Rough Around the Edges

by Ranae Rose

  The notion was short-lived; shame choked it to death in a matter of seconds. He curled his wayward hand into a fist and willed himself not to give in to the idiotic impulse to touch her one last time. “Go home, Ally. There’s no reason for you to be here.” He finally looked away.

  She stood. “Fine. I won’t bother you if you really don’t want me here.”

  He stared straight ahead – he couldn’t watch her leave. His heart beat hard – so hard he could feel his pulse jumping in his broken wrist. Driving her away was an exercise in self-hatred, and it took a physical toll.

  As he unfurled his fist, his fingers ached from the strain of being clenched so tightly. He jammed his hand into his pocket, fishing clumsily for his wallet. “I’ll give you money for a cab.”

  “I don’t need your money.” Her retort was quick, her voice higher than it had been a minute ago.

  He couldn’t block out the sound of her sliding back the deadbolt, or the blast of cold air that rushed in through the open door, but he chose to ignore them both as he continued to stare at the wall.

  She closed the door behind herself, but the chill remained after she was gone.

  He didn’t bother to lock up behind her. He didn’t bother to move at all for what seemed an eternity. His entire body thrummed and pulsed with an intensity he didn’t have the energy to identify, but his mind was mostly numb. He closed his eyes, seeking the dead sleep that had been calling to him like a siren ever since he’d stepped out of the cab.

  He couldn’t find it. He laid there for hours – or maybe it was only minutes – growing more exhausted by the second, and still, it eluded him. How was that even possible when just a year ago he’d been able to fall asleep at the drop of a dime, like all marines learned to do? Nothing was the same anymore.

  When he finally faced his sleepless reality and opened his eyes, the sight of his empty apartment set fire to his will to rest.

  He stood, lurching, and paced across the living room. Head and wrist aching, he went nowhere, just made a pointless round of the living and kitchen area as his heart pumped enough blood through his veins to sustain a marathon runner.

  Though he’d never been more ill-prepared for a fight, he craved one. Alone in his apartment, the desire festered inside him, sour and all-consuming. He gave the couch a kick and felt some part of its internal structure give way beneath his shin which, amazingly, didn’t break.

  It hurt like hell, though. He paced the room anyway, beyond caring. The physical pain dominated his thoughts for a while but eventually faded and left him back at square one, where his mind slipped into the past. Reliving his exchange with Ally hurt more than kicking the couch had.

  His pulse hammered in his ears, a savage beat that reminded him of how seeing her always caused his heart to pick up pace. He was well-acquainted with all the things that were wrong with him, but what the hell was wrong with her?

  She’d smothered him with her constant offers to help, and on the occasions when he hadn’t been receptive, she’d insisted – whether he’d wanted it or not, she’d forced her assistance upon him. How could she not realize how that grated on him, how it eroded what little pride he had left until he couldn’t respect himself, couldn’t respect her?

  In the moments when he looked at her and saw only his own weakness reflected back, he hated her as much as he hated himself.

  He paced so hard that the floor shook beneath his feet, then slumped against a wall, letting its surface grind against his spine, pinching the skin between his vertebrae and the drywall.

  Hating her wasn’t right, and it wasn’t really how he’d felt, either – those feelings had been for himself. It was just that during his worst moments, his flaws were all he could see, even when he looked at her. Maybe it was because he’d felt so close to her, even though they’d only known each other for a few weeks. Or maybe it was because he was fucked-up beyond any hope of being able to function in the close company of another person.

  Yeah. The tight feeling in his chest and throat told him that was about right. What had he been thinking when he’d pursued Ally, when he’d taken her out to dinner, bought her wine and sat with her in the dark of the movie theater like he was a normal person, like the charade could last for longer than a few dates?

  The lure of her beauty and his own selfish desire had skewed his judgment. He’d gone after her thinking he was a little rough around the edges, but basically whole. In reality, he was rough around the edges like the piece of metal that had bled Gibson dry had been rough around the edges – he was all edge, all twisted. There was no part of him that could be touched without causing damage.

  The painfully clear truth caused a sharp pain in his neck, right over one carotid artery. The piece of shrapnel that had taken Gibson out had been cleaned and photographed once removed, the image displayed to hundreds of marines, used to show them what they were up against in Afghanistan, how they might die if they weren’t careful – and maybe even if they were.

  He’d be like that to Ally now – a twisted warning. It was a sick truth, but a truth nonetheless. After everything she’d shared with him, after everything she’d been through, he’d gone and broken trust he shouldn’t have taken advantage of in the first place.

  He was worse than useless – he was toxic, someone who spread misery like a disease. It had been less than three weeks since he’d broken his nine month long self-imposed quarantine, and he’d already hurt someone else.

  He knew he couldn’t let it happen again, just like he knew he couldn’t take it back.

  Chapter 16

  A shiver raced down Ryan’s spine, defying the overwhelming heat. Or maybe it was only a bead of sweat. Either way, he sat a little straighter and breathed a little harder as the Humvee rolled steadily forward, its engine humming as the afternoon sun beat down on the convoy snaking its way across the desert.

  It was coming.

  He’d barely processed the thought when the world erupted in a burst of light and sound, the sensory overload announcing a familiar cataclysm – one he remembered like the particularly haunting nightmare it was.

  So it wasn’t a surprise when he lost all sense of direction and time, his teeth rattling as the entire world rocked around him. The deafening noise, blinding light and penetrating pain had all been ground into his bones by now – written into his DNA. The explosion was a part of him, knowledge and pain encased in the synapses of his damaged brain. The realization surrounded him for long moments, the only thought in his head.

  Then a sound jerked him out of his stupor, soft and breathy.

  He turned his head to the right automatically, knowing what he would see.

  His memory hadn’t failed him. Gibson sat still and bloody, eyes open and blank. Had he made the sound? The twisted piece of metal that had struck his throat was lodged in motionless flesh – there was no sign of pulse or breath beneath the slick coating of blood, no sign of lingering life at all.

  The sound came again, a rush of breath with a hint of a wordless exclamation. The bones in Ryan’s neck popped as he whipped his head to the left, where the noise had come from.

  Shock rippled through him like wind over water, paralyzing him as he stared at the impossible. To his left, where no one should’ve been, was Ally. She sat slumped against the side of the Humvee, eyes open and staring into his as she breathed, lips cracked and chest heaving. Dressed in a t-shirt and shorts like she might’ve worn to the gym, she should’ve looked out of place, but the dirt on her face and blood splattered across all of her ensured that she blended in.

  His stomach lurched, his body rejecting the notion as his mind recognized it. “No!” He found his voice and began choking on dust and blood and reached for her, fingers extended.

  She just stared, eyes wide but distinctly alive, a warmer shade of brown than the desert dirt the explosion had thrown over her face. Her lips moved silently – was she trying to say something to him? Was she saying something to him? It dawned on him that he couldn’t hear
anything anymore. His ears rang, useless. Fear was clear in her eyes and the way her lips moved made it look like she was saying his name.

  His fingertips brushed her cheek and she shrank away from him, pressing her back hard against the door, her hair hanging where glass had once been. The window had been obliterated by the blast; pieces of it were everywhere inside the Humvee. They crunched beneath his body as he reached for her, physically extending himself while he tried not to cringe at the sight of her obvious terror.

  It came from behind him, or at least it seemed that way – another explosion. Blinded by the light and still deaf, he couldn’t see or hear her, but when he finally managed to make physical contact, there was no mistaking the wetness that dampened his fingertips…

  He broke the surface of the dream with a jerk, limbs and thoughts whirling. He’d barely realized what he’d just witnessed wasn’t real when he hit the floor, losing his breath as everything beneath the carpet shook with a muffled wham!

  It wasn’t as bad as falling off the ladder had been, but it shocked him in a similar way. Gasping for breath, he looked around the room. His eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to allow him to make out the shape of his dresser by the faint streetlight radiating through the closed window blinds. There was nothing and no one else in the room – no sign of Ally, though his fingertips were still aching with the urge to touch her.

  Unable to stifle the drive entirely, he reached out, fingers extended in empty air. In a way, it was almost a relief that she wasn’t there – the memory of blood dripping from his fingertips was still fresh.

  He let his hand drop and breathed a ragged sigh, rolling over. At least he hadn’t landed on his wrist again. His right arm had been tangled in a sheet when he’d woken up. It ached from being jerked during his fall, but not too badly. Extricating it from the sweat-dampened linens, he let a string of curses fly, fading into the dark and quiet.

  He might as well have been the only person in the world. None of his neighbors even bothered to bang on the wall or floor, signaling for him to shut up. So he swore some more, letting his cast and the enclosed limb rest in his lap.

  The dream had been just that – a dream. But just like in the dream, Ally was gone. A dead and heavy feeling settled in his gut as he forced himself to face the fact, refusing to let his gaze wander to where his phone rested on top of his dresser. He wouldn’t call and ask her if she was okay. He knew better, and he was stronger than that. Barely.

  * * * * *

  The phone’s ringing jerked him out of a dream, one where he lost Ally to an explosion of light and sound again. He woke up dazed by the dreamed-of blast, fingertips aching beneath a coating of blood and dirt that he could still feel, though his hands were clean when he looked down.

  He rose, took a halting step toward his dresser as his thigh twinged in protest, and reached for his phone.

  It slipped between his fingers, hit the cheap beige carpet and bounced. After a couple seconds of heavy swearing, he had it again. Eyes blurry with interrupted sleep, he swiped a finger across the screen, his heart in his throat.

  Maybe it was stupid – wrong, even – that the thought of talking to Ally had him choking on his own heart. He needed to stay away from her, to resist the urge to force his presence on her, but he was powerless to resist the call. And it had to be her, didn’t it?

  Unless it was Feltz, or maybe Lowell – both part of a small handful of people who had his number. He had to clear his throat in order to speak. “Hello?” His voice came out hoarse, as if he really had just inhaled a cloud of desert dust.

  “Ryan.” The voice was familiar and female.

  It sent a bolt of cold disbelief down his spine. “Who is this?”

  He knew. He knew who he was speaking to, but at the same time, his mind balked at the notion.

  “It’s your mother.” The faintest note of offense was audible beneath the flat, measured tones she spoke in.

  He breathed, in and out, strangely aware of the process. “What…” He fumbled for words, but his thoughts were still half inside his dream and half inside his memory. All he could think about was Ally, Afghanistan and Ally again. There just wasn’t any room in his head for the bizarre event that was his mother’s phone call.

  “I said it’s your mother,” she repeated, apparently under the impression that he hadn’t heard her the first time.

  “I heard you. It’s just … early, isn’t it?”

  “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon.”

  He glanced at the alarm clock on top of his dresser.

  It was one o’clock.

  “Were you asleep?”

  His mother’s question hung in the air, accusatory – or at least, that was how it sounded.

  “Never mind. I lost track of time.”

  A thousand endless seconds seemed to tick by as he sat on the edge of his bed, saying nothing as his thigh muscles sent waves of agony through his leg. He couldn’t massage them – he held his phone in his good hand, his other resting uselessly on the mattress. Clenching his teeth, he stood. If he couldn’t rub the stiffness away, he’d just have to walk it off.

  He emerged into the living area, still clutching the phone, saying nothing as his body begrudged him every step.

  “Did you get the delivery?”

  “What?”

  “The delivery. It was supposed to arrive today by noon. I thought you’d be home since it’s Saturday, and I’d hoped you’d call.”

  The door drew his gaze as a suspicious sort of bewilderment rose up inside him. “I didn’t get it.” As he spoke, he crossed the room and opened the front door.

  A bouquet sat just beyond the threshold, a burst of colorful petals that looked bizarrely out of place. “Flowers?” Damn it, his voice still wasn’t right.

  “Yes. You did get them?”

  Like an idiot, he bent down and picked them up, resisting the urge to swear as the motion increased the ache in his thigh. Apparently the flowers had been sitting outside for at least an hour – it was kind of surprising that they were still there, really. “They’re here.”

  There was a card on a little plastic prong. A phone number had been written on it, along with ‘Happy Birthday’ in cursive script.

  Thanks. The word echoed inside his skull, but his tongue defied him when he tried to say it. He couldn’t – there was just no fucking way. “They, uh, look expensive.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he bit his tongue. What the hell was wrong with him? Bringing up money to either one of his parents … anything would’ve been a better subject.

  “Don’t be silly. They’re just flowers. Your father and I wanted to let you know that we’re thinking of you. I know your birthday is tomorrow, but I couldn’t resist sending them early, now that I know where to send them.”

  “You got my address from one of the guys from my old unit.” It was a statement, not a question – one he couldn’t have held back if he’d wanted to.

  “Yes. One of your friends let us know that you’re not in the military anymore, and gave us your new address and phone number.”

  He bit down a little harder on his tongue. None of the things he thought of saying were right. Was there even a right thing to say at all? As silence stretched, his mind drifted back to his dream. He’d been awake for a good ten minutes, but it was still vivid, searingly real inside his head. The sound of Ally’s pained breaths made every bit of him hurt – not just his fucked-up leg.

  “That’s part of the reason why I called. Now that you’re out, your father and I would like to have you back home.”

  Now that you’re out. The words bounced around inside his skull, drowning out everything except the sound of Ally’s breathing – he could still hear that in the back of his head, no matter how hard he tried not to. “Now that I’m out.”

  “Yes. You’re welcome here, you know.”

  “I don’t live in New York anymore.” The obvious truth was a painfully inadequate expression of the ange
r that had pounced upon him, red-hot and brooding.

  “But you could move back. We can set you up with a job, a place to live – a nice place. You know that, of course. You can come back as soon as you’d like and we’ll get it all worked out for you.”

  “No. No, I’m not interested.”

  “Ryan, please don’t feel like you have to let your pride stand in the way. We’re not worried about that. We just want to have you back here.”

  Something inside him snapped, releasing a flood of venom he could feel working its way through his veins, invading him mind and body. “I said no.”

  “But—” She paused mid-sentence, a rarity for her. “Ryan…” When she spoke again, she sounded genuinely bewildered. “What are you even doing in Baltimore? What is there for you there?”

  He flung his phone with deliberate force, sending it flying across the apartment. It hit a cabinet and bounced off the stove before skittering across the kitchen floor in several pieces.

  In three painful steps, he crossed the space between himself and the trashcan and threw the bouquet into it, experiencing the barest hint of satisfaction when the smell of decaying produce and coffee grounds rose up from its depths.

  It didn’t last long. Empty-handed, he was still livid. The anger inside him was a living thing, pulsing and hungry for something to tear apart. Even if that something was his own sanity. So, with his body aching from sheer indignation, he simply stood, his fury eating away at him as he relived the conversation.

  Now that you’re out. Those were the words that had pierced a gaping hole in what self-restraint he possessed. Just ‘now that you’re out’ – no questions about why he was out early or what had happened. Only efforts to steamroll ahead with plans for what he should do now, like he was a fucking toddler instead of a man they hadn’t seen or even spoken to in years.

  It was all about them – what they wanted, how he could make them happy.

  They knew he hadn’t finished the four year period of service he’d enlisted for. They’d been there on the day he’d graduated from basic training. He could still remember facing them for the first time since leaving for boot camp, finally a marine after thirteen weeks of hell. The memory was burnt into his mind and served as a reminder of everything that was wrong with his family.