Page 4 of Curves and Courage

What they don’t understand is that I don’t need to heal. I need to fight.

The ache in my leg flares up as if to mock me. The injury isn’t fresh, but the pain is a constant reminder of my failure. It’s a deep, throbbing ache that never quite goes away, like a dull knifetwisting in my muscle. The docs told me it would get better with time, that I’d learn to live with it.

Ha. Yeah…right.

They don’t know what it’s like. To have your body betray you, to feel like a shadow of the man you once were.

With a sigh, I lower myself into one of the leather armchairs, the motion stiff and awkward as the pain radiates up my leg. I clench my jaw against it, refusing to let it show despite being alone inside this extravagant suite. The last thing I need is pity, especially from the people who already think I’m broken.

Truth is, I’ve been through worse than this—hell, I’ve survived things that would have killed most men—but this… this is different. This is something I can’t fight my way through, and that’s what scares me the most.

I flick on the TV but it does nothing to distract me. I’ve never been one to sit down and immerse myself in a fictional world. I’m too busy, and even as I sit here, my mind is drifting back to the moment earlier today, when I collided with that woman on the deck.

I wasn’t paying attention, lost in my own self-pity, and suddenly, there she was—soft, warm, and so full of life. The impact had knocked me off balance, both physically and mentally. It wasn’t just the way she looked, with curves that would make any man take a second look.

No, it was something else.

It was the way she smiled at me, genuine and unguarded, like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw.

Most people see the scar first, then the limp, and their expressions change.

Pity. Discomfort.Fear.

I’ve seen it all, but this girl… no, she was different.

She didn’t even flinch. She didn’t look at me like I was damaged goods. And that… that got under my skin.

I run a hand over my face, trying to push the thought of her out of my mind. I didn’t come here to make friends, and I sure as hell didn’t come here to get involved with anyone.

Relationships have never been my thing—too messy, too complicated. Not to mention how hard it would be to give any woman the love and respect she deserves while being away from home for months on end.

It’s for that reason that I’ve always kept people at arm’s length. It’s served me well until now.

But something abouthermakes me want to drop my guard. Just for a moment.

It’s dangerous and it’s something that I’ve never felt before.

The military taught me to rely on myself, to be strong, to never show weakness. Now, after being ordered onto this ship, that strength feels like a cage, trapping me in a body that doesn’t get to make its own decisions.

I clench my fists, feeling the familiar frustration rising. I’m supposed to be better than this. I’m supposed to be able to handle anything. But how the hell am I supposed to handle this—this waiting, this uncertainty, this… vulnerability?

The time passes slowly and soon enough, the suite feels suffocating. The walls closing in around me. I’m not used to being cooped up like this… I need air.

With a grunt, I push myself up from the chair, ignoring the protest from my leg, and head for the door. I don’t know where I’m going, but anywhere is better than here.

The hallway is quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling activity of the main decks. As I make my way to the elevator, I can’t help but feel out of place. The other passengers are here to have a good time, to relax and enjoy themselves - I’m here because I have no choice, because the military doesn’t know what else to do with me.

As the elevator descends, my mind keeps drifting back to that woman.

I don’t even know her name. I’ll probably never see her again, and perhaps that’s for the best. She’s the kind of person who could make me forget all the reasons I need to stay distant, and I can’t afford that. Not now, not ever.

The doors slide open, and I step out into the main lobby. The noise and activity hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I feel like I’m drowning. I’ve fought hard to stop any flashbacks of the war, and seeing this place swarming like this is making it damn hard to keep that going.

People are everywhere, laughing, talking, snapping pictures with their phones. It’s all so…normal.So goddamn normal. And I can’t relate to any of it.

I find myself drawn to the windows again, staring out at the ocean as the ship cuts through the water. The horizon is endless, just like the days ahead of me. Fourteen days filled with nothing but waiting—waiting to heal, waiting to be strong enough to go back, waiting to feel like myself again.

My leg aches with every step I take, but I push through it, unwilling to let the pain control me. I’ve faced worse, and I’ll get through this. I have to. There’s no other option.

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