Page 41 of Mended Hearts

I fold the paper, second guessing whether I should be so vocal with my vulnerabilities with Dustin when he's the reason behind them all. I walk to the study and pull out the last envelope. The idea of just sliding the letter into the drawer and forgetting about it crosses my mind. Just because my feelings and thoughts are all over the place doesn't mean I should muddy up Dustin's, too.

Then lack of better judgement takes over and I address the envelope, put a stamp on it, and walk it to the post office. I have a lot I need to get done today at the house. Mostly just organizing all my supplies neatly in the garage for the off chance someone will want to view it while I’m back home.

Back home.What a foreign thought.

My mom is supposed to be bringing Dylan back to me tomorrow and I know he’s not going to want to stick around here long. The idea of leaving has me feeling very apprehensive. I feel close to everyone I love here. Something about this place just feels right.

And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that feeling.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DUSTIN

Sleep? What’s that? It’s definitely something I don’t get much of anymore. Over the years, I’ve come to terms with my restless nights. Screw the gunfire in the distance and ongoing mortar bombs being shot our way. I welcome those sounds. My self-inflicted sleep deprivation has more than prepared me for being overseas, in enemy territory, embedded in a war zone.

The mortars are always good at pointing out who the new guy is. While the seasoned guy is whistling Yankee Doodle Dandy, thenew guyis taking cover. It’s a pretty comical sight, though those bombs are no laughing matter. They’re kind of like a launched grenade that flies up high in the air, comes down, and blows up. They are constant, even though they aren’t accurate—which is a plus. They’re one of the reasons we can’t have mass formations. If we do take on mortar fire, it won’t kill a big crowd. Some bases are fortunate enough not to experience them. But since most bases are bigger than the towns us guys grew up in, and the fact that mortars only have a kill radius of about ten feet, I’d like to believe we have the upper hand.

But that’s impossible when there’s absolutely no defense to them. That’s why I don’t bother taking cover. If it’s going to hit, it’s going to hit.

You’d think being over here in a war zone would help me forget the past. It was finally starting to pull my mind away from the what-ifs andwhat happeneds…until she appeared out of nowhere like a mirage. Now my mind is a wreck, and my heart is in shambles. I thought I was finally over her. I was wrong, so wrong. Seeing her stopped my heart and kick-started it back to life all at once.

I make my way to the makeshift gym that consists of nothing more than a weight bench and punching bag. The small tent-like building is empty; just how I like it. The only time I’m able to find rest are the nights I stay up until I can no longer keep my eyes pried open, exhausting my body to its limits. Some nights usually end with me in the gym lifting, pressing, and punching until my arms and legs are completely numb. If only the effort could numb my thoughts and emotions. Then, and only then, I might have a chance of recovering.

Who am I kidding? For me, there’s no such thing as recovery. I’m a lost cause and I’m even more tormented now.

I should be exhausted. If my body wasn’t beat, my mind should be. So much goes into these—so much that could go wrong. We’re venturing into the unknown. We have one full day of prep, one day of recovery, and however long it takes to complete the mission between the two.

For our next mission, we will be on foot. I like the idea of that far more than being confined to a Stryker. I just don’t like the idea of being part of route clearance and being part of the team that clears the road of bombs. A bomb does far more damage than a bullet. Every job has a number associated with it called a military occupation specialty. Infantry is 11b. So a lot of the otherguys like to call it 11 bang bang because we’re always getting shot at. But I’d rather take on a bang bang than a kaboom kaboom.

I climb into bed, sweaty and fully clothed. I read the last letter I got from Echo one more time before tucking it under my pillow. I stare above, begging for sleep as the constellation taped above lulls my eyes shut.

I wake what seems like only minutes later as I lie on my bed. Dreams always seem to flood my mind no matter the amount of effort I put into wearing the damn thing out.

I quickly sit up and toss my legs over the side, placing my elbows on my legs. I rest my head in my hands as I start thinking about life and how messed up it is. Being in the Army, I’ve seen how cruel life can be. People die and you simply have no control over it, but that’s just life in general. But the joke’s on me now.

Oh, how the circle of life isn’t some Disney theme song when it comes to me. I lost the girl and took off in hopes that maybe one day the moving around that comes with being enlisted would either bring the girl back to me or kill me, putting me out of my misery.

“Do you ever sleep, Adams?”

I look up and see Roberts making his way toward me with one hand scratching his nuts, the other resting behind his neck while he stretches.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” I stand up, stretching before reaching back with both hands and pulling my shirt over my head. I ball it up and throw it next to my bed.

Roberts gives me an ‘mmhmm’ as he continues back to his bed. I hear him land on the mattress as soon as I hit the floor on all fours. One hundred push-ups are how I like to get my mornings started. I close my eyes and get lost in the weight of my body lowering almost completely to the ground. Letting myself quickly free fall and then slowly rise up is just one of the ways I like to torment my body.

Ninety-seven.

Ninety-eight.

Ninety-nine.

One hundred.

I open my eyes as I’m pushing the last one out and I see her face. Tightly closing my eyes back, I let myself collapse back to the floor, rolling onto my back. Maybe I should just take my thin-ass pillow and smother Brian. That’d surely put an end to my never-ending torture. I doubt that’d win me the girl, but that’s a lost cause anyways.

I sigh as I sit up and grab another shirt to toss on. Killing Brian doesn’t fit into the plan I made. In fact, offing him would be quite the opposite.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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