. . . difficult for you to play?"

  I dont answer right away. I shrug, eventually. "Yeah, guess so. Just curious. "

  "You okay?" she asks.

  I hesita
te, then decide now isnt the right time to address whats on my mind. Im half-drunk, and shes half-asleep. "Nah. Just coming down and getting tired. "

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  "Well, why dont you come to bed?" Lani slips her hand around my bicep.

  "Yeah, Ill be right in. "

  Lani laughs, a breathy giggle, and thats when I realize why the Racks giggle irritated me: it was like Lanis. I push the thought away and turn to her.

  "Whats funny?" I ask.

  She scratches her nails up my arm. "I meant, come to bed. . . " and the tone of her voice suggests what shes getting at.

  "Dont you have to wake up for work in a few hours?"

  I ask myself why Im arguing and dont come up with an answer.

  "Its only two-thirty," she says. “I dont have to be up till seven. We have time. " She stands up and backs toward the bedroom.

  I sit and watch her, feeling the zipper of my jeans tighten as she peels her shirt off, revealing her naked curves. I stand up and follow after her, shedding my shirt and pants as I go. Im hard and ready, and shes crawling backward across the bed, her hair splaying across the pillow, her hand reaching for me as I climb up between her legs.

  Sex with Lani never fails to be spectacular. Shes passionate and vocal, crying out when she comes, moaning my name as I plunge into her, soft hands clutching my shoulders.

  Her eyes, though, when I glance at her, reveal a distance as they look at me. A kind of disguised apathy. As if shes acting. The thought bothers me, and I push it away. I release with a soft grunt, my face buried in her neck.

  I wish she would put her hand on my head when I bury my face against her like this. She never does, though, and I always find myself wishing she would. I never say anything, because shed do it, but only since I asked her to. Its a little thing, insignificant, but somehow it always seems to hit me like this. She does what she thinks I want. She knows I get horny when Im drunk, so she has sex with me when I get back from the bar. Im not sure she wants to, though. Not really.

  Shes asleep again, turned away from me, still naked, beautiful, and it seems for a moment as if were in different realities. The absurdity of the thought makes me snort. I roll over behind her and slip my arm over her hip. Shes warm and soft and present here with me.

  A glow of affection for Lani spreads through me, replacing my doubts. She loves me, and I love her. All is well with my world, in this moment, at least.

  A tiny voice in the very bottom-most, shadowy part of my heart speaks up.

  Right?

  And then I fall asleep without answering that question.

  * * *

  The next few weeks pass somewhat awkwardly. Lani is increasingly distant. She usually is in the days and weeks prior to my shipping out, but this is different. More pronounced. We dont have sex again.

  Shes on her phone a lot, texting nonstop. She plugs it in next to her bed and puts in on silent. Sometimes its under her pillow. Its always in her hand or in her purse, or in her back pocket. Its never, ever where I can see it. If I approach her while shes texting, or on call, she pauses until I go away, putting the phone against her chest.