Semper Fi

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Caro?”

  I wasn’t sure if I was still dreaming.

  “You’re awake then,” she said pointedly.

  Oh. Awake. Right.

  And yet again: what the fuck?

  I vaguely remembered coming to her hotel and wanting to fuck her. Did we do it? I had no memory. What a fucking irony: I’d planned to get rid of that ghost once and for all—and I couldn’t even remember doing it.

  “Did we…?”

  “No, we most definitely did not,” she hissed, her eyes shooting bullets at me. “You woke me up in the middle of the night by banging on my door, and then passed out on my bed.”

  Shit. She sounded pissed.

  “Oh, right.”

  I leaned up on one arm and looked down at the clothes I was still wearing. Huh, maybe we hadn’t then. I really fucking wanted to.

  “Sorry about that. We can make up for it now if you like?”

  Yeah, that could have come out better. Fucking word vomit.

  “Astonishing as this may seem, Sebastian,” she said in a voice that could have frozen helium, “your charming offer doesn’t thrill me.”

  Shit. Fucking bitch was always on my case. Hell, she’d invited me into her room. I think.

  “Whatever.”

  I started to get up, but realized I only had socks on my feet.

  “Where are my boots?”

  “Under the chair,” she said, pointing. “Along with your jacket.”

  Ah hell, morning wood, just to add to the overall sense of joy. I don’t suppose she’d let me … nah, no point thinking about it.

  Then she said, “Why did you come here last night, Sebastian?”

  The look on her face was so sad, my heart crashed. Her eyes were hurt and confused, and all the words I wanted to say to her just dried on my tongue.

  Christ, just let me get the fuck out of here. If she says one more word, just one, I’ll be down on my fucking knees begging her to take me back. I wouldn’t survive her leaving me twice.

  I shrugged, pretending indifference. “I don’t remember.”

  I turned around and looked at her—confusion and anger were all etched into her expression.

  “See you around, Caro,” I said.

  When I closed her door behind me, shutting out her image, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I still needed her.

  And she hated my fucking guts.

  I stood outside her hotel taking deep breaths, trying to slow the pounding in my heart, wincing at the pounding in my head. The artificial smile I’d given her had long since slipped from my face.

  I was tempted to find a bar and get shit-faced, but goddamn it, no! I was a fucking US Marine—first into battle, last out, and I was not giving up. I needed a plan.

  I also needed some sleep that wasn’t alcohol induced. And I smelled like shit.

  Walking slowly, thinking hard, I made my way back to my apartment. I had to convince Caro to give me another chance. And I might not have much time: she could be shipping out any day now that her course was finished. The first thing I had to do was fuck with her travel docs. If I could stop her from leaving Geneva for a week, I’d have time to work on her.

  All that took was a single phone call—there were times when having connections with Military Intelligence was useful.

  Now I needed to get her to meet with me. I could be fucking charming when I wanted to. Although I wasn’t sure that was going to work with Caro—she knew me too well. Or she used to. Shit, I wasn’t even sure I was the same person anymore. In fact I was pretty certain that I wasn’t.

  I wasn’t vain, even though I was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, and I knew that women liked the packaging. Six-two, sun blond hair, weird blue-green eyes that chicks seemed to dig. That was only skin deep—I didn’t know if they liked what was on the inside, not that I ever showed that. Except with Caro—maybe.

  But like all grunts, I kept myself in shape: every morning I did 20 pull-ups from the full hang position, 100 crunches in two minutes, and a three-mile run in less than 18 minutes. Some guys let themselves go a little in a non-combat zone, but being a terp, I never knew when I’d be sent out on a mission. My CO said that they needed US interpreters who spoke the Afghan lingo. There weren’t enough US born terps. Recently, there had been an increase of green-on-blue attacks. These were sudden and often fatal attacks on US soldiers by either the Afghan National Police or Afghan National Army. Most of them were good guys, but they’d also been infiltrated by Taliban. So for a top secret mission, they needed someone like me. The fact that I’d been kept non-combatant for so long was down to my asswipe former CO. The new guy said there was nothing definite, but in three weeks or less, I could be sent to the front line, even if it was in the armpit of the world. I’d make sure I was ready … but now there was Caro…

  My apartment was what you’d call minimalist. I didn’t really care what it looked like—it was just a place to sleep. If I wanted to get laid, I went to the woman’s hotel.

  The narrow single bed and lack of heating didn’t bother me. It had an awesome view of Lake Geneva, and since I’d grown up next to the ocean, I missed the peace that comes from being beside the water.

  I didn’t miss home, fuck no. My old man was a drunken bastard who used to whale on me all the time. Not that he’d be able to now; I’d kill him if he tried.

  But after tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, where all I saw was yellow dust and endless lunar landscape, I wanted to be close to the ocean. A lake was the best I could get in Switzerland.

  Caro. My memories betrayed me.

  That woman had shred my cold heart. I’d known her my whole life—well, since I was eight years old and she was 21, and I’d been in love with her forever.

  When I was a kid and had already learned that my parents hated me, Caro was the one good thing in my life. I’d go to her house after school every day and we’d bake cookies and read stories, and she’d talk to me endlessly, never treating me like I was dumb kid.

  And then her fuckwit of a husband had been redeployed and she’d left.

  Life had been pretty shitty until I was 14, when my buddy Ches and his family had moved to the military base in San Diego. If it hadn’t been for him and his parents, I’d have gone crazy.

  I dated some in high school, but nothing serious. I’d rather go surfing than on a date. Maybe it was because I was waiting for her—for Caro.

  When I was 17, her husband was moved back to So Cal. She was 30 then, and just as beautiful as I’d remembered. I was in love with her all over again. And she made me feel like a man, not a boy.

  I could see the unhappiness inside her, and it made me furious that her asshole husband didn’t treat her like a fucking queen. If anything, he treated her more like a servant. Her beautiful brown eyes were sad even when she smiled. I would have done anything for her, anything. It blew my mind when she let me touch her that night.

  God, the memories. Her skin was so soft, her hair brushing over my chest, her fingers on my body. The humiliation of that first time when I lost my load the moment she touched my dick. The words that healed me, putting me back together one piece at a time. Being inside her. Laughing, loving, planning for our future.

  My dad found out about us and made sure she couldn’t be with me. I was a few short weeks from my 18th birthday, but he made it sound like she was some dirty pedophile. I hated him for that, even more that I already did. My mom was too drunk to care one way or another.

  I shook my head, trying to shake away the pain. It didn’t work; it never had. What a joke. She left and didn’t look back. Not even once.

  But now I’d been given another chance. I was on a mission to win Caro again, and I didn’t care how I did it.

  A few hours sleep and I was good to go. So, shit, shower and a shave, and then head back to Caro’s hotel room.

  But when I got there, I was gutted because the receptionist told me she’d gone out for the day. And totally fucking furious when she said Caro had left with that French cu
nt Lebuin. He’d be learning what my extreme fucking irritation looked like. But I smiled at the receptionist and watched her cheeks color with a mixture of lust and embarrassment. Why the hell couldn’t I have that effect on Caro?

  And then I hit the motherlode of intel: Lebuin had asked Mademoiselle Receptionist to recommend a restaurant. She’d suggested a family run Italian place not far from here.

  “C’est très romantique, m’sieur,” she giggled, fluttering her eyelashes.

  I wanted to smash her computer through the desk when she said that—the thought of Lebuin taking my Caro somewhere romantic. No fucking way!

  I was about to crash their date.

  When I arrived, they looked very fucking cozy, and were finishing a carafe of red wine. All my plans to be smooth and charming went out the window.

  Mine.

  I stormed inside, and it took everything I had not to punch that fucker in his smug face. Then my eyes zeroed in on Caro.

  “We need to talk,” I seethed from between gritted teeth, and I grabbed her arm to pull her up.

  Lebuin stood immediately.

  “Let go of her, m’sieur, or you and I will have a problem.”

  I scowled at him, and it really pissed me off that he was right. What the fuck was I thinking treating Caro like this?

  Caro stood up quietly.

  “It’s okay, Marc,” she said, her voice soft and soothing.

  He raised his eyebrows, staring at me, then back to her, choosing to take her at her word. Really fucking smart.

  “Very well, but I will be phoning your mobile in 15 minutes to check on you, chérie.”

  She smiled at the bastard then blew him a kiss.

  Were they together?

  “Who the fuck does he think he is?” I snarled as we left the bistro.

  Caro stared at me in amazement. “A friend! What’s it to you?”

  Good question: what was it to me? Answer: everything.

  We walked down the street in silence, but in my head a thousand furious questions were drowning out rational thought.

  I ducked into a small bierkeller that I knew and ordered us drinks.

  “Deux whiskies.”

  Caro’s eyes snapped to mine, fury making them blaze, a look that always made my cock hard.

  “No merci,” she said, her voice heated with anger. “Je préfère le vin rouge, monsieur.”

  Shit! Could I do anything right? I took a deep breath and downed my whiskey in one gulp as a glass of red wine was placed in front of her.

  “What are you doing here, Caro?” I asked, needing to know what Lebuin was to her, and why she was risking her life going to a warzone.

  “That’s a good question, Sebastian,” she replied icily. “Right now, I’m wondering why the hell I’m listening to you order me around.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” That isn’t what I meant!

  “Seriously, what is it to you?” she asked.

  I ran my hands over my hair in frustration.

  “It’s dangerous out there, Caro,” I replied tightly, pointing out the insanely clear fact. “In Afghanistan, I mean. I know that’s where you’re going—obviously.”

  She took a deep breath, and I got the impression that she was forcing herself to stay calm. I was glad one of us was, but it probably wasn’t a good sign.

  “Sebastian, apart from the fact that I’ve already had assignments reporting from Iraq and Darfur—which weren’t exactly summer camps—it’s none of your business.”

  Was she fucking joking?

  “It is my business!”

  “Based on what?” she snapped back.

  Ten years! Ten fucking years, and I can’t get you out of my head. But I couldn’t say that.

  “You know, Sebastian,” she said, her voice rising as her own anger started winning out, “I spent 11 years being told what to do by my ex-husband—I don’t need you to do it as well. You of all people should understand that.”

  Is that what she thought? She was comparing me to him?

  “Caro, that’s not it, I…”

  But she wouldn’t even let me finish my sentence and stood up to leave.

  “Caro! Don’t … don’t go.”

  Her expression softened as she met my eyes.

  “Why did you bring me here, Sebastian? And I’d really like to know why you assaulted me last night.”

  What?

  “Assaulted? I didn’t! I’d never…”

  How could she say that to me? I’d never, never hurt her. So why did she look so angry?

  “Actually you did,” she stated, her voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion. “You were just too drunk to remember it. You’re damn lucky I didn’t report you. Although I’m fairly sure you can work out the reason why I didn’t—why I couldn’t. Good night, Sebastian.”

  I was trying to take in what she was saying, why there was so much venom in her voice. But the hits just kept on coming.

  “I hope you have a nice life, I really do. And while you’re at it—quit your drinking before you really do something stupid. More stupid.”

  And then she turned on her heel and left.

  I was too stunned to follow her. I sat at the bar with my head in my hands, trying to process everything she’d said.

  Jesus, she’d accused me of assaulting her! I knew that wasn’t possible—I couldn’t hurt Caro. But an ugly voice inside my head was sneering at me. Yeah, you think, you fucking asshole? So you can remember every detail about last night? Huh, didn’t think so. Had another blackout, didn’t ya? Who knows what you did while you were shitfaced and filled with poison and anger?

  I felt sick. I ordered another whiskey to help keep the nausea at bay, trying to decide what to do.

  She didn’t report me because she was afraid the past was about to get dug up; she was afraid that the label of sexual predator would come back to haunt her because of what happened when I was 17. What a twisted joke: if anyone treated sex like hunting for prey, it had been me, for the last seven years.

  No, I had to talk to her. I couldn’t let another night go by without speaking to her or explaining or something.

  Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside her hotel room again, sweating with nerves. I was calmer under enemy fire—but one look from this woman eviscerated me.

  I raised my hand and knocked. There was a brief pause, then I heard her voice through the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Caro, it’s me. Can we talk?”

  Another pause.

  “I think we’ve said everything, Sebastian.”

  Shit. “Can I come in? Just to talk.”

  “Is that a joke?” her voice was disbelieving. “No, you can’t!”

  I leaned my head against the door and tried one more time.

  “Caro, please. I won’t … try anything. I just want to talk to you. Please.”

  I held my breath as she finally replied.

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Listen, I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes. That’s my best offer.”

  “You … you don’t trust me?” My voice was strangled as I forced the words out, but she didn’t reply. “Okay,” I said, at last, “I’ll be waiting.”

  My hands were shaking as I walked away. What the hell had I done last night that had scared her so much that she was afraid to be alone in a room with me?

  I waited in the lobby, sitting on a long, low sofa, my head in my hands, wondering if she’d even turn up.

  But then the elevator doors opened with a soft hiss, and she was there, walking towards me. I stood up, wanting to touch her, but scorched by the wary expression on her face.

  She sat across from me, on the edge of the sofa, her body rigid with tension, and waited for me to speak.

  “You came,” I said quietly.

  “Evidently. What do you want now, Sebastian?”

  Her voice was cool and distant, and some of the hope that had risen when I saw her walking toward me slipped away.

  “Would you like a
drink?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

  “No … I…”

  I would have given a lot to have a drink right then, but she was still waiting for me to speak.

  She crossed her arms and stared at me coolly.

  “What you said earlier…” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t really assault you, did I?” Please say no. “You were just saying that to get back at me.”

  If it was possible, her expression turned even colder.

  “No, Sebastian, you really did,” she bit out. “You were drunk … I couldn’t … couldn’t stop you.”

  She closed her eyes, and shivered at the memory. I thought I was going to vomit.

  “If you hadn’t passed out when you did … you scared me,” she said, looking me in the eyes, the sadness in her face spearing shrapnel into my heart. “It reminded me of your…”

  No! No! Please don’t say I made you think of him. But I could see the truth in her face.

  “I reminded you of … of my father?”

  She nodded, the wary look back on her eyes.

  “You were really afraid to let me in your room just now? I scared you that much?”

  She didn’t reply, leaving my appalled question hanging in the air. I dropped my eyes, filled with shame and revulsion.

  “Oh God! Caro … I never … I couldn’t…”

  I looked up. She was staring at me, her eyes filled with doubt.

  “Fuck, Caro! I’m so sorry.”

  We sat in painful silence until her cell phone rang. My nerves were so shot, I flinched at the sound.

  Caro snatched it out of her purse, listening intently.

  “Oh, shit! Sorry, Marc. Yes, I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to worry.”

  That bastard. Always in the fucking way.

  “We’re just sitting in the lobby at my hotel,” she said, her eyes shooting to me. “I’m good, really.” She paused, listening. “I won’t, but thanks, Marc. Have a safe flight and look after yourself—I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Ciao.”

  I frowned, unable to stop the stupid words pouring out of my mouth. “Was that your friend?”

  Caro rolled her eyes.

  I took a deep breath and asked the next question that I needed to know, dreading the answer.