Iron Soldier

by Katie Ford

  “Hey, soldier.” A girl drifts over to my side. Blonde hair, giant rack, and a nose ring. She leans close enough for me to smell the liquor on her breath. “Lemme buy you a drink.” She’s looking me up and down like I’m on her private menu for the night.

  “Naw, I’m good. I’ve already got what I’m drinking.” I shake the green beer bottle at her.

  The bartender finishes making the fancy drink and passes it to a customer in exchange for a twenty. A crooked smile is on his face like he’s getting a kick out of this chick trying to ruin my night. He’s taking a really slow time getting my beer, too. What’s he doing, giving this chick all the time in the world to chat me up?

  “Come on, buddy,” I call out to him. “You making the beer yourself or what?”

  The guy laughs and finally strolls over with the two bottles of local beer. He pops the tops and slides them down to me. “Thanks!” I mutter and reach into my wallet for the bills to pay.

  “You sure I can’t get those for you?” The woman sidles closer. She gives me a sly smile, all wet lips and flirty eyes. “I just got paid, sugar. I can treat you.”

  “No,” I growl at her. I just want to be left alone, lady.

  The woman pouts. She leans over the bar, crushing her large chest to the flat surface. “Hey, barkeep,” she calls out, really loud and obnoxious.

  The bartender, who had seemed like he was kind of on her side before, glances at the woman with obvious irritation.

  “I wanna buy this man his drinks,” the woman says with her chest right there on the bar for both of us to get an eyeful. “He’s really thirsty, and I wanna quench him tonight!”

  Does that line ever work for her? I shake my head.

  Just watching her is pissing me off. She just won’t take no for an answer. The girl’s not bad looking. Plenty of guys would love to take her up on what she’s offering. Hell, half of the guys at my table would gobble her up without a second thought. Why i’s she stuck on me?

  Suddenly, I remember why I hate bars.

  They’re always full of lonely, desperate people who don’t know when to back off.

  “Aww, honey, come on,” the woman whines as I grab up my two beers and toss a “keep the change” at the bartender.

  “Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath as I push away from the bar. “I don’t want you to buy my fucking drinks.”

  At the start of the night, I was game to give this whole “going drinking with the buds” thing a try, but I’m done now. Completely done. The noise of the bar sounds like an endless roar, assaulting my ears louder than any explosions. The floor sticks to my shoes with every step, and the smell of spilled beer makes me want to gag a little.

  This was a bad idea. What made me think that after a shitty day at work, coming out with the guys was a smart idea?

  Shit.

  The bottles clink against the table when I drop them down in front of girls who had taken my seat. “I’m heading out, guys. Nick, here’s your beer. I’ll call you later on.” Before he can say anything to me, I turn and walk away.

  “What bug has crawled up his ass?” someone mutters as I head toward the door. But I don’t care.

  Waves of anger lick at my consciousness. Why the hell had I even put myself through this?

  I’d just wanted one night where I didn’t have to deal with everything about the world that I hate. Yeah, really smart move going out to the bar on a damn Friday night.

  But I can’t even blame the guys for this. And I sure as hell won’t blame Nick.

  I’m the idiot here.

  I’m the one out here, shaky as fuck, putting myself in situations I know damn well I don’t want to deal with.

  This shit needs to change. I need to change. But how?

  Chapter 3

  Claire

  The new bar isn’t too bad. Not really. I mean it’s “new,” but it feels the same as any other place around here we’ve already been to.

  There’s nothing special about it. It’s just a bar with all different kinds of drinks, top 40 music that a couple of brave--or super drunk--souls occasionally get up to dance to, and an atmosphere dark enough that Mandy and I can sit in the back and chat without any obnoxious guys trying to hit on us.

  I like that the bar doesn’t have that used up, stale wood smell. Not yet anyway. The floors are already sticky from spilled drinks, but I’m sure that by tomorrow, it’ll be as fresh as before.

  And surprise, surprise—even though Mandy had basically bullied me to wear tight jeans, my cute fall boots, and a top that’s way too thin for the weather outside, she hasn’t tried to force any of the guys on me.

  About an hour ago, she flirted with one military-looking guy on her way back from the bathroom, but so far, it’s been pretty low-key. And kind of fun. Or it was fun at the beginning of the night, but now, with a couple of drinks in her, Mandy is feeling frisky. She loves the new eye candy the bar has to offer and is looking like she’d love to get more than her eyes on one or two of them.

  “Oh, he’s cute!” Mandy nudges my arm, almost spilling the rum and Coke I’ve been sipping for the last hour. She makes unsubtle motions toward a guy a couple of tables over. He’s looking at her too, licking his lips like he can already taste her.

  Gross.

  He’s not cute at all to me, but Mandy and I have always had different tastes.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  I shrug, suddenly tired, the sips of rum and Coke finally catching up with me. “Looks like he’s just your speed,” I tell Mandy. Skinny. Macho-looking, like he’s got something to prove.

  “I know, right?” She gives him a little wave, and the guy perks up even more, widening the spread of his thighs on the stool to show off his bulge.

  Seriously? Are we still in college here?

  I wonder if she’s trying to go home with this guy. It wouldn’t be the first time she did something like this, but this guy seems like a bit of a douchebag. Again, though, right up her alley. She’d be the first one to tell me that the good thing is that she always makes sure she goes to their place instead of bringing them home to ours.

  “I’m a little tired,” I tell her after watching her intense flirtation with the douche-canoe for a few minutes. “I’m going to get an Uber back to our place and crash. You can stay here and have your fun.”

  Mandy drags her eyes from her Romeo of the night. “You’re no fun,” she says. “It’s only eleven-thirty!”

  I groan–just hearing the words out loud is enough to recall the blaring of my alarm. Why did I do this to myself again?

  “Yes,” I say, trying not to whine. “And I need to get up at six so I can get some research done on a case for work.”

  Mandy bites her lip and shrugs. “Fine, you over-achiever,” she says. “I’ll be home later.” She already looks relieved that I’ve made my intentions to leave clear. That way, she can have her Romeo cake and snack on him all night long without me being there to cramp her style.

  She shoves a ten in my hand. “If you get Chinese on the way home, get the large size of lo mein.” She’s obsessed with that stuff and eats it all of the time, even just before bed, yet she never seems to gain a single ounce of weight. If I didn’t love this girl so much, I would hate her.

  “Fine,” I say. “Just make sure you text me this guy’s address if you end up going home with him.”

  “You know I always do that!”

  “I’m just making sure.” We make sure her phone has enough charge for the rest of the night and then exchange a quick hug. “See you later.”

  On the way out, I call for an Uber. Then I go wait outside not far away from the bouncer standing there with his beefy arms crossed over his chest. The guy looks super earnest about his job, watching the parking lot and everything passing through it like a hawk. Having pride in your work is never a bad thing, no matter what you do for a living.

  God, it’s cold!

  I button my coat all the way up and wrap my arms around myself, stil
l shivering.

  It’s late October, and the air was crisp today, but now it’s actually cold, a reminder that winter is much closer than I’d like for it to be. Outside the bar, the street is quiet and deserted. Everybody out tonight is tucked away safe and warm inside one of the bars along the street. Or at home, where I wish I could be right now.

  Where is that damn Uber anyway?

  I glance down at my phone and frown – the little car icon has barely moved across the screen since the last time I looked at it.

  Bang!

  The door to the bar slams shut behind me. I gasp and nearly jump out of my skin.

  “You alright there, buddy?” the bouncer calls out to the huge, hulking man storming past me with loud, angry footsteps.

  The guy ignores the bouncer. He’s muttering under his breath, and from the angry sound of his voice, I wonder if he’s just gotten into a fight. But no, the bouncer would’ve been in there taking care of things if there had been a fight.

  Still snarling angrily to himself, the man strides into the light. When I see his face, I feel my heart skid to a complete stop.

  We lock eyes for a fleeting moment that seems to stretch for an eternity. Then, he turns and lopes off into the darkness.

  My heart feels like it’s about to fly out of my throat, it’s beating so hard and fast.

  No.

  No way.

  It can’t be.

  But the face that had appeared briefly under the light was unmistakable. Square jaw. Bright blue eyes. Hair as black as midnight sin.

  For years, that face was my whole world. And years after that, I had dreamed about it every night. On some nights, I still do.

  I shake myself and stare into the night at the spot where the guy had disappeared. How can it be him, though?

  Flood after flood, the memories come rushing back with an intensity that scares me. That face. His smile. The way he used to say my name.

  “Claire?”

  The sound of someone calling my name in the here and now makes me jump. I whirl around and see Mandy there in the doorway of the bar, buttoning up her coat. She walks toward me, her footsteps weaving a little.

  “You were right,” Mandy says with a roll of her eyes. “That place is dead. Come on, let’s go home. We’ll make the Uber driver stop at McDonald’s on the way.”

  I don’t speak. I can’t. The deafening sound of my blood pounding in my ears is impossible to ignore, and I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my chest.

  “Claire?” Mandy steps closer, and a frown forms on her face. “What’s wrong?”

  But I can’t answer her. My tongue feels frozen in my mouth.

  Mandy grabs my hands. “Oh my God! Your fingers are freezing, and you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I shudder and remember the angry man who had just stomped past me. Then I picture the version of him in my memories; he had only ever been laughing and sweet, even when he was being a punk to other people. “I think I have,” I say softly. “I think I have.”

  Chapter 4

  Claire

  When the Uber finally comes, I stumble into the back with Mandy, barely aware of where I am or what I’m doing. Right off the bat, the guy behind the wheel is chatty, but only Mandy responds to him until he stops talking at us, finally getting that we don’t want any part of his conversation.

  Mandy grips my hand. “Is everything okay, Claire?”

  It’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time, but especially not now. Mandy doesn’t know the whole story, though. If she did, she wouldn’t ask something like that. After tonight, how can anything ever be okay again?

  Mandy smooths her thumbs over the back of my hands. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

  Numb, I can only nod and cling to her hand. Yes, I can tell her anything, but right now, I don’t know what to say or how to say it.

  “Not—not now,” I stutter past trembling lips.

  “Okay. Later, or whenever you’re ready. We’ll talk more when we get home.”

  Even though I don’t want to stop, Mandy gets the driver to go to McDonald’s for the burger and fries she’s craving. While we’re waiting in the drive-through, I force myself to sit still instead of jumping out of the car and running all the way home like a lunatic.

  When the Uber pulls up in front of our house, I rush to open the car door and then almost fall running up our short walkway. The little house Mandy and I found for just the perfect amount of rent when we both first moved out here had always seemed magical, but now it feels like a prison. A place where ghosts return. A pit stop on the way to a place I sometimes think I’ll never find.

  My hands fumble with the keys at least three times before I finally get the door open and then run like a madwoman into my bedroom. I slam and lock the door behind me.

  Still wearing my buttoned-up coat, my boots, and even my purse across my body, I sink to the floor next to the closet. My entire body flushes with cold, and I’m shivering like I’m standing naked outside in the punishing Virginia autumn. My teeth are shattering. My hands shake. My fingers feel like tiny icebergs.

  Okay, Claire. Get it together. You can’t let this destroy you again. You survived the first time. You can do it again.

  I can make it.

  I can do this.

  I won’t break.

  A breath explodes from my throat. I stand up and open the closet door. Without looking, I reach up to the very top shelf behind the winter blankets. My hands close around a small metal box. I gasp from the sudden stab of pain in my chest, but I don’t let go of the box.

  I can’t just put it back after all of this.

  Breathe. Breathe.

  Steeling myself, I hug the box to myself and take it with me to the bed. I sit down with it in my lap. The lid is hard and cold between my fingers. It’s a merciless metal that feels like my own locked-away heart. The hinges of the box squeak when I open it.

  Oh God!

  My breath flies into my throat, and my fingers tremble so hard that the box slams itself closed again. I gasp.

  Maybe that’s a sign. Maybe I should just leave it closed.

  My heart squeezes painfully at the thought. No. I have to do this.

  This is it, I tell myself.

  Time to see if I really am losing my mind.

  I half-expect to hear a loud explosion or see a blinding white flash of light. But there’s nothing.

  At least, nothing but silence and the sound of my heart thudding in my chest. My fingers fumble with the metal lid again, and I grimace in frustration as the box finally opens again in my trembling hands.

  The contents would look innocuous to anyone else, but I know better. Taking a deep breath, I glance down into the open box.

  The necklace is on top. I tremble as I pick it up and hold it dangling in the air. A small silver chain twinkles in the dim light of my room, and the pear-shaped drop of the emerald looks as black as night.

  So beautiful and filled with so much meaning back then, just as it is now.

  I still remember the day he gave it to me. For a long time, it was my most treasured possession.

  And I still remember the day I took it off for good.

  The necklace is cold. I shiver with it in my hand, its cold eating up my entire body. After everything that it meant to me, everything I’ve been through, it feels like the necklace should be warm, burning hot. But it lies in the palm of my hand like a dark and dead part of what had once been my entire world.

  Brent.

  Okay. I can’t stay in here forever. Mandy deserves an explanation, and I need to find out what’s going on.

  Standing up, I take off my purse, my coat, and my boots. Everything except my underwear. Then I put on my flannel pajamas and bunny slippers. It’s the armor of comfort I need to get through this.

  In the living room, I find Mandy in her pajamas too. She’s sitting on one side of the couch eating French fries, a leg drawn up under her like she’s waiting for me. Most
of the fries are still in the container, like she’s hardly touched them at all. She’s worried.

  “Hey.” I sit down on the opposite side of the couch, and Mandy puts the tray with the fries and two small burgers between us. I put the metal box next to the food.

  “Hey, yourself.” She looks at the box but just dips a fry into ketchup and puts it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

  My heart is acting up again. It feels like it’s going a thousand beats per second in my chest and throat, making my entire body vibrate. I lick my lips and force myself to speak.

  “When I was in high school, I was head over heels in love with a boy named Brent.”

  With the words out there, it sounds like such a simple story. Like it should be nothing and just end with two teenagers getting married and having kids of their own, living happily ever after and being disgustingly content with their lot in life. Or at the very least end up as an episode of MTV’s Teen Mom. Obviously, neither of those things happened to us.

  “That can’t be all of it,” Mandy says when I don’t say anything else.

  “Yeah...I...” I stop and clear my throat. “Okay, so we started dating when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. We were young, but we were so sure about each other, so sure about our future. We were absolutely obsessed with each other, and everyone said that we were the one high school couple who actually had a chance of making it.”

  I squeeze the emerald necklace in my fist.

  God, we were so happy, so in love. But it feels like a lifetime ago. Like the time Brent and I had together was paradise and we were somehow kicked out of it because no one in the history of humanity ever deserved to be that happy.

  Our love was perfect. We were perfect together.

  Hot liquid splashes on the back of my hand, and I realize then that I’m crying. Mandy reaches for my hand, but I pull back before she can make contact.

  “I have to finish telling you, or I’ll never get it out,” I croak while the tears gush down my face.