Page 10 of Written in the Charts

All of the guys had a chuckle at Murphy’s expense, and Yates came to his rescue. “Nah, the guy’s right. I grew up on a farm. You learn that about pigs early on.” Yate threw back his head, wiping the sweat off his neck and chest.

“Private, it’s time to put that shirt back on and go for a run.” I broke into their conversation and made them all grunt in displeasure. “On it. That means 20 laps.”

“Twenty laps is more than a mile.” Murphy pushed his glasses up his nose, and this time, his nerdy fact delivery earned him a slap on the back and a round of cheers.

“Twenty-one laps now, thanks to Murphy.” I pointed at the line and the guys headed off. “And no cutting corners! Outside the line!”

One by one, the guys jogged past Murphy, flicking his ear and smacking his head. He was the “runt” of the group—the one everyone loved to pick on, but I knew in the end there wasn’t a single guy who wouldn’t lay down his life for the man. I watched as they started their run, a nostalgia of my own boot camp experience sinking in. That group of men would become a family soon, bonding and binding together until they were shipped out. But their paths would intersect many times over the next ten to fifteen years if they stayed in the service, and they’d always remember this time. They’d be brothers.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” Serah stood beside me. I didn’t know when she walked up, but the moment she spoke, I smelled her perfume and turned to greet her.

“Just watchin’ the guys. Boot camp changes you, you know?”

“I remember.” She sighed contentedly and turned to face me, so I turned with her and we walked toward the benches that lined the wall. Serah had a constant presence around the base. There were times it was pleasant and there were times when I wished she’d bug off.

“Just coming to check on any injuries?” I sat down, and she followed, sitting a little too close to me. It was a habit of hers. I didn’t think for a second that she liked me because I’d seen her do it with everyone. It was just a natural tendency. Maybe she had daddy issues and physical touch was her love language or something. I didn’t know.

“Actually, I’m here to check on you. Your knee feeling better? It looked like you were in a bit of pain last week.”

A bit of pain? I could barely walk at times, but I wasn’t about to tell her that, and it irritated me that she didn’t just mind her own fucking business. I scowled, thinking how everything in this place was like that. I had no privacy, no autonomy. I knew I had signed up for it, but I couldn’t even take a shit without someone knowing about it.

“The knee is fine, and I don’t want to talk about it.” If I confessed to Serah that the tendonitis was acting up, there was every chance she’d take me in. I understood that the government didn’t want to end up with a lawsuit from a condition that went untreated, but they took it a bit far, in my opinion.

“It didn’t look fine.”

“I’m fine!” I snapped, my temper getting the better of me. Serah gave me a respite by staying quiet for a moment, and I watched the men on the court, their boots thundering against the floors. I sighed, feeling bad for snapping at her. She was doing her job, and I knew firsthand that if I didn’t do my job it would mean punishment. She lived under the same authority I did. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” she mumbled.

I glanced over at her, not even realizing that she had scooted away a bit. When had she done that? She seemed hurt by my lashing out. She probably got that a lot—soldiers who didn’t want her poking around in their business. And men were the worst when it came to doctors and not admitting when they were hurt. She probably thought she was pressing me just like others, but those guysneededher help. I was fine.

“I’m sorry, Serah. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. The knee is really fine today, alright? Just tweaked it last week.” I tried to force a smile, but my mood had soured, and the nice apology was just an act to help her cheer up.

“Well, good. Let’s just talk about something else. I don’t want to ruin our friendship because I have to pull rank on some dumb old injury.” She pushed me, and I swayed to the right, away from her. “How are you, anyway? Are you finally over Misty?”

Just the sound of her name made me clench my jaw. I was already frustrated by the whole knee injury thing, andthisis what she brought up to discuss with me? My shoulders tensed. I found my hands clenched into fists. Why did talking about my ex make me so angry?

“Evan?” Serah’s hand on my back made me jump. I bolted to my feet, marching over to the water cooler and picking up a small paper cup. I filled that cup and drank the water at least three times, but I couldn’t calm down. My permanent scowl—the one I tried to mask with fake smiles and misdirection—emerged, and I almost bit her head off when she followed me.

“Evan, what’s wrong?” She kept her distance this time. It was probably the dark, brooding look in my eye. I didn’t have to see it to know it was there. I had no poker face at all. There were three topics I could live the rest of my life without ever having to discuss again—Misty, my knee, and my mother. Unfortunately for Serah, her uncanny empathetic ability meant she zeroed in on two out of the three almost every time we spoke.

Maybe she was just trying to be a good friend, or maybe she was really spoon-shaped—she liked to stir the pot—but I could do without it.

“Listen, Jones. I don’t need you or anyone else prying into my personal life. Got it? You might be able to push me around and bully me about the knee. But if it happens off this base, just keep your fucking nose out of it.”

Serah’s eyes widened and she raised her hands in defense. “Woah, Miller. Back off.” She scowled at me. “I’m your friend, remember? I care about you? I was just asking how things are going.”

“Well, mind your fucking business.” I crushed the paper cup and tossed it at the trash can, missing it by a mile. The cup skittered across the floor and landed at the feet of another soldier who raised an eyebrow at me. Just what I needed. More judgment. “And while you’re at it, just don’t bother coming around here if all you’re going to do is be nosy. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

“Evan, you’re being ridiculous.” I thought I saw Serah’s eyes tear up, but my rage was on a roll. Sometimes, I’d get so angry I’d see red. This was one of those times. For whatever reason, she’d struck a nerve, even just trying to be a good friend. Or maybe it was because Misty had called the other day and I still hadn’t let it go. Either way, the monster inside me was rearing its head, and I wasn’t proud of it, which only made it angrier.

“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one trying to mother me. You want to have children, go get fucked. You clearly need it. You’re so uptight.”

She gasped and covered her mouth, the hurt showing in her eyes. As she turned to go, her ponytail whipped around. She stormed off without saying a word to me, and I stood there glaring after her with my chest heaving. I was so angry I couldn’t think straight. But every step she took away from me made me feel guiltier. I had just bitten her head off for no reason.

“Serah,” I called, but she didn’t turn around. She slammed her hand on the door handle, and it swung open and she disappeared. “Fuck.” I sighed and raked my hand through my hair. I felt like a complete ass, and this time, I couldn’t even blame the knee pain. I understood it was because I was fucked up. I’d heard plenty of tales of soldiers having emotional issues that led to behavioral issues due to unresolved trauma.

I had never classified myself in that category, though. I’d never been to war, never been shot at, never even had any significant action in combat. I wasn’t that person. I couldn’t be. So why did I do that—fly off the handle and hurt people I cared about?

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