Page 133 of Theta

Together.

I try to fall back asleep, but it's not happening. For one, I have to piss like a demon.

I fight it for a while, but it quickly becomes a necessity, so as much as I hate having to move her and lose the heat and comfort and security of her soft body on mine, I roll and very gently lay her on her side, back to the wall. She snorts, nuzzles into the pillow, but doesn't wake. The incinerator toilet isn't exactly quiet, so once I'm sure she's still asleep, I creep off the bed and tiptoe outside. I step away into the treeline a few yards from the hut and let loose the single longest and most satisfying piss of my life.

Bladder relieved, I stride to the water. The moon is high and full, a bright round yellow-white disc hanging in the sky, shining a path of light on the rippling, ceaseless sea. The stars are infinite and glittering, and the water is bathtub warm as I wade in.

For a while, I just stand there in the ocean, the water at my waist, searching myself.

Despite hours and hours of therapy, I still struggle with the darkness. What helped more than anything, honestly, was my conversation with General Webber—Steely, as he insists I call him. That man was a POW for years, and a good portion of that was in pitch-black isolation, as he kept trying to escape. He and I talked for hours—all night, around the fire on the beach, sipping whiskey and letting our shared trauma bleed all over the sand. Dr. Ripley, the PTSD specialist, made it clear that it would be a long process—and I was only imprisoned for a couple of weeks. I simply can’t imagine what it must be like trying to recover from being a legit POW for years. My respect for General Webber, for this alone, is second to none.

It doesn't go away, Steely told me, his eyes vacant and distant. Never. You never forget. Time, therapy, and love, however…they help. They heal. They brick over the broken places. But that brokenness? It never totally goes away.

I feel like an imposter, a little bit. I wasn't a soldier. It wasn't war. There was no name-rank-serial-number, no brothers to hold out for or secrets to keep. I wasn’t even actually tortured. It was just greedy, evil, power-hungry assholes doing horrible, vile, terrible, violent things to innocent people for sadistic, depraved reasons.

But then, that does describe a lot of wars throughout history, I suppose.

Story, though.

Through the recovery process, she showed me so much love and understanding and tenderness that I still have trouble fathoming it; I did my best to give back as good as I received, and I like to think I mostly succeeded. I know she’d say I did, but then I’m always my own worst critic.

We talked things through—shit, for the months that we were healing, all we did was talk. It's all we could do. We talked more about her childhood, the mall shooting, and the process of healing from that, especially as it concerns my own healing process. We talked more about her exes, and mine. We talked about nothing in particular and everything in general, and all things in between.

I thought I loved her before. But now? After what we just shared? English needs a word more powerful than "love."

I turn and look over my shoulder at the hut; I felt her, I think. She's standing naked in the doorway, one hand in her hair, squinting at me sleepily.

I gesture for her to join me.

She shuffles off the porch and scuffs through the sand, splashes without hesitation into the water, arms reaching for me when she's still several feet away.

And again, the adorableness of the whole thing squeezes my heart until I think I’m gonna explode.

Not like that, though.

I'm laughing as she hurls herself into my arms.

"Woke up and you weren't there," she grumbles, sounding peeved.

"Had to pee."

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're just so goddamn cute."

“Oh." A pause. "I gotta pee, too."

I wade deeper into the water, holding her like I’m carrying her across the threshold, until she's submerged to her shoulders.

"Cut loose, baby girl."

She frowns at me. “You'll feel it."

"So? We're in the water. The current will take it away. And do you honestly think I'm gonna be bothered by a little pee? After the container?”

She wrinkles her nose. "I dunno if I can." She nuzzles into my neck. "Don't look at me."

I snicker a laugh and look up at the moon, and just hold her as she concentrates. And then she huffs a sound of relief, and I feel warmth spreading around us, quickly replaced by cooler water as the gentle currents here in the shallows pull it away.