Heartbreak Warfare

by Heather M. Orgeron

  Noah seems oblivious, but Gavin’s constant scrutiny is maddening. I know it’s out of love and concern, so I just keep trying. That’s why I’m taking the advice of my therapist and attempting to sink back into my old routine. Gavin is why I’m at the market, picking up ingredients for his favorite dinner. Noah chatters next to me as I open a freezer door and grab Gavin’s favorite ice cream.

  Will this make him happy? Me being at the store? Buying his favorite ice cream?

  I would do just about anything to get that look out of his eyes, but every time I wake from thrashing in my sleep and climb out of the hell of my dreams, the look on his face haunts me. And I see it in his expression.

  You’re not her.

  “Mommy, can I have this?” Noah looks up at me with a fistful of some strange new glowing candy full of red dye.

  “Not that kind. But you can have some of Daddy’s ice cream, okay?”

  “Cherries?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay,” he says, replacing the candy on the shelf. The freezer door slams shut behind me, jolting me forward, and I see Noah flinch. He laughs at my reaction. “That scare you, Mommy?”

  Smile, Katy.

  Looking down at my son, I try to draw strength in his expressive face.

  I’m losing my fucking mind, and he thinks it’s funny. Maybe it is. I could use a good laugh, a dirty joke.

  The urge to let the tears go bubbles up, and I stamp it down.

  “It was loud, right?” I flash him my teeth, and he shakes his head.

  “Nooo, it wasn’t.”

  “I have supersonic ears,” I tell him, and the look on his face shows me he knows I’m full of it. My little man is perceptive, and instead of being proud of it, it scares me. I’m walking the line, with unmatched barbells on either side of me.

  I rush Noah to the checkout because I can’t hide the sweat that covers me. My heart is pounding along with the incessant beep, beep, beep as we’re checked out. By the time I load Noah up and pile the groceries in the back, I’m exhausted.

  I’m failing. I’m fucking failing. Catching my breath at the back of the Jeep, I see a woman eye me and realize I’m clutching my chest.

  On the way home, I make one last stop—to the liquor store.

  “Katy. Katy, wake up.” It takes me a moment to realize I’m not hearing my husband’s voice in a dream. That I’m not still chained in that underground cell. My arms pulse with remembrance at the feel of the shackles.

  When I open my eyes, Gavin’s there, leaning over me, the tips of his fingers brushing my neck. “Hey,” I whisper, trying not to wake Noah, who’s passed out in my arms. “Can you help?” I motion down to where his head lies in the crook of my elbow where we’re cuddled up on the couch. “I’m stuck.”

  Gavin flashes me a beautiful smile. “He went out early.”

  “We had a busy day,” I tell him as he lifts Noah easily from my hands. I feel bare without him.

  Stop hiding from your husband behind your son.

  Afraid Gavin can hear my thoughts, I move toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the dishes done.”

  “Already washed them,” he answers, giving me a heavy look. “Maybe we can spend a little time together tonight? Watch a movie or something?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Butterflies swarm in my belly—nervous butterflies. It’s been over a month since I threw myself at him. I’ve been physically cleared for weeks, and my cast is off. I feel like I’m running out of excuses to separate us and can hear a clock ticking every time he gives me a suggestive look. He’s not pressuring me, but I feel pressured.

  Walking up the stairs, he gently slides an arm behind my back, rubbing the small of it, his favorite place to kiss. The wrong type of shiver shoots up my spine as we make our way to Noah’s room. Our footsteps seem so loud, like we’re stomping on tile in heels rather than padding on plush carpet in our bare feet.

  Why’s the air conditioning so loud? I’ll have to remember to mention it to Gavin tomorrow. The hungry look he’s giving me tells me he doesn’t want to hear about that right now. He lays Noah down on his bed, and we close his door together. He guides me to our bedroom before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips.

  “I ran you a bath.” His voice is raspy and so full of need, his eyes filled with such emotion that it causes my heart to tighten in my chest. “Picked up some of your favorite bubble bars at Lush last week.” Now I can smell it—the scent wafting into our room from the bathroom. I hear the jets on the tub churning.

  Expectation paralyzes me.

  “Come on, let me help you in.” He grabs hold of my hand and tugs, but my feet stay firmly rooted to the ground. My breaths quicken.

  The thought of him undressing me beneath the bright bathroom lighting—of him seeing the changes my body has gone through—is mortifying.

  My ribs are still protruding from beneath breasts that aren’t quite as full as they used to be, and the angry new scars are far from appealing.

  “I’ve got it,” I insist. “Just wait here for me?” I add to soften the blow when his face falls. “I won’t be long.”

  “Sure.” He sounds anything but sure.

  I always loved it when Gavin would sit by the side of the tub while we rehashed our days. He’d either join me in the suds or rush me out and carry me to our bed. We’d make love. Sometimes it was quick. We couldn’t help ourselves—need taking over. Other times it was exquisitely slow. We’d kiss and touch for hours, till we could barely hold our eyes open, and only then would he enter my body, bringing us both to completion before passing out wrapped in each other’s arms, exhausted and happy and blissfully naive to anything but each other.

  But I’m no longer unaware of the evil that exists in the world. My body is a physical reminder of my story, one he’s desperate to hear but that I can’t share, not with him. Not yet.

  No, I can’t let him see me, I decide before giving him a nod and rushing off to the bathroom, alone. When I lock the door between us, it feels so significant. I feel so guilty.

  By the time I’ve wrestled my clothes off, I’m furious with myself. I used to pride myself on being so strong, now I’m a shell. I still try to avoid the mirrors as I climb into the tub. They mock me, the reflection of a weak, scrawny, uglier version of myself haunting me from all angles.

  Despite the bubbles and my favorite fruity scent, which should be relaxing, I can’t get out of there fast enough. I shut off the jacuzzi and wash as quickly as possible, paying close attention to my sex.

  Just get it over with.

  That’s how I feel when I think about being intimate with him, and I know that’s anything but okay.

  I can’t keep shutting him out. Despite what my therapist says, nothing about my life anymore is my ‘normal routine.’

  I lean back in the tub, arms on the sides, and submerge myself in the water. The world goes quiet, and I stay under as long as possible. There’s peace in the quiet. Almost every night I sit at my bay window when Gavin falls asleep. It’s my time to reflect. When he suggested therapy, I agreed with him wholeheartedly. I can’t go on like I’ve been, but faking it isn’t going to help a damn thing. It’s been so long since I’ve had any relief, and the last time I was intimate with anyone, it wasn’t my husband.

  I brush my fingers over my sex while my body heats with shame because I’m instantly taken back to that room with him in Germany. To the feeling of Briggs’s warm fingers touching me. My breath quickens, and I rub harder, remembering the way I felt so alive when he kissed me. My body jerks as I relive every detail of that moment while shamefully bringing myself to orgasm.

  Breathless, I hang over the side of the tub. The heat blowing down on me from above is a reminder of the fact that I’m going to hell, and it seems like life is just the first half.

  The moment my thoughts stop scrambling, I’m overcome with the urge to vomit. My husband is waiting to be reunited after months apart, and I’ve just finger fucked myself thinking of
Briggs.

  Who have I become?

  “Babe?” Gavin raps his knuckles on the bathroom door. “You okay?”

  “Yeah—yes,” I shout, pulling the plug. “Getting out now.”

  I hear a light chuckle from the other side of the door. “Just checking. Heard a lot of splashing in there. Take your time. Enjoy your bath. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I grab the towel he’s laid out for me, quickly covering myself from view. Then, taking my clothes from the counter, I rush to the closet, where I can dress without having to see my own reflection.

  The room is dark but for the dim glow of the candles my husband’s lit. He looks like a god, lying in just a pair of boxers in the center of our bed, his chiseled body on full display. He’s beautiful. I’m not.

  “Katy?” Gavin’s voice interrupts my gawking. “You coming?”

  “Yeah,” I rasp, rolling my tongue over my lips. “Just ummm…” I shift uncomfortably, tugging the bottom of my sleep shirt to hide my body, which pales in comparison to his. “Just taking a minute to enjoy the view.”

  He rises to his knees. “Nothing has to happen, okay?”

  “Jesus,” I say.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You make it seem so clinical.”

  His jaw hardens a little. “I’m just trying to put you at ease.”

  “Now I feel like I’m being graded.” I blow out a breath as my skin crawls. I fucking hate myself. He sinks back on his feet.

  “Let’s just go to bed,” he says softly. “It’s still too soon.”

  I practically bite my tongue off because of his assumption, but I don’t deserve his affection after what I’ve just done.

  I begin making my way to our bed, my heart racing a little faster with each hesitant step.

  I wrap myself in his arms, his minty breath filling the sliver of space between us. I can feel his erection digging into my back as I take his hand and slip it beneath my panties. He groans as he touches me, feels me wet, for him.

  “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

  Pushing all selfish thoughts away, I turn my lips back to meet his. He separates mine with his tongue, and in seconds we’re in a familiar rhythm. Minutes later I’m on my back, and he’s between my legs. It’s only us for the moment, and for that I’m thankful.

  He threads his fingers through mine and presses my hands into the bed as his lips descend.

  Blood rushes like a raging river, flooding all of my senses, my pulse pounding so loudly, it drowns out everything else. I go rigid in his arms.

  “Hummingbird!” I scream into his mouth as he leaps off the bed and away from me. I’m right behind him on the other side.

  “Fuck, Katy, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I got carried away.”

  But I’m nowhere near him.

  Calloused hands grip my forearms, slamming me down on the hard ground. My head hits first, and I swear I hear my skull crack. The scent of body odor and gunpowder hangs thick in the air. My body writhes as I try to fight him off, but I’m too weak after weeks of being immobile and undernourished. I scream, and a hand clamps down over my mouth. I taste his filth and gag as my pants are forcibly removed. He’s yelling something, issuing orders in a language I can’t understand, and it only further frustrates me. The more I fight, the louder Briggs gets, his reaction a direct response to my own. If I continue to scream, he’ll fight till they kill him. So, I resign myself to let the inevitable happen. It’s not like I can stop them anyway…

  “Katy! Katy! Baby, talk to me, please.”

  When I come to, I’m drenched with sweat, my heart leaping out of my chest. My husband frantically calls my name, gently shaking me.

  “Stop touching me, stop looking at me! I don’t want your fucking help!” Gavin pulls his hands away instantly, and I feel the snap of the thread between us. He does too.

  “You didn’t mean that,” he says reasonably. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry.” He moves closer, and I inch away. I’m aware that I’m hurting him, and that breaks my heart, but I’m so angry, too angry to allow it to matter. I’m acting on instinct alone. Reason has no place in this game of survival. “Please,” I beg. “Just don’t touch me.”

  “Goddamn it!” he roars as he knocks a lamp off the nightstand.

  “You won’t talk to me, you won’t let me in, you don’t want my help, and now I can’t touch you?”

  “That’s exactly right,” I retort snidely.

  He nods. “Okay, that sounds fucking perfect.” He grabs a pillow, and I stop him in his tracks.

  “It was my arms.” I’m apologizing the only way I know how, with so much anger inside. “It was when you pinned my arms.”

  At the door of the bedroom, he turns to the side, and I see the tear that rolls down his face. “Come to me when you’re ready.”

  “I don’t know when that will be.”

  In all our years together, I’ve never seen him so angry. And I’m just not sure who with. But I think it’s safe to assume it’s me.

  He hangs his head, with his back to me. “Trust me?”

  The robot answers for me. “Always.”

  He doesn’t bother to finish.

  I lean over where he sleeps on the couch and press my lips to his. His reaction is instant. He keeps his hands at his sides, and I feel a real crack in my chest when he strains to keep my lips before I pull them away.

  “You were awake?” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” he whispers back.

  “I love you, Gavin. I do. I’m so sorry.” I kiss him again, but it feels empty, so I pull away.

  He lifts himself up to sit on the couch as I kneel at his feet.

  Neither of us speaks. I can feel the frustration rolling off him. Filled with trepidation, he reaches out a hand to run his fingers through my curls.

  I cover his hand with mine. “Please come back to bed.”

  He rises to his feet, grabbing his pillow, and follows me quietly up the stairs. In bed, I rub my hands over his shoulders until I’m sure he’s asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Katy

  Sammy hands me the candles as I stick them one by one in the cake that has simple balloons on it.

  “My husband thinks I’m an idiot.”

  “He just knows you’re under a lot of pressure,” she says sympathetically. My sister is not undermining me; she’s really sad this cheaply made concoction in front of us is my kid’s seventh birthday cake.

  “Red, yellow, and blue balloons? This cake is shit. It’s ghetto shit.”

  Sammy throws her head back laughing.

  “Stop laughing. There’s no theme. These decorations are crap. He wanted Minecraft, not balloons.”

  “Okay, so Gavin’s clueless, but his heart’s in the right place.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “He should have left it up to me. He just made this decision on his own.”

  “He’s trying to make sure you don’t have more on your plate than you can handle.”

  “I don’t do anything. I quit the army, and I’m a stay-at-home mom,” I sigh. “I don’t have enough on my plate to warrant this getting taken away from me.” Hurt. That’s all I feel these days. Gavin and I have moved into the comfortable position of being friends and roommates. But when he does things like plan my kid’s birthday party without telling me, those things turn us into fighting parents. I’ve been making a little progress with my therapist. I’ve finally opened up to her about Briggs. She’s encouraged me to write him letters in a journal, so I do. I talk to him. I tell him what I need, and I feel like, in a way, he’s there for me. Even if my words are sent out in the void, they’re out of my head, and it helps. I haven’t opened up about much else because I find it hard to believe that a woman so clueless about the perils of war could possibly help me. She specializes in PTSD, but that means shit to me. The only secret I’ve trusted her with is the one that constantly nags at me.

  Secrets.

  That’s the way I’m treating
what happened to me, and between us. It’s all tucked inside safely where no one can examine it and take it away from me. I need my connection with him to function.

  A motorcycle rumbles outside, drawing me to look out the window as Sammy leaves to tape up the last of the decorations—more balloons. The noise of the bike annoys me as I look up to stare at the driver. He’s wearing a dark helmet with purple flames.

  “Sammy, I think your new boyfriend is here,” I snap. “And you can tell him to keep his thug ass away from my baby.”

  “Almost ready?” Gavin says as he wraps his arms around me. I look back at him and smile sincerely. “And who’s a thug?”

  “Sammy’s new boyfriend, I think. By the way, if you ever plan another birthday party for our son, I will divorce you.”

  He cringes. “That bad?”

  “I don’t want to argue, but I’m embarrassed.”

  “Shit,” he puffs out. “I really thought it would take some pressure off of you.”

  “Stop assuming and start asking. I’m not rocking in the yard anymore.”

  He immediately pulls his arms away. “No, but you’re still freezing me out,” he snaps.

  Frozen. Ice Princess.

  Letting his comment go, I move toward our bedroom.

  “Katy,” he whispers, as if my absence still hurts him, but right now I feel like it would bring him relief. For months we’ve been circling each other.

  “God, this is on replay, isn’t it?” I ask, turning around.

  “I feel like everything I do is wrong,” he says solemnly.

  “I feel the same.” Guilt wracks me as I gaze over at him.

  Gavin’s dad rode him hard, and he rarely had any sort of comfort from his mother. I’m sure most of his birthdays weren’t half as nice as the one he’s planned for his son, and here I am giving him shit over it.

  “You’re an amazing man with a heart of gold, and I love you. Thank you for planning this party. Thank you for looking out for me.”

  “Mommy!” Noah calls from the back porch.