Page 11 of What I Should Have Known

He was five when Dad died. My little brother had practically grown up without a father and had me instead. A piss-poor example of a put-together, mature adult. The only good thing I’d ever done was join the military because it practically made it so I couldn’t fuck shit up anymore. How he’d turned out to be as mature as he was beat me.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I turned right and headed down the short hall into my own bedroom. The door closed softly behind me as my eyes drifted across the room. From the white closet doors on the right,across the beige black-out curtains pushed to the side of the window across from me, to the bed on my left where Muffin lay curled up in the middle of the navy bedspread. Resting in the middle of a sunspot, her bare chest rose and fell as she slept.

Padding across the carpet, I crawled onto the bed next to her and laid down. She lifted her head and watched as I snuggled up against her, pulling her onto my chest and running my hand steadily down her back. It had taken some getting used to, but the feel of her skin no longer shocked me as I stared out the window with my back to the dresser behind me.

“Please don’t piss in my room, all right?” I mumbled, watching Raiden throw a ball for Matrix in the backyard. Mature trees with dark green leaves rose to the sky, shading the freshly mowed grass from the frying reach of the sun’s rays.

“And don’t shit anywhere in the house that’s not the litter box, or my mom will be absolutely pissed. I’ll get you a cat tower scratch thing tomorrow,” I continued as Muffin rested her face against my chest right beneath my chin.

I closed my eyes, plunking my head back against the bed as a chuckle rumbled in my belly. “Fuck, Kat really got under my skin, didn’t she? But you like her.”

Muffin chattered quietly for a moment but didn’t move.

Warmth slithered beneath my skin as Kat’s bright blue eyes danced through my mind. Curves that I had to admit had me drooling to myself followed suit as she shoved her hand on her hip. Fiery thing she was. Super short, but fiery all the same. Damn… Katalina was an interesting name.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, alerting me to a message. Prying my eyes open with a groan as that rather intriguing woman’s face fluttered away like a butterfly in the breeze, I dug my hand into my pocket.

An unknown number waited on the screen. Quickly unlocking the phone, I tapped on the notification.

Hi, Bottle Cap. This is Kat from the shelter. I’m sorry to be bothering you, but I grabbed your number from the adoption form. I think you accidentally dropped a card from your wallet. Your military ID.

Shooting upright as I cradled Muffin to me, I ripped my wallet out of my back pocket and flipped open the leather. Scanning through the contents, I plopped onto my back again with a heavy sigh and quickly raised the phone. Muffin meowed and settled onto my belly. She swatted at me once and then stretched herself out across my torso and chest.

Shit. I’m sorry. Can I swing by the shelter and get it from you tomorrow? I kinda need that…

I quickly typed in response.

Bubbles appeared as she wrote something, and then her reply popped onto my phone.

I won’t be in tomorrow. I only volunteer there once or twice a week. I’ll send you my address and you can come get it in the morning.

Locking my phone, I stared at the ceiling, following the lines of the crackled design. What an idiot I was. Dropping my CAC of all things. If we were called in on an emergency or some shit, there was no way I was getting on base, and to replace that thing was way too much of a hassle.

My phone buzzed again, and I peeled it off my chest.

Why didn’t you say something about being in the Navy when I said the not so awesome things I said back at the shelter?

Tapping the screen, the cursor blinked as my thumbs hovered over the letters. Muffin’s steady breathing mixed with the faint sounds of Matrix barking and Raiden shouting, becoming muffled in my head.

Honestly, I wasn’t even sure how to answer her question. What was the point of saying anything? I didn’t want anyone’s empty sympathy. I hated when people gave the “you’re a hero” speech to me. I wasn’t a fucking hero.

I killed people.

With pleasure, too. I thrived in the violence and chaos. Controlled that shit. Enjoyed the destruction as things exploded around me. All of us on the team found some peace in all of the bloodshed and havoc we delivered. How the fuck was I supposed to explain all of the thoughts in my head that should’ve landed me in a psych ward?

Another message vibrated on my phone.

I didn’t mean to pry.

Sighing, I finally typed a response.

All good. Wasn’t relevant. Besides, whatever I did clearly pissed you the fuck off and I didn’t want to say something to make things worse.

Bubbles appeared a moment later, and then the familiar whoosh of a new message broke the silence.

In case you want to know what it was, you flicked a bottle cap off of a beer and it whacked me in myforehead. Then you proceeded to drunkenly not really apologize.

I laughed out loud as a hazy memory of Scottie holding her fingers up as goalposts flashed through my mind.

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