Page 40 of Fire Meets Fire

“I’m no one to you.”

“For some reason, you are,” he contradicts. “At the very least I want a chance to get to know you and I couldn’t do that if I gave you up or if you disappeared halfway across the country.” His fingers squeeze gently. “Let me help you, darlin’.”

Still addressing my comments to the world outside, I speak softly, “I was released from the hospital, came back and started to rebuild my life. Not that I knew where to start. There wasn’t much call for a pilot who could no longer fly, or even a mechanic who couldn’t drive. I was trying to work out what to do to survive when the threatening letters began to arrive.” I pause, thinking back to how it all began. “I didn’t think anything of them until they became more detailed and revealed shit that wasn’t in the public domain. Then…” Automatically my shoulders shrug as the remembered pain comes back to me. “I was actually coming back from a job interview when two masked men chased me.” I pause, wondering how much I need to say. Then decide my injury speaks for itself and that there’s no necessity to go into thehorrors of that day. “They thought the pain would be enough to disable me, but they were wrong. I got away. But it was obvious from then on, I needed to take the threats seriously. They knew my address, so I moved. More letters arrived. They were tracking me in some way. So I packed a bag, ditched my phone and took out as much cash as I could before stowing my cards away. I’ve lived off the grid since.”

“Did you go to the police?” When I’m slow in answering, he prompts, “Well?”

Slowly I dip my head up and down. “I did.” For all the good it had done. “They weren’t interested.”

His eyes narrow. “Not fuckin’ interested? Surely you showed them your shoulder?”

I had, but it hadn’t helped. “There was a photo of a Marine on the detective’s desk.” My eyes glaze as I remember.

“My son relies on pilots like you to get him out, not to crash.” He’d sneered as though I’d done it on purpose. “You’re accusing men who are either dead or returned half the men that they were.”

He was right. One had lost a foot, another half his arm.

“And here you’re sitting in front of me, nothing the fuck wrong with you and making up stories about real heroes. At worst, you’re attention seeking. At best, you’re suffering PTSD, probably because you spent six months without being allowed to put makeup on.”

I hadn’t realised I’d repeated what the detective had told me out loud until Chaz swears violently, and follows his exclamation by telling me, “PTSD is a given. No one could have escaped without that.” He brushes his hands across his head. “Being captured was bad for everyone, but the men weren’t tortured all the time. You were. You were kept away from your fellow soldiers and isolated. You were made to put on a show so they wouldn’t be killed in front of you. Losing a limb is fuckin’ hard,not denying that, but it can be compensated for. No one’s ever going to be able to give back what you lost, or for you to forget what you’re carrying around in here.” He taps my forehead as he finishes his monologue.

I suppose this part is hard to explain. “I knew I’d made a mistake trying to involve the authorities. I couldn’t tell them anything to explain.” I hold up my hand to pre-empt him asking why. “I knew it was all connected to my last mission, and who was on it and why was classified.”

“Surely you could have reported it to someone in your unit?”

“It seemed easier to run.”

“What about friends, family?”

“Most of my friends were people I served with. As for family, I’ve none.” He must remember the explanation of how I got my name, how no one wanted me from the start.

After what had happened to me, I hadn’t connected with any of the people I’d known previously when I returned. How could I admit I’d been raped repeatedly? How could I try to pretend to be normal when suddenly I might fall unconscious at their feet? It had been easier to make a new start, to have to think about nothing other than surviving day to day. Trying to cope in a world without a safety net of my savings or a bed of my own on which to lay my head kept me focused on moving forward.

“So you’ve never considered making a stand?”

Pulling out of his arms, I take a step back and glare. “Against what? Someone I don’t know who’s coming for me?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”

I’ve never been called a coward in my life. My muscles tense as I take a step forward and growl, “I’m no fucking coward.”

“Walks like a duck…”

I swing for him. Anticipating my move, he blocks my fist, grabbing hold of it, using my momentum to turn me and entrapme with my back to his front. When I go to use a move that will release me from my hold, he roars out.

“Listen to me. If you had the balls to fight the right people instead of the one that’s trying to help you, maybe you wouldn’t be such a mess. I’m not your fuckin’ enemy.”

He doesn’t remind me he walked out on his club to be with me, though he could easily take that advantage. If he had used those words, I would have ranted and reminded him I never asked to be rescued. But that he keeps the part he played in keeping me safe quiet somehow emphasises the importance of words he’s not saying more than those that he does, and instead of fighting him, I start thinking.

I don’t even know what I’m doing to myself. I’m a warrior, yet I’ve run from this situation. Maybe there was more I could have done, more help I could have requested, but instead, getting away seemed easier than facing my literal demons.

Because I have enough dealing with the ones in my head.That’s what I’m trying to run from, and yet they always keep up.

I’m a fucking mess.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here.” Suddenly the weight of what he’s done seems too heavy a load to carry, added on top of everything else.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

---