BREAK MY FALL CHAPTER 8

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BREAK MY FALL CHAPTER 8

Josh

I don’t actually sleep. It doesn’t count as sleep if you lie awake in the dark with the room spinning slowly.

I haven’t slept well since the war. But I can’t tell anyone that. It’s not like I’m ashamed of it or anything. It’s…If it wasn’t for Eli and the guys, I’d probably be a hell of a lot worse off than I am.

My attempt to distract myself away from the burning memories tonight fell flat when Abby begged off a walk home.

It’s not her fault. Who just shows up at someone’s work and says Me Man, You Woman. Me walk you home. And expect everything to go swimmingly.

But the lack of a distraction means I’ve got to figure some shit out or the rest of the night is going to get real froggy real quick. So instead of heading home, I head to the campus fitness center.

I strip and change into my gym clothes, which I keep in a locker I rent for six dollars a month. It’s easier than carrying that stuff around with me every time I come on campus, and luckily, tuition comes with a fee for the fitness center that us non-athletes get to use when the Division One teams aren’t using them.

I hit the treadmill and take off at a slow jog. I no longer have to keep up with my division commander, who liked to run marathons for funsies. I thought he was going to kill me on multiple occasions. It was strange how he kept me around. I was his driver. I should have been out running around with the other drivers, but instead, he had me shadowing his aide de camp and keeping him in line.

Damn it. I’m running to avoid the memories or at least run them into exhaustion and instead I crash right into them.

I crank up the speed on the treadmill.

But still. All I can see are Mike’s boots. He’d been standing in them a few minutes before. The tan leather is stained with blood.

We used to joke about what we’d do when we made it home from war. I remember just wanting to get laid.

Mike had just wanted to see his dog. She was some kind of giant Labrador or something.

I wonder if his mom still has her. Or if the dog even knows Mike is never coming home.

Christ, but I don’t want to think about Mike. I don’t want to think about the goddamned war and the anger and the rage and how fucking good it felt to unleash hell that day.

Or the shame that washes over me every single time I think about that godawful day.

I crank the treadmill up again. Trying to find my rhythm. Trying to find a way to outrun the blood and memories and crash into a fatigue that will force me to sleep. The pounding of my feet on the tread, my heart in my ears.

It’s easy enough to pretend I’m back at Hood, my last duty station, running down Battalion Avenue, a hundred of us in step and in sync. There’s nothing in the world better than falling into the formation and feeling like you’ve stepped into something else entirely.

God but I miss those days. Hard. I didn’t think I would. I thought I’d be glad not to get up and head out the door to PT at the ass crack of dawn anymore.

Never thought I’d miss it.

Not after everything.

Except that now, I’d give anything if she’d take me back. I’d even bear the shame of everything if only I could spend one more day in the shit and the sand and the dirt. Laughing with Mike. Bitching about the heat.

I’d do anything.

But I can’t go back. I can’t give in to the darkness and the temptation the Army offers. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

And so I run. I fall into the memories of running in formation and pretend that I still belong somewhere out there in the world. That there is a place for me where I fit.

Because right now, I’m not sure that such a place exists. And I am terrified of the fact that I am completely and utterly alone.

I run until sweat pours down my spine and soaks my clothing. I run until my legs burn and I’m just this side of throwing up.

I run until I no longer see Mike’s boots or the blood on my hands or the twisted joy I felt every time I pulled the trigger that day.

I run until it dawns on me that I can’t keep running.

It is a long moment before I step into the shower. I let the steam blast my body, hands braced against the wall, and I make a decision.

I want. I want to belong. I want to do my job again. I want to make a difference. I want to believe that what I’m doing matters.

I want to stop fucking feeling like this. Like I’m buried, moving through life in muted slow motion.

I close my eyes and double over.

I want the fucking war to let me go.

Abby

I’ve got thirty minutes to get my assignment done for Quinn’s class on violence. I should have done it during break last night but I didn’t. I can’t afford to let my grades slide. It puts my financial aid at risk.

Given that I want to work with at-risk women, my advisor recommended I take Quinn’s class to better understand what happens to people in violent situations.

I don’t want to tell her that I know all too well what happens in these situations. But if I mention it, then I risk chipping away at the got-it-together façade that I’ve worked so hard to maintain.

It’s a mask that’s slipped recently.

Okay, it didn’t slip. It was pried away with the carefully placed knife Robert the Douche slipped beneath the defenses that I’d built up so carefully since I’d started school.

I give myself a quick shake and push that memory out of my mind. It’s too easy to blame Robert for the unraveling, but it’s not all Robert’s fault.

He’s a symptom, not the disease. My fingers start flying on my keyboard, my response flowing as though it happened to someone else.

Interpersonal violence is a difficult situation to understand. Part of this comes from misunderstanding the nature of the problem. If being involved in a violent relationship was the result of rational decision making, no one would ever be involved in violence; either as victim or as perpetrator.

“You look deep in thought.”

Josh’s voice slides out of the silence of the library and wraps around me. I look up from my assignment. He is standing there in the bright overhead lights, looking just as out of place here as he does in the Baywater.

The responsible part of me should be annoyed because now I have to be sociable when I have to get my assignment done.

But another part of me is doing a happy dance in my panties.

Down, girl.

“How’s the eye?” The shiner is faded now, an ugly yellow and green, the scab mostly gone at this point. On campus, it’s rare to see someone who’s not an athlete walking around with a bruised face. But beyond that, this one distracts me because it pulls my attention straight to Josh and only Josh.

And that’s dangerous for me.

I don’t want to feel anything for him. For anyone. Maybe someday. But not today.

“Better. Not sore anymore.” I like the way he looks at me. Like he can see me. Not the stereotype everyone else seems to see.

Me.

“What?”

“Sorry,” I mumble. Damn it, he caught me staring. “I was distracted.”

I’m trying not to notice. Not his shoulders or the hard, clean lines of his collarbones and the little indent at the base of his throat. And the solid line of muscle that is his chest that makes me really want to get a little bit naked.

“By what?”

Shit. I need something witty and smart. Except that I’m not witty and smart. At least, not under pressure.

“Your ass.”

Which I suppose is close enough to the truth to make him doubt that it is actually the truth. Did I mention I was terrible at reverse psychology, too?

A tiny crease forms at the edge of his mouth. I look away from the distinctly not-academic turn of my thoughts and the dangerous glint in Josh’s eye. Suddenly, I very much think he is not doubting the truth of my response. How’s that for a plan backfiring?

He makes a noise in his throat, and I very much remember the feel of his lips against mine.

“Careful. I might think you’re flirting with me.” I love the sound of his voice.

I want to feel him again. His taste, the softness of his mouth on mine. The rough scrape of his stubble against my skin.

“I have an assignment due.”

I look away. This isn’t going very smoothly at all. I can’t do this again. Not right now. And no, the parts of my anatomy that are currently standing up at attention at his proximity do not get a vote.

For a big man covered in tattoos, he surprises me with the vulnerability I see looking back at me, hidden behind a teasing smile.

“So what you’re saying is that I might have a better shot next week? Or after your assignment is done?”

I smile despite myself. Clearly, reason is not going to work with him. Or my own damn hormones. Traitorous bastards. “You’re not listening.”

“No, I am. In fact, I’ll show you exactly how good I can listen.” He snaps his fingers. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Why a few minutes?”

“Because judging by how fast you were typing a minute ago, the faster you get your assignment done, the faster I get to have you checking out my sweet ass.”

And damn it, I laugh as he up and walks away toward the coffee shop in the library.

Because sure enough, he looks over his shoulder.

Just in time to see me checking out his ass.

I am so screwed.

**ONE CLICK BREAK MY FALL**