Fighting Absolution

by Kate McCarthy

  “What’s so funny?” he asks, drawing back to look at me, and I realise my lips are still caught in a smirk.

  “I was just thinking that you looked like fried chicken.”

  Jake lifts his brows, laughing a little. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

  “It’s just … I’m pretty hungry.”

  “Oh Jesus.” He takes a deep breath and looks somewhere over my shoulder as if maybe that was too much. It probably was, but I’m tired and have no control over my filter. After a short moment, his eyes return to mine like he can only look away for so long. “I’m pretty damn hungry myself.”

  Well okay then. His admission has just ratcheted up my longing to a whole new level, which is still. Not. Good. It could spell a loss of rank, or worse, a court martial, if either of us ever get caught in the other’s room. The penalties for that kind of fraternisation are severe. We both know it.

  I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “I should go and, um …”

  “Heal some stuff?”

  A silly grin forms on my face. “Yeah. That.”

  He stares for a moment. “Jamie?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You never emailed.” Jake sounds a little tentative, as if he’s not sure he should even mention it. “Did you get my note?”

  “I did. I just— I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

  His brows snap together, clearly confused. “I don’t understand. Why would I give you my email if I didn’t want you to?”

  I scratch at the back of my neck, having no idea how to answer. “Well, when you put it like that.”

  Jake shakes his head. Women! his expression seems to say. I can’t blame him. We read more into things than we should, creating some kind of complex algebraic equation out of a simple addition.

  “I guess I thought maybe you were just being polite. You know, like when you ask someone in passing how they are? You’re asking because it’s a courtesy, not because you’re expecting an in-depth answer.”

  “Well, I wanted you to email.”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to.”

  He grins. “You’re just saying that to be polite.”

  My chest shakes with a silent laugh, my lips pressing together. “I think maybe we’re a bit past the point of being polite, aren’t we? I mean, you’ve had your mouth on my—” I cut myself off. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak sometimes.

  His grin widens further. “And I’d like it there again.”

  I suck in a breath. “Jake.”

  “Jamie.”

  I shift uncomfortably and wince, my uniform suddenly feeling too tight and heavy for my body.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned eyes moving over my face and down. “I heard talk about the IED before we made it in for breakfast. They said your convoy was ambushed?”

  And just like that, my bubble of need deflates like a punctured balloon, replaced with the staccato of gunfire and the bitter, metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Bile climbs my throat just that fast, coffee and eggs rising on a tidal wave. “I need to go,” I whisper, swallowing as I turn blindly, making an abrupt departure. I start walking in the direction of my sleeping quarters, my pace rapid.

  “Jamie!”

  “It sure was great seeing you again, Tanner,” I say without turning around, using his surname to create some kind of distance.

  He lets me go and I’m pathetically grateful. How embarrassing would it be to barf at his feet? For him to see how weak I am, and how brittle I feel, like a twig that could snap at any moment.

  You’re a born fighter, Jamie.

  The reminder has me shoving it back down as I walk. I’m almost there. Just a few more steps, I tell myself, focused on my destination like I’m adrift in a storm and the looming building is my life raft.

  “Murphy.” Wood appears from nowhere like he was lying in wait. Worry flashes on his face, brighter than a neon sign.

  “What?” I snap, on edge and in a hurry.

  He frowns. “I just wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m doing great, Wood. Just had a leisurely breakfast in fact, and now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some goddamn sleep.”

  “What the hell?”

  Anger builds. I’m tired and sick of the hovering. “I don’t need you checking on me every five minutes. I’m not some delicate flower that’s going to die if it isn’t watered, Wood. I did my job. That’s all.”

  “I never—”

  I plant my hand on the door and push it open. “I’ll catch you later.”

  “Dammit, Murphy. I’d check on any of my unit if they’d gone through what you did last night.” His tone is rife with anger, making me pause in the doorway. “I’m the last person in this fucking war that thinks you don’t belong here.”

  God. He’s right. Wood has always had my back, and I’m being such a bitch to him right now. I take a breath. “I’m sorry, Wood. I—”

  “Save it,” he snaps and walks off.

  Great.

  Good job, idiot.

  I make my way down the hallway and find my room. It’s narrow and horribly claustrophobic, with a closet on one side, two bunks on the other, and a small window at the end. I have the bottom bed, which suits me just fine. After taking care of my weapon, I close the blind and crawl onto the mattress, falling asleep minutes after my head hits the pillow.

  I’m hoping for sexy dreams of Jake. Instead I get his friend, Brooks, which is incredibly random. We’re by a stream in the jungle somewhere, both in uniform. It feels real—the pretty tinkle of water rushing over rocks, the rich smell of dirt and leafy trees, and the heat. A bead of sweat trickles down my chest. I look down. The top two buttons of my shirt are undone, exposing my collarbone and dog tags, along with my necklace.

  Brooks is standing in front of me, the sun glinting across his heavily bearded face. His eyes are hooded on mine, their colour gold with flecks of green and rimmed in dark brown. They glint like an angered lion, as if he hates me for being here.

  The crack of a rifle echoes through the trees, and my body jerks as if a hot poker just jabbed me in the gut. I look down in horror. I’ve been shot. Blood is spreading across my uniform. I clutch my stomach and it pools in my fingers and spills over, pouring down my hands. I sink to my knees, gasping, my eyes rising to the soldier standing over me.

  He shakes his head and leans his big bulk down, reaching out. For a moment I think he’s reaching for me. But he doesn’t. He takes my necklace in his massive paw and yanks, ripping it free.

  “Brooks, help me,” I plead, gasping for breath.

  “I told you to take that thing off,” he growls, his nostrils flaring. “There’s no helping you now.”

  A single tear spills over, tracking down my cheek. He brushes it away, cocking his head as he looks at me. Then his eyes drop to the necklace dangling from his fist. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Jamie.”

  “What do you mean?” I wheeze, coughing. Blood sprays from my mouth.

  Brooks wipes it away with calloused fingers. “Joining the army was a mistake, and now you’re going to die because of it.”

  “I don’t want to die.” My teeth begin to chatter. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Then fight,” he says.

  My hands loosen slowly from my middle, and my lids begin to lower. I don’t have the strength to hold them open any longer.

  “Fight, Jamie.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Fight.”

  The world begins to fade.

  “Private Murphy!”

  My voice is a mere whisper on the wind. “What?”

  Bang, bang, bang! “Private Murphy. Report for duty!”

  I come awake with a start, jerking upright, wheezing, my eyes darting around the room. I’m in my bed on base, lying above the sheets in my uniform. I reach for my necklace. It’s still there. It’s still there. I clutch it tight, taking long deep breaths. “I’m up,” I call back, pushing the dream away until it’s forgotten. �
�Give me five.”

  They send me back in another convoy to the remote patrol base still awaiting a medic. I literally have to go back there, having barely slept, along the same path I travelled yesterday. I don’t get to choose where I go. Medics are in high demand here. There aren’t enough to go around, making time off rare, even now, tired and bruised as I am and desperate for a day off.

  I stare out across the red plain as we drive. Corporal Marsh is up front and Private Connor is seated beside me, just like last time. Connor is talking and laughing with the guys in front as if we never hit an IED yesterday. That’s the trick to surviving this place, I guess. Not only do you have to work out like a demon possessed just to stay sane, you have to forget about what happened the day before and not worry about what’s coming for you tomorrow. Only think of the now.

  I tune them out, my mind sending me back to the time I competed in the Australian Open Karate Championship when I was twelve. My dad flew home all the way from L.A. to be there for it. He made the national news just being there, raising the championship’s profile to a whole new level. The great Lucas ‘the Maverick’ Murphy turned heads everywhere we went. His size. His muscle. His temper. He was named for being a rebel. For doing the unexpected. For blazing a trail so bright through the UFC it blinded you.

  I made the finals in my age division that year. I don’t know how. Maybe because I had something to prove. I was the Maverick’s daughter and I couldn’t let him down.

  Despite the protective gear we had to wear at that age—head guard, mouth guard, chest guard—I came into my final battered and sore. My opponent was taller and a little bigger. Her eyes a little harder, as if she needed to win like she needed her next breath. I felt defeated before I even began.

  Dad pulled me aside before the bout, crouching a little so we were eye level, and took hold of my shoulders. I waited for the pep talk. He was full of those. Great ones. The best.

  “You’re going to lose.”

  My mouth fell open. That was not what I expected to hear. “Dad, I—”

  “Listen to me,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. I huffed, my little twelve-year-old nostrils flaring with a volatile cocktail of anger and embarrassment. “You’ve assessed that girl over there,” he said, referring to my opponent across the mat, “and decided that she wants this more than you. She’s bigger too. And more confident. So up here,” he tapped at my temple, “you’re already letting her win. You’re already seeing it in your mind. Manifesting it into reality. But deep down in here,” he jabbed at my chest, “you have more heart than she does. You’ve worked harder. For longer. You’ve earned it. You’re tough. And it pays to be a tough son of a bitch, Jamie. The world belongs to the strong.” He pushed me towards the mat, towards the girl whose eyes were narrowed on mine as if she owned me. As if she owned this bout. “Go and get it.”

  I won the match. Then I had to wait an hour after the trophy ceremony while Dad talked to fans and gave autographs. He took me out to celebrate that night. Dinner in the city. His entourage came with us—coach, manager, his two training partners, and more. He got roaring drunk because his career had already peaked by then. It was a slippery slope down the other side.

  I won’t be like you, Dad, I vow as the convoy arrives at my new home for the next few weeks, driving through the gates. You told me the world belonged to the strong and yet you gave up. You stopped fighting.

  I step out of the truck, masking the wince of pain as I stare at the modest buildings. When they say remote, they definitely mean it. I’m the only female here, but that means I get my own room, which is actually more spacious than my room back on base.

  My days here are spent on the ‘Hearts and Minds’ mission. I work in the local village, providing health care to families as best I can; most suffer malnutrition, which is harder to treat than a simple injury. The children here are small, their eyes too big for their little faces, but their smiles when they see us each day could light up the night sky. Private Connor packed colouring books and pencils, and he gives me half. We hand them out, sharing a bittersweet smile as they chatter excitedly, tugging on our hands to get our attention and show us their art.

  I make another friend while I’m here.

  What do you think of that, huh, Bear?

  His name is Arash. He’s about seven but he looks five. He’s the loudest of all the children and keeps trying to touch my hair because it isn’t covered. His drawings are atrocious, but he presents them to me one at a time, as if he’s unveiling a gallery at the Louvre. He’s very proud of himself and it’s incredibly cute. I want to tuck him inside my pocket and take him home with me. My heart gives a little tug every time I leave him behind and head back to our remote base.

  My only form of communication here is email. I send one to Erin while the boys sit at the rickety outdoor table playing cards.

  Hey girl,

  I have a new best friend now. You’ve been replaced.

  I attach a photo of me and Arash. Connor took it. He was seated on the ground with the other kids while Arash and I sat on an old broken log so we’re looking down into the camera. The sun is behind us, casting an orange halo around our heads, and his little smile is fierce with pride as if he’s getting a photo with his favourite celebrity. His tiny arm is slung up over my shoulder. “Cool?” he asks Connor when it’s done, trying to see the digital image on the back of the camera.

  “You look seriously cool,” I tell him as I check the photo because it seems important.

  He beams when he hears the word ‘cool.’

  Winter will be here soon. It’s getting cooler. Can you believe it actually snows here? I’ve lived my whole life managing to never see snow, and now I’ll see it here in this arid hellish place!

  I’m on a remote base right now.

  I’m not allowed to specify any of my locations, but I can at least tell her that.

  I’m spending a lot of time performing health checks on the locals and playing cards.

  Which is boring. The cards part. What I wouldn’t give for a night out, a few beers, and Jake Tanner’s hands on me like I’m his own personal playground.

  My thighs clench together. It’s harder out here. The constant ache for physical intimacy is so sharp some nights I can barely sleep. I lie in bed almost shaking with need and having to take care of it myself. I feel no better when I’m done because it isn’t enough. Sex is not what I need.

  I’m missing the warmth. The connection. Another human being. I haven’t captured that feeling again since Jake, and his reappearance in my life has rekindled what we once had, flaring it bright inside me like a lit match.

  Jake is here. How crazy is that? I ran into him at breakfast, but I haven’t seen him since because I got assigned off the main base. I don’t even know if he’ll be there when I get back. There wasn’t time to talk.

  How goes the saving?

  Erin is trying to live a frugal life, which is hard for her. She likes pretty things. But she’s saving for the spa retreat she plans to open in the mountains outside of Perth one day, and I know she wants it more than trinkets and pretty dresses. We’ve talked about me being a silent partner. I’m not spending any of the money I earn in the army. Everything is provided—food, accommodation, uniforms. Money has been accumulating in my account since the moment I arrived in Kapooka for basic training years ago.

  Have you met any cute guys lately? Speaking of cute guys, how is Matt?

  She hates it when I refer to her older brother as cute. It icks her out.

  I miss you. Talk soon, okay?

  Love, Jamie

  After hitting send, I head outside and join the card game. I don’t get a chance to check my emails for another two weeks. There’s a response from Erin sitting in my inbox. I click it open, greedy for anything to read. I don’t even care if she talks for a whole page about a dress she bought at the local shops.

  Miss Jamie Murphy,

  Arash looks ridiculously cute. You on the other hand look li
ke a liar liar pants on fire. Seriously. Your face needs a punch. In the jaw. Preferably with my fist. How dare you write me as if you’re on a freaking holiday?

  You do know Wood and I keep in touch, don’t you?

  I do. They’ve done so ever since graduation at Kapooka. I don’t pry though, keeping my head buried firmly in the sand because it appeared harmless. Until now. Wood and his flapping limbs and stupid flapping gums. My jaw locks tight as I continue to read.

  HE TOLD ME ABOUT THE IED.

  I can’t even with you right now.

  You can’t keep me in the dark like this. I deserve to know what’s going on, and I’m stuck here knowing nothing. Do you have any idea how that feels?

  It’s not freaking fair.

  You seem to have forgotten that I AM YOUR BEST FRIEND.

  Remember the fence fire? Bad things happen when you bottle everything up inside. You eventually lose your shit. It’s that Murphy temper. Please don’t bottle all of this up inside you. Talk to me. Be real, okay? Please.

  You know I miss you too. I love you.

  Erin

  PS. I can’t believe Jake is there! You need to board that train and ride it all the way to the station, booyah!

  I sit for a moment, staring at the laptop. She’s right. I’m keeping her in the dark. It’s a fine line between sharing everything and sharing just enough for her not to worry. Damn Wood for telling her about the IED.

  Taking a slow, even breath, I hit reply.

  Dear Best Friend,

  I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to worry while I’m here. I am totally okay. Just a bruise, nothing more. And I’m not bottling anything inside because there’s nothing to bottle.

  If I need to talk about anything you’ll be the first to know, okay? I promise.

  So … You didn’t mention about meeting any cute guys. That’s usually your favourite topic. What’s going on? Let me live through you! God knows there’ll be no boarding ANY trains at all while I’m here. THAT is what’s freaking unfair!