Page 52 of Never Say Yes To Your Brother's Best Friend

“We can change the narrative. You know we can. Having people worry about you and care about you is not such a terrible thing,” Aspen says softly.

Itisa terrible thing. It’s a terrible thing because it’s the one thing I’ve wanted my whole life. I did want it, but then I made peace with not having it. If someone is denied something for long enough, they stop missing it. Eventually, that phantom limb pain is going to fuck off, and you’re going to be left with a hard deadness in its place. Maybe we all need more of that—that hardness. Not less. Maybe the happy tra-la-la that a large portion of the self-help inspirational world is selling is bullshit.

What?

The world has collectively gotten a lot of shit wrong in the past. They could be wrong on this one too.

“I think you want to stop. You told me you wanted to leave, even before your grandpa got you home. You told me you wanted out. That means you wanted to stop fighting. You wanted to stop being a soldier.”

I can’t stop. I got out, but I haven’t ever really stopped. I haven’t lowered or released the burdens I’ve been shouldering long before I ever became an adult.

“Rick?” So soft. The way she says my name. God, I love the way she says my name. It makes me warm and unbrushed-teeth-style fuzzy on the inside. Ugh, maybe fuzzy-blanket-style fuzzy. The other one is too gross. “Do you want to stop? If you do, we’ll help you. We’ll all help you. Even if it’s not easy, you can get there. You can just lower all of it down, set it all down, and just be you. You can stop fighting and let us take care of you. You can let us be your friends, and you can let us love you. You might not think you’re capable of love, but youarecapable ofbeingloved.”

If I stop, will it make every death of every friend I ever had, of every brother and sister who served with me pointless? Does it make it all useless? I can’t just set it down. Because where would that leave me? It would leave me open to any kind of attack. Any injury. It would leave me open to complete and total destruction. No one just sets it all down. No one.

“We could go anywhere. If you don’t want to be here or in Atlanta, we could travel. We could pick a place. If it’s not in the States, that’s okay too. We could go off and learn how to live.”

“Very new age,” I comment.

“Seriously though. Isn’t everyone? I hope so.”

“Because the second you stop learning, that’s where you’ve really gone wrong?” Does it get any dryer? I don’t think so. Does it get any more asshole? Probably not. I’m setting the bar high right now.

Aspen is too good. She keeps insisting she can save me from myself, but what if the whole notion of needing and wanting to be saved is total bullshit? It’s just such a gross concept to me. Relying on others, letting down my guard, and letting them or some professional fix the broken parts of me. That’s likely not even possible. It’s corny. It’s terrible. It’s so mushy and romantic, and not in the sense of anything that has to do with love but more in the spirit of unrealistic expectations. It means being gentle with myself, but the very idea of that goes against my nature. I don’t want to be gentle with myself. Soldiers, even ex-soldiers, are not gentle people.

But in the shower I was just thinking about how Aspen is already under all those layers. She’s already past the fact that I’m not gentle. She doesn’t think I let her brother get killed by not being there to have his back. She doesn’t hold me responsible. She offered me her family even though I’ve shown her the worst of myself. She fed me, held me, and even helped me sleep. She had sex with me, but she also loved me with her body. And she’d love me with even more of her if I let her.

She’s made it clear that if I stopped fighting, that would be okay and not cowardly. She’s one of the gentlest people I know, but she’s a warrior in her own right. If I just couldn’t do it anymore, she’d probably pick up the mantle or pick me up and carrymeand all my burdens.

I’ve been too quiet for too long.

“Okay.” She holds up her hands and backs off. “You don’t have to decide today. I know it’s a long process. I’ll leave, even though I don’t want to leave. I’ll go back home and pack up and get ready to move. I’ll talk to my family. They’ll understand. I’m coming back here, though. I’m getting an apartment, but I don’t need your money to do it. I have some savings, and it will get me through until I can get a job.”

“Too good to take it, are you?” I purposely look at the floor because she looks far too enticing in that damn bath towel.

“I’ll ask you for it if and when I might need it, but right now, it’s not what I want.You’rewhat I want.”

How does she do that? How does she make that sound so believable? She could take as much money from me as she wants. She could go anywhere in the world. She could buy herself whatever she desired. She could literally live in her dream home and drive her dream car and never have to work a day in her life again. My money could provide her with anything, but instead, she’s looking at me like I’m what she wants, and she’s doing it with total conviction. And not for alack of imagination or ambition. Not for a lack of intelligence or drive or an inability to make life into a bigger picture. That’s the easy road. But looking at me with such sincerity and honesty? Definitely not the easy road. I’m the crap chute.

“I don’t need you to come back here,” I say to Aspen.

“Yes, you do,” she insists.

“I could stop you.”

“No, you can’t. It’s a big city. I can move anywhere in it as it fits my budget and as I please.”

“You’ll break your parents’ hearts.”

She blinks hard at that, but like everything else, she swats it away and refuses to break. “I won’t. They’ll miss me, but they’ll understand. It’s not forever. I’m a grownup, and there are many varied and reliable methods of communication. We’ll all learn how to be okay.”

No. I can’t let this happen. It doesn’t matter how much I might want to believe her or stop literally and figuratively fighting. She can’t possibly know I’m what she wants. She can’t throw her life away. She can’t come here. Not for me. I can’t believe her. I know that, at the heart of me, I’m unwanted and unlovable. I’m stained.

If shoving her away to protect her is the only option left, then that’s the option I’ll have to take.

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want you, Aspen. I. Don’t. Want. You,” I say harshly.

The hurt is bright in her eyes, and it’s a lance to my heart. The lesions are instant. I’m bleeding out on the inside and drowning in my own blood. God, it hurts.

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