by Natalie Dean
Bart stood there, chest heaving. His body was pumping adrenaline from being in full-on attack mode. He had wanted to hurt those men. To make them shut up and regret ever saying those terrible, judging words.
“Hey, you all right?”
Bart shook his head. He felt like it was all he could do. The world was crumbling around the edges, and he could feel his feet being pulled down into the churning, malevolent maw that was always within him.
“Do you need to get away for a bit?”
He nodded. But even that action felt like too much. Like he was clawing to get out of his own skin. He could feel the smoke and the screams and the darkness rolling back in, starting to blot out the light of day.
“All right. Take the rest of the day off. Do you need me to walk you back to the house?”
No. The house wouldn’t help him right now. Nothing could. He was stuck in a broken, crumbling mind that kept putting danger where there was none. A mind that refused to let him have peace. It wanted to punish him for all that he had done, and all he hadn’t done.
Unless…
Perhaps there was something that could help him. But it was selfish. If he was a good man, he would tuck tail and walk himself into the nearest pond to never surface again.
But if there was one thing that he had learned, it was that he wasn’t a good man.
Turning on his heel, he marched past his younger brother and his concerned expression. Over the grass. Across the path. Until finally he was in front of the barn where Missy was still playing with the cats, cooing and murmuring sweet praises that made some of the darkness around him ease back.
She was covered in dirt and hay and sweat, but with the sunlight hitting her, making her tanned skin glisten as she poured affection over the creatures at her feet, Bart couldn’t help but think that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Hey,” he said, his voice sounding monstrous even to him.
She stood up sharply, her eyes going wide. But instead of horror or alarm, her face split into a friendly smile. “What’s up?”
She was too nice. She had to be faking, right? Some animal instinct in her telling her that he was dangerous and the only way to be safe was to play along.
But despite that dark whisper inside of him, he found his mouth opening. “Is that offer for help still on the table?”
She nodded, her face growing even more surprised. “Yeah, of course. What do you need?”
“Are you free for a talk?”
13
Missy
Missy walked beside Bart as they headed to the same grassy knoll where they had met. Perhaps it was a bit morbid to go back to that scene, the one where she had been flat on her back with his strong hands squeezing the life out of her, but it seemed to make a weird kind of sense. It was a chunk of the world that was only theirs. No one else knew of it or what happened there.
As they drew closer, her heart only began to pound louder, supplying her mind with snippets of what had happened before. Little flashes of memory and sensation, she shoved them down within her.
But even as she tried to bury them, they still flicked across her mind. How cold the dew on the ground had felt as it soaked through her shirt. Just how heavy the man was atop her, his thick, muscled thighs pinning her own legs to the ground as she tried to kick. The stars above, growing dimmer with every second.
And finally, the fear.
Sure, there was her own, but the man above her looked absolutely petrified, tears running out of his eyes as if she was the one trying to kill him. Which was exactly what she assumed was going on in his mind. So, once she was alive and very much not strangled, she resolved not to hold the action against him.
And for the most part, it was pretty easy. He was like one of her wounded animal patients who had clawed or bitten her when they were scared. If she resented every one of them, she would never get around to helping them.
Still… she was a bit surprised that this particular case had actually asked for help. She was sure that after he hadn’t returned her wave from earlier, he wanted to pretend that she didn’t exist. She couldn’t blame him, but the idea certainly… stung a bit.
They reached the top of the knoll and he sat down, leaning his back against one of the few trees there. Missy plopped onto her butt across from him and internally told her heart to calm down before it gave her an apoplexy.
But instead of talking, the man sat there, looking past her like she was another specter from his illness. She tried to be patient. Tried to school her features into an expression someone mature and knowledgeable would wear. But eventually, that wore thin.
“So,” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to bother the man but the curiosity eating her up inside.
“So?” he repeated noncommittedly.
“You said you wanted to talk?”
“I did.”
She waited again and still nothing. Oh boy. This was going to be one of those kinds of conversations, wasn’t it? One where she had to dig and pry and wrest a response out of him. Great.
Well, she had said that she wanted to help, and if this was how he needed help, then she guessed that was what she had to do.
“How are you?” Might as well start simple.
“Not good.”
All right, that was a start. “Is there a reason for that?”
He nodded. And that was it. Okay, so it seemed that it was still her turn to speak.
“Did whatever made you feel not good trigger an episode?”
Another nod.
“Okay, so you needed to get away. Do you want me to distract you?”
One last nod and Missy smiled. Distraction was something that she could do. “All right then, that’s in my skill set. Mama used to say that I’d talk a Chatty Cathy into the ground, so prepare thyself.”
Honestly, she was pleased that he had come to her at all. Her father never seemed to understand what things triggered him going into depressive, alcoholic spirals, no matter how much she and court-mandated therapists worked with him. Whatever had happened with Bart, he had removed himself from the stimuli and sought out something to drown the alarms that were no doubt ringing throughout his body. That showed an incredible amount of strength—and a desire to get better.
But at the same time, being that strong all day had to be so utterly exhausting. Not just in a physical sense, but in a mental sense too. Always being on guard, ready for a million and one things that could set him off at any time. It was no secret that the world was a cruel place, with plenty of people intent on ruining other people’s day just for the hell of it.
No wonder he was having night terrors where he wandered alone, looking for a relief that he couldn’t find.
“So, what would you say your favorite color is?”
He looked at her curiously, but the randomness of her question seemed to shock some of the darkness out of his gaze. “My what?”
“Your favorite color.”
“I… I guess I never thought about it.”
“Oh nonsense,” Missy said, feeling herself picking up speed as she gained confidence. “Everyone has a favorite color. Or I guess I should say color set—because I don’t really have a single favorite color. It’s like a range of hues.”
“Uh-huh,” he sounded suspicious, but suspicious was better than crying or shaking with rage, so she would take it.
“Mine is basically the purple-blue spectrum. I love it all. Somedays I’m more into blue, other days I’m more into purple, but they’re just so pretty.” She closed her eyes, picturing hundreds of beautiful shades and pigments. “I think the universe was built around how beautiful the purple-blue spectrum is. You know, with the ocean in all its various intensities. Water in general. Space! I mean, we all know that the best science pictures are always about those pretty space clouds and miasma.
“I also figure that’s why people love blue eyes so much. How sparkly they are and all that jazz. I’m sure there are other reasons for it, but I like to think
that—”
“You really do have a knack for this, don’t you?” Bart interrupted, looking at her with a wry smile on his face.
“So I’ve been told.” She returned his grin. “Ready to tell me your favorite color now?”
“I guess I’ve always liked green.”
“Green?” she repeated, a bit surprised. Normally she had to wheedle a bit more to get guys to admit they dared like any color that wasn’t black or camo.
“Yeah. It’s the color of living things. Of spring and growth. Everything important seems to be green or blue, and I’m more tied to the Earth than the water.”
“Fair enough,” she said, feeling something strange in her chest.
Green, huh? The color of life? That was surprisingly poetic. She wondered who this guy was before he had gotten so sick from the trauma. He seemed like someone she would have gotten along with.
“So, is this what you do?” he asked, his eyes hardening again.
“What do you mean?”
“Pick up dangerous people and talk to them about what colors are the best?”
“Well, I do spend a lot of times with strays, now that you mention it.”
That smirk grew ever so slightly bigger. “Is that what I am? A stray?”
“I dunno, are you?” She batted her eyes at him, enjoying the banter. She couldn’t remember the last time that she was able to just joke around with someone. Usually, any sort of friendly words out of her mouth to a man between seventeen and ninety always seemed to be perceived as some sort of flirtation.
“I think I’ve got way too nice of a house and family to ever be considered a stray.”
“That’s true. Your guys’ place is pretty darn nice.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“But do you feel like you belong there?”
“What?” he answered too quickly, and she realized how insensitive her questions might sound. She hurried to explain, to prove that she had been joking.
“That’s the difference between a cat and a stray right? Cats who feel like they belong will never not have a home, while ones who don’t feel welcome will always be strays.”
Bart rubbed his chin. “I’d say that’s accurate, but what about dogs?”
Missy laughed at that. “Dogs are never strays as long as there’s a human around to love them. They’re a little more trusting than cats.”
“So am I the cat and are you the dog in this situation?”
“I dunno,” Missy said with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken kindly to being called a dog.”
His eyes shot open a little wider. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know, I know,” she said softly. “But I couldn’t resist. I don’t think I’m much of a dog, however. I’m not exactly trusting.”
“But you trust me.”
Huh, this conversation was not going the way that she thought it would. “Who said I trust you?”
“Well, you’re here right now, aren’t you?”
“I am. But just because I want to help you, and I believe you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, doesn’t mean I fully and blindly trust you.”
“I already hurt you,” he said, gesturing to her neck.
She rolled her eyes. Was he going to bring that up all the time? Because she was already over it. “Wouldn’t purposefully hurt me.”
“You have no way of knowing that.”
“I guess I’ll just have to trust my instincts then,” she countered, feeling a bit daring.
“I used to do that.”
“Do what?”
She watched as a myriad of expressions crossed his face. “Trust my gut. Believe in myself.”
“And you don’t anymore?” She had certainly tried her hardest to keep the conversation away from anything too serious, but it seemed like that was what he wanted to talk about. And if Bart felt comfortable enough to wanna talk about who he might have been before the world crashed down on his head, then she was ready to listen.
“I can’t even trust that what I’m seeing is real.”
Carefully, Missy reached forward, letting her fingers just barely trace along his arm. “I’m real.”
“Yeah, I’ve figured at least that much out.” He looked up, squinting at the sun. Missy took in the tan pillar of his neck as it craned upward, the sun lighting up his striking features. He really would have been quite the handsome man if it weren’t for the tortured expression on his face.
Oh, who was she kidding? Even looking absolutely miserable, he was certainly a nice bit of eye candy. It also helped that when he looked at her, he seemed to see an actual human and not just a rack that could talk occasionally.
“I used to think that I knew everything, that I was one hundred percent certain of how my life was gonna go.”
“Huh, that sounds kinda cocky to me,” she joked.
“That’s probably because I was cocky. I had a sort of confidence in myself that seemed unshakable at the time. I could make anything into a joke, and I was good at pretty much everything I tried.
“And then I went into the Army, hoping to serve my country, and I was good at that too.”
She watched his eyes close and different shadows crossed his expressions. Ones less caused by sun and more by what was going on in that head of his.
Missy found herself wanting to reach out again, to slide her fingers over his face and soothe away the worried lines that were creased into his features. But they weren’t nearly close enough for that. She was just a woman who he happened to run into in the dead of the night when he was in a compromising position. Nothing more.
“Maybe I was too good at it, and that’s why I’m being punished now.”
Missy’s heart ached. How many times had she heard her father saying that her mother’s death was punishment? Too many. And she found that she didn’t like the sentiment coming out of this man’s mouth either.
“You’re not being punished. Your brain is just reacting to trauma. Everyone handles such things differently, and a whole lot of veterans are going through the same things you are.”
He shrugged. “It feels like punishment.”
“Yeah, I understand that. But I need you to know that it’s not.”
He turned his face away from the sun, looking at her once more with half-lidded eyes. With his pupils so dilated, the green of his gaze was particularly intense. “My mind might know that, in a way. But my heart doesn’t believe it.”
“Fair enough.”
The moment quickly grew too heavy, weighing at the air and making it thick and suffocating.
“I think lunch is almost over,” she said finally, wiping her hands on her work overalls and going to stand.
But quick as a whip, Bart’s hand shot out, barely grabbing onto one of the loops along her pants. “Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
So many things happened in her head at once. First, her heart broke. This guy sitting down on the ground in front of her had a massive family, plenty of workers coming in and out of his house, at least four other brothers that she knew of, but he still felt alone. What kind of life was that?
Secondly, she felt worry. What if she said something that screwed this guy up worse? Part of her responsibility as a vet tech was to only try to take care of animals that were within her purview. If she didn’t know how to treat one, she took it to a vet or a clinic where it could receive the proper care. She wasn’t a doctor or a counselor. Being overconfident would only hurt whoever she was trying to help.
Thirdly, she felt such a deep ache in herself at seeing such a man so broken. She wanted to save him, to build him up. To soothe over all of his wounds until he was happy and healthy. One of her father’s therapists had warned her of this. That her urge to help and heal people could lead to her own undoing. She could easily see that happening here but could only faintly hear the voice in the back of her head telling her to slow her roll.
“All right,” she said after a moment of breathing. “I�
�ll stay. But I’m definitely going to need you to tell your brother.”
“Of course,” he patted his pockets until he finally pulled out what looked like a very basic smartphone. His fingers slowly worked across the screen until he tucked it back into his pocket.
“I texted him. Told him you were working on a project.”
“Thank you. I’d prefer to stay out of trouble if I can.”
He smiled again, but it was a bit more bitter than she liked. “Yeah, you’ve done a pretty terrible job at that so far.”
“True, but it introduced me to you, didn’t it?”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”
Ow.
Silence fell between them again and the moment grew even heavier. Clearing her throat, Missy figured it was distraction time again.
“So what’s your favorite movie?”
He blinked at her again, clearly having not caught onto the pattern yet. But it wasn’t frustrating. It was… endearing. In a way. Not that she needed to be endeared to a mega-rich heir who probably wouldn’t have given her the time of day if a series of extenuating circumstances hadn’t suddenly thrust them together.
Bart tilted his head, thinking. “I’m not sure I have one of those either.”
“I know what you mean. I don’t have one favorite movie, but I’ve probably got one per genre. So basically…”
They talked. About anything and everything. From movies to food to which animals looked like they shouldn’t be real and what mythical creatures totally should be real. Interspersed between the nonsense were far more serious topics. Like how it was when Bart first shipped out. How many men he lost in his unit. How long he’d been struggling since he came home. His coping mechanisms.
Missy could tell that he was still leaving plenty out, but she understood. The fact that he was telling her anything at all had to be pretty darn significant. She was sitting across from a man who obviously didn’t trust strangers, and yet he was trusting her.
The sun tracked across the sky unnoticed, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so at ease with another human. Bart didn’t want anything beyond her words, he never judged, no matter how bizarre her non-sequiturs were. Missy tried not to let herself get ahead of things, but it felt like he was a friend.