Page 43 of Fourth Wall

My sponsor happened to actually be one of the guys in my old unit. He worked under me for a couple of years before transferring to the West Coast, where he finished his career. We didn’t know much about each other’s personal lives. I didn’t have social media and purposely asked Julian and James not to look into him. I didn’t want to make any judgments about what he had done, just as I had hoped he would have done the same with me. He was always there for me when I needed him—night or day.

After a couple of hours, I finally pulled into the house and noticed that my sponsor was already there.

I grabbed my bag and headed into the home. A group of four of us—John, Patrick, Stephen, and myself—worked together to make this place happen.

The quaint place was in the middle of a forest and had a long gravel driveway leading up to the main house. There was a small guesthouse on the property, but the main house was modern, dark black, and deep cherry wood.

It was a bit ominous to the naked eye, but it felt like a place where I could unwind.

I walked up the steps leading to the front door and used the key to open it.

“Hey, brother, I’m in the back.” I heard my sponsor pipe up and then smelled coffee. It felt like I was in an AA meeting again. I knew it was a sign that we would be up for a while. It was already well into the middle of the night when I left Maevealone in the house before I called Julian to tell him where I was headed. I begged him not to tell her. I grabbed a mug and went to the back porch.

It was a wraparound wooden porch that extended well into the woods. There were a couple of grills and a beverage fridge filled with sparkling water out here, but otherwise, there were a few chairs and a roaring fire that my friend sat next to.

“Come sit.” Stephen was a tall guy with short brown hair. In the service, he was always the quiet one, but he had mentioned that since getting out, he feels like he found his purpose in volunteering at the local VA.

“We haven't been here in a while. I was worried about you when you called.” His low voice was soothing.

“I fucked up tonight, and then I think I fucked up even worse,” I confessed, grasping onto the mug. It wasn’t particularly cold, but there was more of a chill in the hills than on the coast.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I met someone, man,” I admitted and stared straight down. My thoughts started spiraling, so I focused on the liquid inside the mug to make them stop.

“That’s good, Christian.” I looked up at him, and he only laughed. “When most people say they’ve met someone, it’s usually good.”

“We both know I’m not like most people.” I sighed. “I didn’t expect that I would actually like her. She has a really shitty ex, and we are supposed to be fake dating, but somewhere down the line, I think I started to have real feelings for her.” I lean back in the chair and look up at the stars in the sky.

“When I stopped drinking, I think I just replaced that feeling by fucking women. It just got really bad, and now that this feels different, I feel really out of sorts.”

“I get it. When I got out and got sober, I went to clubs obsessively, which wasn’t healthy in any way because I wassurrounded by drunk people and alcohol. It was an addiction, though. I would go to day clubs, night clubs, all day raves. It wasn’t until I actually fixed the problem inside that my taste and need for addiction stopped.”

Stephen reached over and gave my shoulder a quick pat.

“I don’t think you’ve ever processed what happened to you over there.”

I shook my head because I hated when the moments started to permeate my mind.

“You gotta talk about it.” Stephen encouraged.

“You were there. Why do I have to?”

“Because our minds process trauma in many different ways.”

I put the mug down and closed my mind, envisioning what happened that day.

It was 2021, and we found ourselves on the front lines of a scorching war zone. The sun beat down relentlessly, intensifying the already oppressive heat. I could feel the weight of my plate carrier vest pressing against my uniform. We arrived at the back of a small town, its low-rising homes mostly reduced to rubble by previous bombings. Despite the destruction, we spotted a few children playing with some women, indicating that our target might still be present.

As the team leader of a special forces MARSOC unit, I had a clear objective: apprehend the assailant. It seemed like a straightforward mission. Nothing should have gone wrong. I had briefed my team of four men on the specific doors we would breach upon arrival. We had executed similar operations five times already during this deployment. The procedure was standard. Our target was known for terrorizing villages by committing atrocities such as rape, child abduction, and trafficking. He held a high position within a terrorist organization, which initially prompted our deployment.However, we all knew our true purpose was to protect the women and children of this community.

Previous intelligence informed us of the precise time our target would be home. We avoided using names, as it helped to maintain a necessary distance from the individuals behind these heinous crimes. We simply referred to him as "Target A" since he was the sole focus of today's operation.

The vehicles came to a stop, and we exited our transport. The driver remained with the vehicle, waiting for our return. Once we completed our mission, we would rendezvous with him farther down the street.

"Move to the left, Peters and Walsh," I directed, glancing over at my friend Stephen. I noticed that the house we were targeting stood on the town's outskirts. This worked to our advantage, as our presence would be less conspicuous in these deserted streets leading up to Target A's backyard.

"We'll take the east-facing door," Stephen suggested. His marksmanship skills surpassed even mine, making him the ideal choice for the riskier approach, while the other team members covered the rear of the house where no one was expected to be.

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