Page 4 of Black and Brown

It had to be the exhaustion making him behave so recklessly. But he didn’t give a damn anymore.

He wouldn’t serve another single day for a government that considered his parents disposable and unworthy of justice.

Something deep in Matthew’s core turned black and evil before an icy, steel-clad fist gripped his heart and squeezed it until it shattered.

He trembled with a lethal mix of sorrow and fury.

Matthew leapt over the desk and grabbed the captain around his neck.

“My parents gave their blood, sweat, and tears for this country, and that means shit now that they’re dead! My parents are fuckin’ dead!”

Matthew drew his fist back and punched the man twice in the face before he went back to choking him.

“You owe them more than ‘it’s classified,’ you son of a bitch. Do you know how many soldiers they saved? How many smug officers with diseased livers and bloated colons they had to operate on because all you worthless shits do is drink and sit around on your lazy asses? Huh? Do ya?”

The man gagged, his eyes rolling back.

It still wasn’t enough when Matthew thought of how terrifying the last seconds of his mother’s life must’ve been.

He flattened his hand and chopped the captain between his neck and shoulder, cracking his collarbone.

The cry of agony was barely heard over the ringing in his ears.

Next was his throat.

Matthew wanted the captain to never utter those two dismissive words—it’s classified—to a grieving son, daughter, wife, husband, or partner ever again.

Two more punches to the face sent them both crashing to the floor, which gave Matthew the perfect leverage to pummel the captain’s gut.

A privileged bastard who’d been assigned to a desk, likely because of his inability to pass PRT.

Matthew’s hands were bruised, and he may have had a few broken fingers by then, but it didn’t slow him down. Not until the MPs arrived and dragged him away.

When his arms were confined, he kicked and stomped at the bleeding officer until he was out of range.

Matthew didn’t notice who was around, gawking and watching him get hog-tied and carried out of the building.

He could only see red, blinding rage as he was thrown into the back of the MP transport truck.

Mirage

When Matthew came out of his daze, the therapist of false promises was still sitting in the chair in his room. A thigh-length brown coat was now draped across the footboard of his bed.

Fuck. Did I black out?

“Your life doesn’t have to end here. You can have justice for your parents’ murder. The justice you need to move on.”

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut at the tears welling in the corners.

“Sadness will never touch you again, Doctor. I swear it.”

As far as Matthew was concerned, there was no fixing this. He was broken inside, maybe forever.

“Leave!”

Matthew yanked the metal cup he never filled with water and hurled it at the stranger’s head.

But the asshole caught it with his right hand, as if he’d once played catcher for the Dodgers, and flicked it onto the mattress beside the dinner tray, then had the audacity to smirk before he eased his hand back into his pocket.