Love Me More

by R. S. Medina

  "Oh, my God," I gasp. "Holy shit, Tristan... you do realize that you shouldn't be with someone who slaps you, right? Like that's not ok. That's domestic violence, and it happens to men too," I tell him. He nods, his arm still over his eyes. He continues.

  "I was so embarrassed; I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder, and took her ass outside. I got her in my truck and took her home, made her pack her shit, and then made her leave. That was that. I was done. Then I find out that she's been fucking around with Sam. Next thing I know, she's announcing she's pregnant. She got knocked up with Sam's baby. And that's the story," he says, matter of factly.

  I roll over on my side to look at him. I make him remove his arm from his face.

  "Anyone who is okay with causing a scene and embarrassing you like that in front of your family is not okay. And she should trust you. And I honestly think that the fact that she couldn't trust you just shows that she was guilty. Like they say, "guilty dogs bark first" or whatever that fucking saying is," I tell him, staring at him hard, trying to convince him.

  "I don't know, but I hope they're fucking happy together because you don't fuck your best friend's girl," he says, clenching his jaw.

  "I know," I tell him, scooting closer to him. I throw an arm over him in an awkward, side, laying down hug. "You're preaching to the choir. I am shocked that Sam did that to you. Even if Stephanie wanted to, I don't know how Sam could do that to you."

  He wraps his broad arm over me, and we get comfortable. My heart is pounding being close to him like this, and I'm trying to convince myself it is innocent and harmless. I'm just comforting him.

  "I keep telling myself I don't need people like that in my life," he says, more to himself than me.

  "You're right," I declare. "You don't. And they will get theirs. Karma is a fucking bitch." I say it with such conviction, that I scare myself, because I do believe in karma... so if I'm enjoying talking to and confiding in another man this much, and let him flatter me and compliment me, what is my karma going to be?

  And I take his words and repeat them to myself when I start thinking about how unfair this is to Finn, even if he doesn't pay attention to me. He doesn't deserve me betraying him. "I'm a good person in a shitty situation" becomes my mantra.

  And instead of letting myself worry about my karma, I just repeat to myself, "I'm a good person in a bad situation. I'm a good person in a bad situation. I'm a good person in a bad situation."

  Tristan and I lay together in the grass, listening to each other's heartbeat, and looking up at the sky. I soak in the moment. It feels so right.

  "Where were you four years ago?" Tristan asks suddenly, breaking the silence. I'm almost unsure he was talking to me.

  "I don't know. Making the stupid choices that lead me here?" I say. But in reality, I was so happy four years ago.

  A few years ago, Finn and I were still that couple who couldn't get enough of each other. Finn couldn't keep his hands off of me, and I couldn't keep my hands off of him. I remember one particular night we were watching movies at home in bed. Finn was resting his head on my flat, toned stomach, and I was running my fingers through his hair. Finn was tracing the small birthmark on my stomach, next to my belly button, and as much as it tickled, I tried not to move. He turned his head and pressed a light kiss on the birthmark. I heard him sigh. And then he got a mischievous grin and started kissing down my stomach, further and further down...down...down. And he started tugging on the hem of my sweat pants...

  That was a life time ago. And that Finn doesn't exist anymore. That Finn is the Finn of the past. And I haven't been laid in forever.

  "I can't stop wondering what might have been different if I had made different choices," he confesses.

  "Me too," I whisper, scared to admit it out loud. We made the choices we made, and now we had to live with them. They are part of who we are and our journey. All we can do now is learn to accept them and learn from them.

  "You make me feel better, Blair. You make me happy," Tristan says, pulling me closer. I snuggle in closer, soaking up his warmth and his affection.

  Finn has no interest in me or our marriage, and I know I shouldn't confide in another man, but feeling wanted feels so good. Having someone pay attention to me feels so nice. I try not to think about what I'm doing. I've always been an advocate that emotional affairs are a thing. This totally makes me a hypocrite, and I hate myself for it.

  I don't remember the last time Finn and I were so interested in communicating with each other. I've basically given up and stopped trying with Finn. He doesn't pay attention. He doesn't even realize I'm on my phone more than usual lately. If he does, he doesn't care enough to say anything. I'm not sure which is worse.

  And I tell Tristan as much. He's kind of an enabler, though. He tells me that I'm too hard on myself.

  Tristan feels so right, and it's hard not to fall back into old habits with him. When we were dating back in high school, we were addicted to each other. We constantly had to be in communication.

  And now that he's made a brief reappearance in my life, we've spent the last week talking about it all. We picked up where we left off. Kids, family, life, goals, dreams. I would never admit it to anyone, but I've wondered if he would be good to bring around Olivia should or when Finn and I split up. Tristan admits he doesn't know if he can have kids. I tell him not to test the theory because he will end up with a baby.

  I have a nagging question if he truly cares about me. Because I suspect that I might be starting to develop something for him. I wonder if he feels the same way. I've asked, but of course he's going to say yes. Neither of us has claimed to love the other. But I wonder if he cares, or if I'm just something to numb the boredom and pain of his failed relationship, and I keep him entertained. Wait... or is he just something for me to numb the boredom and pain and keep me entertained? Is there a way to tell without being a dick and asking? And what would keep him from lying even if I did ask?

  Does it count that he always texts me first when he wakes up? Or that we text until one of us goes to sleep, usually me?

  That's a sign, right?

  Who the fuck am I? A teenage girl? I'm fucking married with a baby. Who cares if he likes me? I need to stop overanalyzing everything because this is not a relationship, and never will be.

  I hate myself.

  "I have to go," I say, standing up and dusting myself off. I have to get out of here. I start walking to my car before Tristan can stop me.

  "Wait!" he calls, following me. I don't stop, but he's got longer legs than I do and catches up by the time I get to my car. I reach to open my door, but Tristan stops me, placing his hand on my door, keeping it closed.

  "Did I say something wrong?" he asks, his face puzzled. I shake my head, my eyes downcast. He puts his hand on my chin and makes me look up at him. I look up into his eyes. He's looking for a sign of what he did or said wrong, but it's not him. It's me.

  After a minute of hesitation, he dips his head and slowly presses his lips to mine, ever so gently. My body betrays me because even though my mind is screaming at me to stop the kiss, get in my car and go home, my body is a traitor and kisses him back. It's one of those moments that the Earth stops. My racing thoughts stop. And there is only Tristan.

  He takes a breath and steps away from me.

  "Get home safely," he breathes. And then he turns and walks to his truck without another word, and I'm left standing there, speechless.

  I climb into Big Blue and pull out my phone. I stare at his message thread. I highlight his name in my message feed and hit delete to get rid of the text messages between us. I know that if Finn were to see that I've been talking to Tristan, he would be furious seeing that I just said he was the best part of my day or that I had secretly met up with him.

  And I think about what someone said once... if you have to delete it, hide it, or lie about it, you probably shouldn't be doing it... but it feels so good to feel wanted for once.

  I drive the whole way home fre
aking out. I keep touching my lips with my fingertips, and I can swear that I can still feel Tristan's lips, soft and plump, pressed against mine. I can still taste him. He tastes like forbidden fruit and sin, and it's so sweet. I swear his lips stained mine, and Finn is going to see that another man's lips have been on mine. I shouldn't have let it happen. I should have pushed him away.

  I feel my heart start racing and my heart is pounding in my ears. Guilt makes me feel so sick to my stomach. And all I can do is keep whispering to myself "I'm a good person in a shitty situation." I'm such a fucking mess that I drive all the way home, only to have to turn around and go back to the store, forgetting I was supposed to grab snacks. That was my whole excuse for leaving the house.

  I drive to the closest convenience store and run inside, scared Finn is going to realize how long I've been gone. There's hardly anyone inside the store except a bored looking store clerk with purple streaks in her hair. She's texting on her phone. I see her peek up at me as I'm trying to remember what Finn said he wanted.

  I grab all my items and rush to the counter, dropping all my purchases in a heap on the counter. The bored clerk looks irritated at my rush. She takes her time scanning the items, the same bored look on her face. I wish she would hurry the fuck up. I've been gone too long. She tells me my total, and I pull my credit card out of my wallet and hand it to her, my hands visibly shaking. I have to calm myself down.

  I inhale a deep breath and hold it.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  And release it. It makes me think of what Tristan said to me, and my hands instantly fly up to my lips again. I have to start the breathing process all over again.

  The bored clerk hands me back my card without a word and bags my snacks. I take the bag and speed walk out to my car trying to keep myself from running. My stomach is in knots, and my hands are still shaking as I grab the door handle.

  Pull it together, Blair!

  I drive just under five miles over the speed limit, trying to get home faster. I roll through the stop sign before turning onto my street after tapping my breaks. Thank God there wasn't a cop, because that little stunt would have gotten me pulled over.

  I swing my car into our driveway and slam my brakes to a stop. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles are white trying to calm my nerves and make my hands stop shaking. I do some deep breathing while repeating my mantra to myself in a whisper.

  I'm a good person in a shitty situation.

  Past

  When the command sends Finn home, they send him home a little bit earlier than the rest of his command. I pick him up from the international airport instead of the military air terminal since it's an early homecoming. Even though I know it's because of his accident, I can't help but be excited that I'm getting him home just a little bit sooner.

  When I tell the airport employees that I'm there for a military homecoming, they give me a pass that allows me to go through security and meet Finn at the gate so that I can surprise him.

  I got dressed up in Finn's favorite red dress that he likes so much on me, and heels. He loves my legs in heels.

  When Finn's command notified me of Finn's accident, they told me that he was alive and okay, but he was being transported to the nearest military facility to be checked out. As far as I've been told everything checked out, but it was the most terrifying experience of my life. I can't imagine anything happening to Finn.

  Finn is my world.

  I was so pissed that I emailed him and told him that he was getting out the first chance he got. That he was done. I always knew that him getting hurt or even killed in the line of duty was a real risk, but I never thought it would happen to us. We were invincible. And I was stupid.

  I wait in the uncomfortable black pleather airport chairs that squeak when I adjust in them nervously and watch out the huge glass window as the plane taxis into the gate. My heart is pounding. This feeling never gets old. It's addicting. The excitement, the adrenaline, the happiness. It's intoxicating.

  When people finally start pouring out of the doors and into the airport terminal, I jump up, scanning every face for Finn's. My stomach is doing flips, and when I see him, I run to him on jelly legs, so excited I might faint. I fly into his arms and knock him back a few steps. He carries me out of the way of the traffic still pouring out of the door and into the terminal, and we just hold each other. I can't bring myself to let him go.

  "Don't you ever do anything like that to scare me again," I growl, my eyes tearing up. Don't you dare cry, bitch, I tell myself.

  Finn just nods.

  I pull back to look up at his face, and he's got bruises everywhere. He looks exhausted. He has dark circles under his eyes. He hasn't been sleeping. My heart aches for him. I still don't know all the details. I'm not privy to them. I'm on a need-to-know basis, and I just know that my husband is okay.

  "Are you okay?" I ask, worried about him. My face is wet with tears. Happy tears, sad tears, thankful tears. I'm silently thanking God that he's home, safe, in one piece here in my arms.

  He nods but doesn't let go of me. He doesn't say much.

  "I love you," I promise him. He kisses my forehead in response.

  "Let's go home," I say, interlacing our fingers together.

  Present

  When Blair comes in, she doesn't say anything and just heads to the kitchen. She has a white bag in her hand from the convenience store across town.

  "Hey," I call out. "What took you so long?" I'm following a player on the opposite team who just went into a building and fucked himself over royally. There's no way out other than shooting his way out, and I'm a much better player. He's cornered. I relay his position through my headset to my team just in case he gets a lucky shot off, although it's unlikely.

  "I ran into an old high school friend at the store, and we got to chatting," she calls from the kitchen. Her voice sounds high-pitched. "Sorry it took so long."

  "Cool. Did you get my stuff?" I ask, throwing a smoke grenade into the room the opponent is in. I storm in, gun ready, spraying bullets into the smoke. I see points are added to my score, so I know I killed him. Again, I'm the victor.

  She comes out of the kitchen with my goodies in hand and drops them off on the coffee table in front of me. She comes over and kisses me on the top of the head.

  "I'm going to bed. Good night," she says. And then she goes to the bedroom and closes the door. I'm assuming her shortness is due to me playing video games, but she'll get over it. She hates watching me play. She doesn't understand how I can play these first-person shooters after... everything.

  What she fails to realize is that this ridiculous shit is nowhere near the real experience. I laughed at the fact that she ever even equated the two?

  In what reality can someone respawn after being shot and killed and ammo unlimited? Exactly. It's an escape—a way to de-stress. Nothing more.

  I see Blair peek out of the bedroom out of my peripheral vision. I'm furiously pressing buttons, trying to keep my character alive as he's running from a spray of gunfire. I die anyway and throw my controller down in my lap in frustration. I'm competitive as fuck.

  Blair comes out of the room and walks toward me with purpose in her eyes. She's touching her lips with her fingertips, and she pushes the controller out of my lap, and I instantly grab for it. What is she doing?

  She crawls into my lap and straddles me as another round is starting and I try to pull the controller back into my lap quickly. She starts kissing my neck which only aggravates me, although I'm sure she's trying to turn me on.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, irritated that she's obstructing my view. She's in the way.

  "Let's have sex," she says, taking a break from kissing my neck to look up at me, her eyes hopeful. She knows I don't like neck kisses. I never have. But she returns to kissing my neck, running her hands down my chest.

  I push her back, gently. "I'm not in the mood," I say, picking up my controller again. I'm a
lready behind, and I don't want my kill death ratio streak to be affected.

  "I can put you in the mood," she presses on, grazing her hand down my leg toward my dick. I'm limp in her hands, and I'm starting to get frustrated. What part of no does she not fucking understand?

  "Blair," I say, sternly like she's a child. I have to tell her more than once; I'll treat her like a child.

  "Fine," she snaps, pulling herself off me clumsily. I readjust and get my game back on track. She stomps off back to the bedroom, her hands back on her lips, and slams the bedroom door. Fucking child.

  I play and drink until I can't keep my eyes open anymore. They're burning, and the only relief is closing them. I tell the boys that I'm getting off for the night, say my goodbyes and turn the console off.

  When I pull off my shirt and crawl into bed, Blair shifts next to me and mumbles in her sleep softly. I try to get comfortable without waking her.

  My eyes close, and my breathing evens out.

  And then I'm back in Afghanistan. It's dark. There is gunfire in the background. Real gunfire. My ears are ringing. Someone is crying. People are screaming. I'm disoriented. And then suddenly everything is too bright.

  And I sit straight up, gasping, waking myself up. I can't breathe, and it takes me a minute to realize where I am.

  I'm at home, in bed with my wife. I'm in the states, and I'm not in the Middle East anymore. The room is dark and cool, chilly against my sweating skin, giving me goose bumps, and it's an unnerving feeling to be here. I don't belong here.

  I get out of bed, and with shaking hands, pour myself another drink. I down it and pour myself another. It burns, but I keep drinking until my hands stop shaking. I drink until the room spins, and I lie in bed and pass out.

  Past

  I've been home for weeks now. I'm finally back to my old work routine. Work is so different with people missing from the command.

  Three of my brothers died that day in the Humvee. Three. Three honorable men that should still be here. I have such hate and rage and guilt in my heart. Why should I be here, alive, and they aren't?