Page 25 of A Man in Uniform

Chapter Five

Story

Wyatt pulls himselffree, and falls to his side. He sits up, shoulders rolling forward as he stares up at the sky.

I'm waiting for him say something, but he sits silently, his eyes fixed on the fireworks. His body lurches softly as the explosions get louder and they come more frequently. He's twitching, muscles tensing as he stares off.

He's not here with me, I can tell. He's somewhere else in his mind, and I want to know where he is.

“Hey,” I say, gently reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Wyatt jerks away, spooked by my hand. He looks at me over his shoulder and gives me a faint smile. “You know when I was over seas, the sounds like these fireworks didn't come from something so beautiful.”

My fingers dance across the top of his back, and I stay quiet and just listen. This is what I've been waiting for, for him to open up, to let me in, to give me something to understand.

He laughs to himself, and I see his eyes glaze over. “Sounds like these over there made me think the world was ending. The first six months I didn't sleep through the night, not once. Then I got used to it, the sounds become something that soothed me to sleep instead of keeping me up at night. That's fucked up, huh? Craving the noise instead of silence?”

“I don't think that's fucked up, I think you did what you had to do.”

He smiles at me, and looks back up at the sky. “What I had to do, that's what they all say. What I had to do.” His voice trails off, and I let him have this silence. He needs it for himself, it's not for me. “I got all your letters, every single one. I know you didn't know that, you said it in a few of them, questioning if they were even coming to me. But they did.”

“I didn't know for sure. I never got anything back.”

“Well I did.”

Resting my cheek on his shoulder, I let out a soft breath. “Then why didn't you write me, Wyatt?”

I feel Wyatt's body slump forward. He runs a hand through his hair, and he sighs. “I couldn't.”

“Why not?”

Jerking his shoulders as another firework goes off, his back stiffens and he stands up quickly. Wyatt starts to storm off into the darkness, but I'm not letting him go. Not this time.

He did this once already. He left and I let him go without any resistance. I won't do it again.

“Wyatt, wait!” I call out, running to his side. Grabbing his arm, I force him to turn and look at me. “I deserve an answer. You tell me you got my letters, you tell me you kept every one. So, tell me why you never wrote. Tell me!” I yell, demanding to know.

Hanging his head, he shakes it. “Story, I can't. Don't you get it, don't you understand that I can't tell you because you would never understand the answer?”

“Try me,” I snap, folding my arms across my chest.

Grunting, he rakes both his hands through his hair and pulls it tight to his scalp. “I'm broken, Story! I'm scarred!” Lifting his shirt, I can see a long, thick scar across his side. “I couldn't write you because there was nothing for me to write! Is this what you wanted to hear about? About how I got sliced up from an IED?”

His brows arch high as he lets his shirt drop down. “I've done things I'm not proud of. I've killed people, I've watched my brothers die, and I sat by, unable to do a fucking thing. These hands,” he says sharply, holding up open hands in front of my face. “these hands are tainted, they're covered in blood that's not mine. I'm not the person I was before, I'm different. Why would I ever want to let you see me this way?”

“We're all scarred, Wyatt. Just because I don't wear my scar on the outside, doesn't mean I don't hurt. That,” I say, pointing at his stomach, “that scar you bear should be worn with pride. What you did was incredible, you have to know that. But, you hurt me. . .” My eyes fill with water, making it hard for me to see his face. “You broke me, you tore my heart into pieces.”

“I saved you, Story.”

“Saved me?!” I yell, my eyes popping open wide. “You left me, you broke your promise.”

“I kept you whole.”

“Wow.” Flicking my eyes to the sky, I hold out open hands. “How can you say that?”

Wyatt takes a step forward and grabs my wrists. “Story, you were my everything. You made me who I am; you and your family. But what I lived through, what I saw, what I've done. . .” Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, he shakes his head. “What the hell did you want me to write? That I was living in hell. That I watched a man get shot in the face, that I pulled the trigger over dozen times and didn't think twice about it? I couldn't write you that. All I saw was carnage, death, destruction. You were too innocent for that kind of truth. I couldn't destroy your world.”

“And yet, that's what happened anyway.”

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