Page 93 of The Darkness Within

“You were saying about being attracted to girls, West?” How can I not throw that dig in there when he’s gaping like a fool?

“What about you, big man?” Tex wraps his fingers around Mandy’s thick biceps. “You must have a huge appetite. What can I bring you to satisfy it?” Mandy is speechless. “I bet you have a sweet tooth,” Tex continues, unfazed by Mandy’s silence. “I’ll bring you a slice of chocolate cake. And if you can’t find your tongue, maybe I can help you find it,” he flirts slyly, whispering in Mandy’s ear.

Tex sashays off to the kitchen, and suddenly the table comes back to life.

“What in the fuck was that?” West asks, his french fry suspended in midair, halfway to his mouth.

“That was the Tex effect. He’s like a tornado.”

Brandt reaches for an onion ring. “No shit. Since when do they hire guys?”

“Since now, I guess.”

“I don’t go for that type of man, but I’m oddly turned on,” West admits, his hand disappearing beneath the table. I’d bet ten dollars he’s adjusting his junk. Brandt just laughs at him.

The only person who has yet to say a word is Mandy. He seems to be having trouble swallowing his burger. He’s completely checked out of our conversation, his eyes constantly darting around the restaurant, following Tex from table to table as he checks on his customers. When Tex finally returns with his chocolate cake and the bill, he places it in front of Mandy and then dips his finger into the frosting, making a show of sucking the icing from his finger.

Rolling my eyes, I grab the bill and reach for my wallet. “My treat.” I don’t mind paying since I insisted we all come here. Mostly, I just wanted to support Tex in his new position and ensure that he received at least one good tip today. In addition to the bill, I drop two twenties in cash on the table. “Are you all ready?”

West and Brandt slide out of the booth. Mandy remains. “You coming?” I ask.

“You all go on without me. I think I’m gonna hang back for a minute and finish my cake.”

He’s so full of shit. I know he’s full of shit because not only are his eyes brown, but they’re laser-focused on the cute waiter wearing sheer glitter tights over his long legs.

“Enjoy, buddy.” I clap Mandy on the back and follow the lovers out the door.

“Looking good, Nacho,” I call out on my way inside. He’s hosing down the outside of the truck, giving it a good scrub.

I drop my keys on the kitchen counter next to a stack of mail. On top is a letter with my name on it. The return address catches my eye. Department of Defense. What the fuck do they want?

Carefully, I peel open the envelope and pull out the letter inside. I can feel my anxiety mounting as I scan the first couple of introductory paragraphs. That sick swirly feeling is sloshing around my gut, and the residue is crawling up my throat, giving me heartburn.

Have I not given enough? Must they always ask for more?

“…want to honor your service and sacrifice with the Prisoner of War Medal. Other medals being awarded include the Purple Heart, for service members who have been wounded or killed as a result of enemy action while serving in the US military.”

Please, no. I don’t… I don’t want this. I can’t…

Panic grips my heart and squeezes painfully. My breath comes short and fast.

A solemn distinction for those who have greatly sacrificed themselves or paid the ultimate price? What the fuck did I do? All I managed to do was to stay alive. How fucking meritorious and heroic is that? It was just luck, or sheer stubbornness.

“No!” I shout, grabbing my head. The pictures, they’re coming back, mental snapshots flipping through my head like a film strip. I shake my head, harder and harder, but I can’t clear them from my mind. Blood pumps loudly in my ears, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin, making me feel clammy. I shiver, a full body shiver, and pressure begins together in the base of my skull. It moves behind my eyes like a pulsing heartbeat.

I grab onto the edge of the counter, feeling the cold granite beneath my fingertips. Five… Four… Three… Two… One… I take a deep breath through my nose and hold it for the count of three before releasing it.

The sour stench of urine invades my nose. The screeching gets louder, the sound of the rats, searching for their next meal. I pull a ragged breath into my lungs, willing myself not to disappear. I don’t want to time travel back to the past. I want to stay here in the present. I don’t want to lose myself again. Not ever again. I bite down on my bottom lip hard—hard enough to draw blood. The pain keeps me grounded in the present.

Don’t slip…don’t slip…don’t slip away…

Pain spikes in my head, and I crumble the letter in my fist and stumble to my room. Drawing the black out curtains, I lock the door and crawl under the covers.

Sergeant Nashville Aidan Sommers. United States Army. 89-6717-4613. Sergeant Nashville Aidan Sommers. United States Army. 89-6717-4613. Sergeant Nashville Aidan Sommers. United States Army. 89-6717-4613.

There’s a knock at the door. It starts out softly but gets louder the longer I ignore it. I don’t want to hear the knock. I don’t want to know who’s standing on the other side of the door. The chanting in my head becomes louder until I speak the words out loud, over and over again.

“Sergeant Nashville Aidan Sommers. United States Army. 89-6717-4613. Sergeant Nashville Aidan Sommers. United States Army. 89-6717-4613. Sergeant Nashville Aidan Sommers. United States Army. 89-6717-4613.”

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