Semper Mine

by Lizzy Ford

  Fuck you, Katya.

  My body is so tense, it aches, and my emotions boil over for a moment, paralyzing my ability to think. I stare at the screen, wanting to delete her email and erase her words, her very existence, from my mind.

  How the fuck can she affect me when I’m halfway around the world? I haven’t seen or spoken to her since she left midweek at camp. She has the power to reach out and obliterate the barrier I keep between my emotions and the rest of the world with a single email.

  “Fuck!” My curse draws the eyes of half the center. I log out and rise, slamming my chair back under the desk before striding out.

  It’s hard to hate you when I know you’re broken like Petr. The words have stayed with me. She may be right about me being broken, but she’s wrong about hating me.

  It’s clear she does. Always has.

  Why does that shred me as much as anything else I’ve been through?

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I don’t realize I’m standing in the hallway, leaning my forehead against the wall, until I hear Harper’s voice. Straightening, I gaze at her. She appears alarmed and concerned.

  “You need to talk about something?”

  There’s no way to explain what’s in my head, especially since I have no fucking clue how to sort out my thinking about Katya.

  I just … Want. Her. Gone.

  So I can think, function … fuck – so I can breathe right whenever her name comes up! My body and my mind react to her in a way I can’t control.

  “I don’t want to talk,” I tell Harper, refocusing on my surroundings. “If your other offer is on the table …” Something has to fix this.

  Harper nods, studying me.

  “I’ll get cleaned up.” I stride away, towards the showers. I try to tell myself this has nothing to do with trying to forget Katya.

  But it does. She’s physically out of my life. I need to get her out of my head.

  After a quick shower, I sit down in the closet-sized tiny quarters that are mine. I don’t share with anyone, because of my rank. My head hurts, and my body is sore. I’m exhausted and wired, a sign I won’t be able to sleep, if I don’t take Harper up on her offer.

  Assuming she’ll be by when her shift is over, I sit on my bed and lean against the wall, unable to purge my mind of the letter Katya sent. It was four pages. I barely made it through the first.

  Do I owe her? Should I finish reading it before I delete?

  I’m too tired and emotionally drained to know how to handle it. My gaze settles on the pad of paper and pen on the Pelican case I use as a suitcase in a corner. It acts as a table in the tiny room. I have a few student pen pals who sent letters over for class assignments that I keep in touch with every once in a while. It’s normally easier to handwrite responses, since my computer time is dedicated to work.

  If I could say anything to Katya, without consequence, what would it be? She has no qualms about destroying me, no concerns about consequences. What if I took the same approach, just once in my life? What if I told her exactly what I feel and think?

  We’ve never even had a friendship. The brittle relationship we do have isn’t going to survive her letter – that much I know. So does it really matter what I tell her?

  I stretch and grab the pad and pen. I start writing and stop after her name. I’m drawing a blank, despite the amount of things going through my head. It’s probably my detail-oriented nature, but something tells me I need to read all four pages before I start. She has a way of surprising me, and part of me hopes there’s something less poisonous in the letter.

  Someone knocks at my door.

  “Come in,” I call.

  Harper enters. “Good time?” she asks.

  “Always.”

  I set the paper aside, warmth stirring within me for a different reason than anger this time.

  Fuck you, Katya. I can’t help thinking of her even now, when I’m about to spend the night with another woman.

  I stand and strip off my shirt. Harper sits and unties her boots.

  “Is Colonel Lawrence still here?” I ask casually.

  “No. His replacement is here. A civilian named Petra.” She looks up at me. “You want to talk to her?”

  I debate responding. On a base this size, everyone will soon know if I show up on the doorstep of the psychologist assigned to the FOB to help monitor the mental health of those assigned here. Anyone can talk to her, but a lot of people avoid the shrinks for fear of looking bad or weak in front of everyone else.

  I need to get rid of this shit in my head. The guilt, self-doubt, fear.

  Thinking of Katya reminds me of all of that, of the night when four men died under my command.

  “Yeah,” I say with effort.

  “I think that’s a good idea, Sawyer,” Harper says warmly.

  Not really. It’s probably a bad career choice, because I’ll have to tell my commander, who can choose to take me off missions. It’s a fear I’ve had for a long time, about losing what matters most to me.

  But I can’t function like this. The emotions aren’t going away. They’re getting worse. If I don’t get a handle on them now, what happens if I’m on a mission and lose my focus? What if I had read Katya’s note before going out on a mission?

  I won’t let anyone else die because I can’t get one fucking woman out of my head.

  It’s hard to hate you when I know you’re broken like Petr.

  “Goddammit,” I mutter. I need her voice out of my thoughts. So she’s right. So I need to go back to the shrink.

  If I can reconcile what happened that night and my destructive emotions, will it help me get her out of my head as well?

  Chapter Eighteen: Katya

  SEPTEMBER

  MASSACHUSETTS

  I never expected Captain Mathis to respond to my note. I pulled his email address off a card he gave Baba. I don’t even know if it made it to him and wouldn’t blame him if he deleted it on sight. Imagine my surprise when I receive a letter from him a few weeks after sending the email that my therapist told me was a pretty bad idea.

  The envelope is thick, and I open it in the privacy of my room with some apprehension, not wanting to guess what he has to say. His handwriting is neat and small, covering both sides of four pages of plain, lined paper.

  My hands are trembling already. I bared my soul to him in my letter, whether or not I should’ve sent it. I felt like I owed it to him to say what’s inside me to his face. Or at least as directly as possible, given our locations.

  Sinking onto my couch, I start to read.

  Katya,

  I read your letter all the way through a few times. It took a lot of courage for you to write what you did, which I respect. It means I need to respond.

  “That doesn’t sound good.” My stomach is churning already.

  I don’t know exactly where I should start, so I’ll start at the beginning.

  I devour the first two pages, not expecting him to tell me his life story. From being born to a druggie mother who died when he was two and never knowing his father, to leaving a foster family to live on the streets when he was twelve, to meeting the Marine who helped him leave a gang when he was sixteen and finish high school and college. Sawyer explains his life in a way that reminds me of how my father communicates. Both have a knack for understating the importance of the information they’re conveying. It leaves me stressed out, because I tend to do the opposite: put my emotions first then the story second. If I have to fill in the emotional blanks, I usually overreact.

  He writes much like he speaks – with brevity and a general lack of emotion. I’m uncannily fascinated by his history, because I’ve always been curious about the side of him he hides, what made him the way he is, even if I don’t want anything to do with him.

  Mikael and Petr respect and admire him. I want to see him the way they do, the way I’ve never been able to, because of Mikael’s death.

  Page three makes me stop reading. At camp, he tried to tell
me what happened the night Mikael died, and I wasn’t able to hear it.

  In writing, I guess he assumes I can’t stop him. He tells me what happened and then goes on to talk about the four men whose lives were lost.

  I set the letter aside a few times, because I can’t read through my tears. I don’t know how he can write this horrible event the way he does – with even less emotion than the first two pages.

  When I finally make it through, I turn over the fourth page, expecting more of the same storytelling. Instead, there’s only one paragraph more.

  Katya, your letter destroyed me. It served its purpose in a way, because I started counseling the day after I received it. There have been so many times I wanted to reach out to you, but I chose not to. It doesn’t mean that I don’t feel what you do or that I don’t think about your brother’s death every day. If I could take Mikael’s place that night and spare you your pain, I would gladly do it. If I could make your pain go away, I would. But I can’t. All I can say is that I’m sorry and I hope you one day find peace. It won’t happen with me in your life, so I’ll wish you well and will remove myself from your life.

  Take care,

  Sawyer

  I set the letter down and stare at the blue sky visible out my bay window. I’m crushed and frozen and so confused by the emotions, I don’t know how to react.

  Sawyer Mathis wants nothing to do with me. I expected that, but to see it written … to know I hurt him enough to drive him off …

  I do that to so many people. I didn’t realize until now that I didn’t want him to be one of them.

  As usual, I’ve reacted without thinking about the consequences. His farewell cuts so deep, I can’t cry. I don’t know why it hurts, not when I’ve been alternating between wanting to hate him and hoping he comes to the Christmas party. Before I left camp, we were on the verge of something I instinctively know could only have one of two outcomes: ecstasy or devastation.

  There can be nothing in-between, not with how deep we both dive into one another. Is this how whatever it is between us ends?

  Definitely not ecstasy.

  I fold the letter carefully and replace it in its envelope then put it in my desk. The jewelry box with the Ruptured Duck is on top of my desk, and I pick it up once more. I’ve debated sending it to him every day since I got it.

  It doesn’t matter now.

  “You’re stuck with me, duck,” I whisper.

  I stare into space for a moment before shaking my head. I put it in the same drawer and slide my feet into flip-flops for a trip out back.

  Whenever I feel like this, I go out back to talk to Mikael.

  The October weather is a mix of warm and cool. The trees hedging our property are starting to turn, and I breathe in the fresh air deeply. When I open the gate to the peaceful space, I’m surprised to see Petr there, standing in front of Mikael’s grave.

  He glances up at my approach and smiles. There’s sadness in his strong features. When I’m close enough, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his solid frame. He has no idea how much I need the hug right now.

  We stand in silence for a few minutes, gazing at Mikael’s tombstone.

  “Bet he’s built an obstacle course in heaven by now,” Petr says.

  “Probably.”

  “It’ll suck without my help.”

  I giggle. My brothers were best friends but also super competitive.

  “I invited all the guys back for the Christmas party. I think everyone is coming, except Captain Mathis. He doesn’t really take leave.”

  “I’m not surprised.” I’m not sure how, but my heart feels like it’s breaking even more. It’s in so many pieces, it has to be dust by now.

  “No? I figured you’d want him here.”

  “Why?”

  “You guys got along well.” Petr laughs.

  I roll my eyes.

  “He’s got time to change his mind.”

  “He won’t,” I say softly.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “None of your damn business!”

  “Oh, shit. One of those. I thought you were dating the neighbor. What’s his name? Oliver?”

  “Yeah. Nothing serious,” I reply. My therapist thought it was a good idea for me to get out more. Oliver asked and I said yes. We’ve kissed a few times, and he’s a nice guy.

  He doesn’t move me the way Sawyer did. I don’t think anyone ever will. I’m really good at messing up friendships and relationships. I shouldn’t be hurting about him, considering we didn’t have anything going on at all.

  “You didn’t invite Harris, did you?” I ask, eyeing my brother.

  “No.” A flash of something goes through his gaze. For a split second, I almost suspect he knows about Harris slapping me.

  “Good. Take Brianna off the list. You deserve so much better,” I tell him. “And I won’t have to beat her up again.”

  “Brave little Kitty-Khav.” He squeezes me closer. “You like your new job?”

  “A lot.” I perk up. “Baba even sends me official checks.”

  He chuckles. “What do you have planned for next year?”

  “Tons of stuff!” I thought I’d enjoy helping manage the charity organization my father set up. I had no idea I’d love it. “Fleecing everyone in the state at fundraising dinners, a race, four iterations of camp next summer, one for each age group and a scholarship fund for military kids. I’ve been talking to the governor’s office and two huge sponsors.” It doesn’t hurt that my father opens his checkbook to fund whatever I want.

  “You’re definitely going to improve lives.”

  “Yeah.” My eyes return to Mikael’s grave. “It helps. And Brianna can’t say I haven’t done anything with my life.”

  “She won’t be around anymore, so you don’t have to worry about showing her up.”

  “You break up for good?”

  “We did. You may have been right about her all along,” he allowed.

  “Oh, really? It only took you four years to figure that out?” I slap his chest lightly. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me!”

  He laughs, his blue eyes sparkling. “I always listen, Kitty-Khav. I just do whatever I want. Kind of like you.”

  I glare at him.

  “Am I wrong?” he challenges. “I think that’s why Captain Mathis liked you. You’re so passionate and strong.”

  “Liked me?” I shake my head. As much as the idea thrills me, I know for a fact it’s not true. “He was being nice to me because he killed Mikael.”

  “Jesus, Katya.” He laughs. “Okay, never mind.”

  He doesn’t know that talking about Sawyer hurts me. It’s not his fault, but I’ll be happy when he stops bringing him up.

  “Come on. Let’s get some ice cream.” Petr loops his arm through mine and starts walking back towards the gate and the house.

  This, too, has become a daily tradition of ours. We meet up in the afternoons for ice cream or cookies. Petr spends a couple hours a day at the gym on our property, so I’m pretty sure he can eat them and be fine. I’ve had to start walking in addition to my usual yoga routine to make sure my weight stays where I want it.

  We’re finishing our treat when Oliver is led in by the butler. Tall with curly dark hair and a quick smile, he’s the son of the family that lives about ten miles down the road in the exclusive estates where we live.

  “Hi Katya, Petr. Am I interrupting?” Oliver asks.

  “Not at all,” Petr says. “Go have fun.” He leaves the kitchen.

  I hop off the stool at the breakfast bar and gaze up at Oliver. He’s the opposite of Sawyer in pretty much every way. He’s open, friendly and so laid back, even I can’t get a rise out of him. He lets me call the shots and seems content hanging out. He’s a great listener, too, though I rarely tell him anything private.

  I should like him more than I do, but I don’t feel the same compelling pull towards him that I did Sawyer. I don’t think a pull like that is healthy, given
how things turned out between us. I’d still prefer to have something more than the comfortable yet unenthused response my body has to Oliver.

  It’ll never be serious between us. I want to be burned up with fire for whomever I date next. Oliver barely causes a spark.

  “Movie day?” he asks with a charming smile.

  “Sure. I’ve got a conference call at five.”

  “Not a problem.”

  I need something to take my mind off Sawyer’s letter and the good luck charm I don’t know what to do with.

  If I could take Mikael’s place that night and spare you your pain, I would gladly do it. Sawyer’s words kill me. I knew he was broken by the event that destroyed our lives, but I didn’t understand how deeply he felt.

  I don’t want him hurt, and I definitely don’t want him dead. I’m not entirely certain what I want, except that I find myself wishing I’d sat down with him and just … talked. Like normal people. Learned more about him, how he thinks, why the hell he was so nice to me when I was determined to hate him.

  Too late. I messed that up beyond repair.

  There’s always Oliver, I guess. And the duck.

  Chapter Nineteen: Sawyer

  DECEMBER

  IRAQ

  “You should go home for the holidays, Marine.”

  I stand and go to attention when my commander comes into the command center for his walk through. Colonel Howard is lean and half a foot smaller than me with large blue eyes. I used to think he’d make a good Marine Corps promotional doll with those eyes.

  Not that I’d ever tell him that.

  “This is my home, sir,” I reply.

  “Leave it to the Marines to hold down the fort.”

  He’s looking around at the empty center. He’s been here every month to visit, the only one above the rank of captain to venture out here routinely. We’re far enough away from Baghdad that even the brass who like to brag about being associated to spec-ops don’t want the hassle of traveling to our base to hang out with us.

  “At ease, Marine,” he tells me.

  I relax.

  He motions to the chair at the computer where I was sitting and takes the rolling chair beside it.