Page 55 of Under His Guard

I want to keep talking, moving the conversation along to anything that isn’t related to my life in the military and the horrible guilt that keeps me awake at night.

But I’m already spiraling.

It’s taking everything I have to not outright bolt from the table and down the entire bottle of whiskey I have in my nightstand right the fuck now.

The next beer goes down even faster, and at this point, Clara is starting to notice how quickly I’m drinking them.

I’m still not drunk, far from it, but I’m sure Clara thinks I’m barreling toward being wasted.

“Um, this was yummy, thank you. But really, I’m exhausted. I think we both better get some rest.”

She’s eaten pretty much everything on her plate, and I’ve barely touched mine.

I nod, though, and when I get up, I take her plate to put everything back in the take-out containers to go in the fridge. Tension builds in my spine, and I can see violence every time I blink.

Clara is suddenly behind me as I pack things up. She rises up on her tiptoes, laying a gentle kiss on my cheek.

I’m rocked to my core, and then Clara goes and makes it worse.

“Get some rest, Luke. You deserve it.”

With that, she walks off down the hall, and I’m left standing there at the table, about to have a breakdown.

“She doesn’t know, Luke. She can’t. Just…just…”

My breath is huffing now, and I walk the containers to the big stainless steel fridge before I wind up chucking them across the room.

When I know things are cleaned up good enough in the kitchen and at the table, I take two more beers to my bedroom and try to cool off with a shower.

The chilly water can pull me out of my head on occasion, but it’s not working tonight.

So, I resort to the beers, downing them in a few moments. It doesn’t take too long for the buzz to finally pick up, and an ease warms through my shoulders.

“There. Okay. Now, just go to bed.”

I’m already naked, my bandages a little damp, so I decide on an air-dry while I’m sleeping in the good old birthday suit.

Mostly, I don’t have the energy to find clothes.

The sheets are cool as I slide in, and I use the voice command to shut off the light and start up some background music.

I can’t be alone in the quiet. The stillness is too loud, and I’ve found that fucking “sleep music” is the way to go.

It’s working; the swirl of a good buzz and some dulcet tones are lulling me to sleep, and Lord knows I could use an early, restful night.

It’s at least three minutes of bliss before my brain slams the image of a shattered skull into the forefront of my retinas.

I fly up to a sitting position, nausea and terror rolling through my guts.

“No, no, no. Come on.”

My heart is hammering now, and I can hear the sounds of gunfire and screaming echoing around me.

There’s the rubble of broken buildings and dusty air everywhere. Orders are being barked at me as I try to dodge away from rapid assault weapon fire.

My brothers are nowhere in sight. I have to get around to a safe spot. I have to take out all of the enemy to keep my men safe.

No one is safe here.

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