Page 9 of I Promise You
Hell, it’s not even hers–it’s mine.
I will not live if she doesn’t. I’ll cut my own heart out of my fucking chest to join her in the afterlife. Even though I know I’m headed to Hell when it’s my time with the number of lives I’ve already sent there.
Still…I won’t ever let Ari escape me. I’m madly trapped beneath her wings.
Holding her into my arms as she bled out was all too hauntingly familiar, and all I kept thinking about was the night when we lost her brother, my best friend, Paul. My hands are stained with the blood I've spilled and taken. Paul slipped away to join Death and all I could do was watch the blood pour out of all of his wounds…just like my Ari.
To this day, I will forever regret not keeping the promise he made usall do when he first asked for it.
I’ve always been a selfish man, but not anymore.
I never knew what she looked like because I don’t pry into my friends’ lives.
Paul didn’t have social media, and neither did I. I still don’t. I prefer to keep my life private, as did Paul. We were alike in that sense.
Our conflicting work schedules made it hard for us to hang out when we were home simultaneously, but when we did, it sure was fucking fun. We’d been friends for five years, saving each other’s asses occasionally.
When a man wielding a sword ambushed me, he saved my life. My attacker sliced my back, but Paul put a bullet through his head before he could do more. Now, it’s a scar. The first scar Ari noticed when I took her to my house the first time.
The ambulance swerved sharply and everyone inside was thrown off balance. My instincts kicked in right away, and I held onto my girl so she would stay safe from swaying, but the vehicle regained control and rushed to the ER. I can see the red sign awaiting our arrival.
I finally feel the pain from where I was stabbed in the chest. It throbs and burns. Shane’s weak attempt to redeem himself, but it’s just another scratch truthfully.
I quickly give myself a once-over. He only cut through muscle. I’ll be fine like I always am.
I look at her short hair and get lost in the strands of it. The color of her hair is so black; it’s almost obsidian, and her soft velvet hair reminds me of the dark, unforgiving night I met Death for the first time.
Where my journey of guilt began. In Iraq. The mission that killed my brother. The ultimate decision that caused Paul’s death and left me with self-blame.
“It’s colder than Grim’s heart up here. This beanie isn’t doing shit for me.” Rooker’s teeth chatter, and white puffs of air loom as he breathes the words out.
And here we fucking go. Let the banter begin.
I shake my head, clenching my jaw.
He’s not lying; we’re all freezing our balls off.
“Remember that time we went fishing, bro?” Paul looks back at Kane over his shoulder, then turns to Lopez. “What I would do to be back in Florida on a warm and sandy beach. Grim and Cobra didn’t catch shit that day!” Paul jokes with the cowboy from Texas, as our boots crush twigs underneath our boots, high into the mountains of Iraq.
It’s dark, but our night vision eyewear allows us to see. It’s cloudy, and the moon has betrayed us. We have nothing to guide us through the night but our equipment.
We are in the middle of fucking nowhere with no other civilian in sight, and it gives us a small window to talk before it’s time to get to work.
“How could I forget? You lost my favorite fishing rod, dick,” I spit, walking over a log and clutching my rifle tight in my hand.
“It’s not my fault the fish chose me over you. They just like me better, just like the women,” he delivers it like an overconfident remark, and I don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling ear to ear, antagonizing me.
He’s always fucking with me because I’m the only one on the team who hasn’t committed to any girl. I don’t do relationships.I don’t have the fucking time to entertain a girl back home long enough to keep her. I don’t want to. It’s pointless.
I’m never home anyway, so what’s the purpose?
I like having work as my number one priority and nothing and no one else.
I roll my eyes.
“It’s also not my fault a fucking shark ripped it out of my hands.” Paul lets out a harsh breath as he continues, as if he’s having a hard time keeping up. We’ve been hiking around fifteen miles now, but we can’t stop. We’re already so close to our destination.
The number one terrorist on the list awaits his doom, and we’re gladly going to bring it to him.
